. . .
"Please, if anyone is reading this. Help me.
You're going to die."
. . .
London, England 2003
Time stood still, frozen in the young blonde English boy's ocean blue eyes as he remained planted on his feet, neck snapped upwards. The reflection in his hues reviled four larger men who sported long brown coats laced with fur and buttons. One had an oversize hat that portrayed an image of skull and crossbones. They surrounded the boy and held him back.
"What is your name, lad?" The largest one of the group spoke up, pressing his scraggly beard a little too close to his face. His breath stunk of stale Bourbon and tooth decay. It made the blonde gag and cover his nostrils from the intruding stench.
This act of disrespect caused the leader to become enraged. He grabbed the boy roughly and yanked him towards his way. "Ye wee lad think ye can disrespect me? Do ye know who I am? I'm Captain Yveson, the most feared pirate in the seven seas." His eyes darted towards the young one's side where he clutched tightly a little brown messenger bag.
"What ye got in the bag?" He eyed the sack curiously, not releasing his grip from the boy for even a moment.
"I. . .I sew a lot, sir. . .My name is Oliver Timber." The captain didn't need to hear another word, he knew he had to steal this boy and have him on his ship.
London England, 2012
The North Sea
It had been nine years since these wretched pirates took me away from my home, away from my mum and dad. At first I thought they would send someone to come find me and save me. But I have long given up on that silly illusion of a false reality. They don't care. No one cares.
I looked out over the starboard, my gaze met the calming lull of the waves. The only thing that had really kept me sane on that bloody ship full of impossibly moronic men. I noticed the milky swirls of clouds floating over head; it would storm soon.
I scoffed, hauling my bag of needles and threads from my shoulder and peering down at my shirt; a rip. Just great. I hate when my clothes get ruined. Wasn't a problem for me though. A few stitches here and there and it was good as new. I knew I wasn't much of a pirate, I had barely any skills other than what few I had learned over the years such as navigating the clouds. But the one reason I was there was for my craft. I made all the crew member's clothing and fix up the sail when it got damaged. I wanted out so bad though. I hated being a pirate. It was a wonder I didn't lose my mind and off with myself in the first year.
I turned my back on the sea and started forward back to my cabin. That's when I felt a hard rumble of the metal beneath my feet, and then there was the loud thud. Our captain began to shout from the outlook post. "Man the deck! Copers off the port side!" When I heard those words, I instantly rushed towards the stairs leading down to the sleeping quarters, when I felt a hard blunt object connecting with my skull, and then my consciousness broke into a deep hush of blackness.
Darkness surrounded my line of vision; I couldn't tell if I was awake or even alive. I was able to have cognitive thought, so I assumed I was at least alive. When I tried moving I could tell my body was bound to something; my arms were unable to move from behind my back. My head perked up at the sound of shoes tapping against the concrete; I knew I wasn't alone. One spoke out to me in a thick, raspy voice. "You're awake huh, you little heathen. You're going to pay for all the trouble you have caused."
My breath hitched into my throat. I had no idea what they were talking about; I did nothing wrong! I opened my mouth to speak, but my words came out muffled. I felt a cloth against my tongue and it made me gag. It tasted musty and had a worn out texture to it.
Suddenly, there was bright and blinding light that shocked my eyesight. My mydriasis pupils didn't have time to react and they took in more light than they could handle. I didn't have enough time to wither in pain over that feeling before I felt something even worse shoot through my nervous system.
Something had impaled my left eye. Something sharp and thin dug into the jelly-like fluid of my cornea and then was yanked out. My screams of agony were cut off by a hand gripping my throat. I felt the rough skin of the fingertips grip harshly into my lymph. I choked and yanked my head; it didn't do anything but cause more pain.
I felt myself slipping back into unconsciousness when one of them stabbed me in the forearm with what I believed must have been a syringe, because there was a rush of liquid that entered my system and I was jolted back into reality. I was now completely aware of every single prick and gush of warm fluid that seeped out of the wounds in my body.
