Scarred

Prologue

I feel nothing but cold as I am laid in my bed, smothered by blankets much like a mother protects her baby as the cool wind acts like ice against my fragile body. My mind wanders, leaving my body in the aching state its in, the burning sensation in my side reminds me of the rusty, cold steel blade that was once there.

I slip into a state of unconsciousness, mumbling words under my breath as images of my horrific childhood flood my brain.

"Jacob what has happened to you?" I hear a distant voice in my unconscious state; I try to reply but nothing more than a whisper escapes my lips. A fit of coughing attacks my body as I am brought back to the real world, my lungs ache from taking such deep, agonizing breathes, my eyelids flutter open as I gaze around the room, my eyes landing on the outline of a person which I recognise to be a woman.

"Hey, feeling better?" the figure asks me, I smile weekly in return, my voice not yet strong enough, I feel her gaze against my body and realise that she is wondering about my many scars. "How did you..?" She fails to finish her sentence, yet she had no need as I nodded at her and began to slowly tell the stories of my eventful childhood…

Story

It started when I was a young lad, the mere age of 7 to be precise; I was known as 'The little gypsy wretch' and was often discriminated against due my skin being half dark. My father left my mother and me when I was just a babe in swaddling cloths and my mother passed away when I just entered my childhood years.

I grew up in England yet that was not my native tongue, my father was Irish and I learnt to speak Irish Gaelic, once my father left, my mother took me to England where she was taken by the fever, she became severely ill very quickly and later in the year passed away.

A dainty, young woman was lying on a bed; she was very beautiful and looked much like a doll; long, dark, thick hair, very dark skin and high delicate cheekbones. A small dark haired boy stood cowering in the corner watching the events take place as three maids wrapped sheets around the woman and began to take her away saying "She was taken by the fever, there's no doubt about that…I feel for the young child, whats going to happen to him now? He has no father to care for him" Two men stood over the whimpering boy, talking in English with a heavy Irish brogue, the young boy did not understand what they were saying as he was dragged out by one of the men and placed in a carriage.

I was quickly sold into slavery, but that did not mean that I would go without a fight, I would be dragged everywhere, kicking and screaming in my native tongue, my 'owner' would often beat me and place me in shackles until I calmed down. Even at the young age I was, I was known to be slightly mental, placed on a ship which my 'owner' lived on I somehow had the strange feeling of safety.

It was dark and damp as the hold of a ship often was; the young boy was huddled in a corner, shackled to an iron ring set into the cell's wall, he had a bloody nose and was filthy, though he would not cry, just stare with hard, defiant eyes into the darkness which lay before him. Voices could be heard in the distance "He can't even speak English, the little Irish hooligan, just Gaelic or Celtic, not sure which, I just know that he's the son of a pirate and a gypsy whore" The young boy was beaten across the face, splitting open his eyebrow "Time for you to get back to work, you worthless slime"

I had started to learn English back then but not enough to understand what was expected of me causing me to get beaten a lot. I had learnt what it was like to be alone at a very early age, I became self reliant and my brain was often working on plans to escape from my 'owners' and live at sea, being aboard a ship, even in slavery I had felt more at home on the sea than I ever had with my mother on land.

Later in years, my father heard news of my mothers death and came looking for me, I had by this time learnt English and had been speaking it for some time, and therefore lost my Irish Brogue. My father brought me from my 'owners' and sailed me to Ireland, leaving me with the Parish Priest to learn to read and write English, but the feeling of being on the sea and having that comforting motion quickly pulled me back as I ran away, back to the sea.

As I came into my teens, a captain who I was sailing under noticed my artistic talent and offered to help me learn a good trade, since I was small for my age and my cockiness and rebelliousness would soon get me killed in the world of trade I quickly agreed. I soon filled my pockets with back street gambling and tattoo designing. At my young age I also discovered drinking and taverns and I often shared stories with the sailor but keeping my own past very secretive. Also discovering the opposite sex, the women who sold their bodies found me to be charming and I often took advantage of this, knowing that they only cared for my coins didn't bother me as it made me feel loved and worthwhile if only for just a short time, but being truly loved was foreign to me.