"You think you can pass out and get out the easy way? I don't think so." The same male voice spoke out yet again. Wreathing in agony, I tried to slip away from them, but the wall had me close and I would not be able to get free. After what felt like hours, the vision of my right eye started to make out forms of beings. My left eye, however. . .was no longer there. I caught sight of them. Those bastard. And all I could see was red. I wanted them dead. That's all I remember thinking. I want them dead. I want them to suffer.
Two other men pushed and shoved me to the ground, kicking me in the stomach and driving their fists into my skull. They were shouting words at me, but I could only make out a few. "Disgusting. Worthless. Juvenile. Tomorrow. Execute." One grabbed at my outer shirt and yanked on the sleeve, I heard the cloth rip and it made my heart almost stop. They scuffed the knee of my pants with their filthy boots and tore the fabric from that as well.
They disappeared after a few more moments. I was going to be executed. . .In less than 24 hours. This was it. My mind was spinning with confusion and images, but I could only think of one thing. How badly I wanted to get back at those monsters for what they did. I did nothing wrong. They had no rights. I just want to. . .Kill them.
Kill them.
Kill them.
"Do you have the desire to live?" I heard a low voice that spoke as if the holder of said voice was under water. It made me jump in fright. There had been no one there, but all of a sudden a tall figure manifested itself before me. I could barely see at that moment, but I remember exactly what he looked like. . .
A silhouette surrounded with a hazy white glow, red illuminated hues poking out of the black cloak covering its body. I could only narrow it down to one idea.
The Angel of Death.
I nodded my head slowly, the blood from my left eye still oozed out from the socket. But I didn't notice at that moment. It felt like nothing as I stared into the demon-like creature before me. "I can grant you that wish. . .But it will come with a price."
"Anything. I don't care what it is. I'll do anything. I just want them to pay." My thoughts tore through my head like I was becoming a monster about to burst; but some how, it was like the being could hear me. Red mist flowed from his hand and encircled my surroundings. I didn't blink or recoil, I simply stared with a blank expression. I don't know what had happened, but at that moment I felt something in my conscious split. The death angel faded away, and I was left only with my piercing thoughts and anguish pain.
I noticed quickly that my hands were free; I could finally move. I could. . kill. My face etched a picture of something that it hadn't painted in a long time. A smile. Not just any smile. A sadistic smile. One that lusted for blood. I wanted blood. The blood of those men. The blood of the ones who did this to me.
I could barely feel my disappearing awareness as I peered across the room. I felt numb, like it was a dream; like I wasn't even there at that moment. My one good eye spotted the beige bag I carried in the corner. I stepped over and picked it up, throwing it over my shoulder. My fingers slipped into the bag and fished out a slim needle and thread, along with one of the red sewing buttons I used for crafting outfits. I placed the button into the gap in my face and sewn up the gash under my lid connected to my cheek, and then sunk the thread deep into the raw flesh of my eyesocket to hold the button in place of my eye. I made my way to the entrance of the room. Bars, of course. It was a jail cell. The door was ajar, I noticed; must have been the work of that ghost. Chuckling darkly, I continued my journey to the main office, and that's when my conscious finally slipped away from me.
When I finally snapped out of my dazed state, I found myself running. Running. From what? To where? Where was I? How did I get back to the ship? I looked around, turning, spinning. It was dark. Midnight. Blood. There was blood. My face. My body. What happened. Why don't I remember.
I kept running, back to where I remember, back to the ship. It was like a ghost ship; no life resided inside. I drug my sewing bag to my sleeping quarters and looked at myself in the small mirror on the hammock I spent my nights on. My eye widened in fear and shock. I fell to my knees; blood-soaked hands covered my face, they shook uncontrollably in fright. I stared at my reflection, but I felt like I was looking into the mug of an escaped convict. I ripped open an empty book that I had retrieved from inside the small dresser in the room. I pulled a needle from my bag and dipped it in splatter of crimson fluids that stained my body. I couldn't even think straight enough to grab a pen. I scribbled down a few words before everything seemed to fade out. And that dark laugh started to come back.
Please, if anyone is reading this. Help me.
You're going to die.