I became rather good at gambling due to endless nights at practising and I could often receive anything I wanted. By this time all I wanted was a ship to call my own, so I could feel the safety and comfort on my own, I was determined to keep my winnings from gambling and get myself a ship, though one night, when me and some drunken sailors were playing a interesting game of 'Liars dice' I managed to win myself a ship, she was named 'The Wicked Wench' and I loved her, for the first time in my life since my mother died I was able to call a place home. However my troubles began again once the East India Trading Company wanted to use my ship for their cargo transportation.

Standing at the wheel of 'The Wicked Wench' the still very young Jacob, turned starboard, he was going to collect some cargo he was ordered to ship to the New world from Africa. Inspecting the cargo young Jacob was livid with fury to find that it was human cargo- dark skinned African slaves, Jacob's skin colour was only a few shades lighter than theirs and he had experienced slavery and he was not about to let it happen to them. Letting them free gave Jacob consequences, disobeying the orders from the East India Trading Company and following his heart made Jacob a marked man.

In my mind I was doing right, I had been sold into miserable servitude and I wasn't about to let it happen to them and so for doing the right thing I was so called rewarded.

The stench of burning flesh filled the air as the hot branding iron sank into Jacob's right forearm, scarring a letter 'P' there for life, face bleeding, Jacob gritted and grinded his teeth, staring hard into the eyes of his brander, he would not cry as he felt his skin melt away.

My beautiful ship was firebombed for Piracy and sent to the depths of the sea, crew and all, me being the only survivor but only by chance, my left arm was nearly blown off in the struggle, marking me with a pale scar from my armpit to my elbow, I lost the ability to feel around that area which caused some problems in my later life. I was distraught when my ship, my home, my freedom was sunk and in my maddened state I swam down after her and tried to pull her back to the surface. I was found, barely alive on a piece of debris by a navy vessel-where I was flogged and thrown into the brig.

Thrown into the dark and damp brig, young Jacob was delirious with pain and mad with rage, his arm left arm was fractured and blistered with burnt skin, his right arm branded with the hot iron and his back torn from the flogging, Jacob was on the verge of death. The ship which he was on suffered some misfortune and was attacked by an oncoming pirate shi, leaving Jacob able to escape with dumb luck.

The ship I ended up on was the one which attacked the vessel; I was tended to by a Pirate by the name of Bill, nursing me back to health, we became close and often never left each others company. Over time I was thought to be half mad and took to pirating quite naturally, I was not a murderer but full of so much rage that even the most strongest of pirate worried for my health. In my mad mind I was clear of one thing, if I was going to be made a pirate, then by god I would be the best pirate the world has ever seen.

I soon found that my mind was not like others, my way of thinking was brilliant yet unique but my mind was fragile from my tender past. One of my fellow crewmates once accused me of having lack of hygiene and due to my past I blamed this accusation on my skin colour.

Drunk out of his mind, Jacob sat at a desk, downing bottle after bottle of rum, too upset from a recent nightmare to think, he just sat in the dark rocking back and forth mumbling words under his breath. Starting to rub at the darkened spot from a burn on the back of his left hand furiously, a distant look in his eyes as he rambled, slurring from the rum "They've always said I was filthy, said my mother was a gypsy whore. Now they think I 'ave bad personal hygiene…they think im dirty and terrible…I will have t'remember t'tell them that it wont come off…this is th' colour tha' I am, not dirt. This spot on my hand is soot from a burn, from slavery…an', an', an' my mother wasn't a whore…"

I soon learned not to love, to push it away even when people tried to come close, people who I wished to be close to me, my fellow crew mates, never understood my mad ways of thinking, they believed that my plans of escaping would do them harm, that I didn't care for their well being and was selfish. Those who did try to love me I felt they didn't deserve me, I was used to being worthless all my life and beaten that it had stuck in my mad brain that I was. I craved love but yet I ran from it, I pushed it away…

Epilogue

Breaking into another fit of coughing my body ached, I felt like I was about to die, slip away from the pain prison in which my soul was held, my breathing grew calm again as the coughing fit seized, looking towards the figure I noticed the shaking of her body, I realised that she was crying, I suddenly came to noticed the wetness of my own face.

My cheeks were wet from the tears which I had shed, my eyes stung causing me to close them, the images of my childhood still flooded my brain, my chest rose and fell deeply as my breathing grew heavy as I slipped into another state of unconsciousness, leaving the figure to speak to me about pushing love away "Jacob, don't push me away, please…we're family…"