As a child, we're all told numerous stories around the time for bed; for the girls, the story of how the prince rescued the princess, with a happy ending, and for the boys, stories of pirates and adventure was always given. As for me, I was neither given the stories of the princes and princesses, nor the stories of an adventure with a happy ending, for me, it was all of pirates, but for me, it was no story, but reality.
With a heavy sigh, I continued to struggle for a strong grip upon the ancient oak wood that had once been apart of the vicious beauty that was known as my ship, La Rosa Muerte. The waters smacked up against my porcelain face nearly causing me to loose grip, but I was able to keep a hold on it, somehow. I knew that I wouldn't last long upon just one piece of broken wood, the splinters seeping into my skin, and soon, a vast storm would be coming that would make it nearly impossible for me to survive.
"But I've lived my life to how it should have been. . ." I whispered.
The thunder crackled from above, as the rain drops began to pour down upon my face, dampening my chocolate brown strands to stick to my face. Though as I had whispered previously, that I've lived my life to how it should have been, it still felt like I've been cheated, betrayed, and double-crossed, and even while I lye in the middle of the ocean, ready to sink down to Davey Jones' locker, I can't shake the rage that floats within my crystal blue eyes. And, why should I? I am Maria, a Barbossa, and we Barbossa's are not double crossed, we double-cross others.
And all the while I lye here angered, I can't help but think of Will, the man I loved, but lost to another. I bashed my bloody hand against the wood causing it to crack. Reminiscent memories of the past wondered my mind and then I began to question my earlier words, Had I lived my life like it should have been?
Almost instantly, as though on cue, I began to have a big flashback on how my life had been lived, starting at the young age of nine.
"Don't make even the slightest of noises, Maria," my mother's tender voice rang through my ears, as the brunette closed the cabinets, using a blanket to cover over it to make the doors not so suspicious like something could be hidden away within its confines.
Soon after my mother had hidden me away, the oak door to our home had been kicked in; a loud 'boom' could be heard throughout the room as the soldiers of the British army entered without warning, their guns pointed directly at my mother as though they would kill her on point if given the order, and I could tell that they would, by the look in their eyes. It was a look they the people often gave my mother on Port Royal, a look of disgust, and malice and over what? An affair that had taken place nearly ten years previously, that resulted in the birth of, me.
I didn't understand back then, but I understand now. That the price of any swindling with a pirate was punishable by hanging, and to this day, I still cringe at the memory. As they drug my mother away, one soldier holding her by her silky chocolate locks of hair, yanking at her skull causing her to scream in pain, whilst another soldier drug her by her shoulder, so hard that it looked as though if he yanked any harder, her would surely pull her arm straight from the socket.
I remember how I wanted to go out there and jump on their backs and scream for them to let go of my mother, treating her as though she were some common whore that I saw every day on the streets, their make-up done to where they looked like the dolls that the other girls played with, almost the same, though they were played with by the likes of older men. My mother was of no sort, she was beautiful, kind, and caring, and smarter than any man I've seen on the Port, or so I say.
To this day, I could still hear her screaming, as I pushed myself from the oak cabinets as I saw the coast was clear, my slightly tan cheeks soaked with tears causing them to be of a slightly rose tint. I quickly wiped my tears away, heaving a small sigh as I pushed myself up to my feet, dusting the dirt off of my blue dress, the dress my mother had made me by hand for my ninth birthday.
Keeping a small distance, I was engulfed by the angry mob that followed the soldiers who carried my mother up to the wooden stage which held a large upside-down L-like pole, with a noose hanging from it. I wanted to puke, I didn't want to watch my mother hang from a rope until the life had disappeared from her crystal blue eyes, but I couldn't turn away.
They placed the rope around her neck, tightening it and adjusting before taking a few steps back. I stared into my mothers eyes, as her own bore into mine. I felt a burning sensation in my nose, which I usually got whenever I was ready to cry, and sure enough, slowly the silver tears began to slide down my tan-rosy cheeks. Continuing to look, my mother forced a sincere smile across her lips as she looked up to the sky, a single tear treading down her face, and then looked back towards me. The smile still on her face, she mouthed three words that I would never hear from her mouth once more, I love you.
"I love you too Momm—"
They kicked the wooden stool from under her, and let the trap door down, and within what seemed like a split second, my mother's life had been stolen by those who had deemed it justifiable to punish whomever they seemed to be within sin. I remember all the rage I felt that day, from that day, I made a vow that I'd never trust anyone who involved themselves with the British at Port Royal. From that day, I strayed from place to place, doing whatever I could to feed myself from the night, whether it be stealing, or robbing the drunken men who came from the pubs early in the morning. Whatever I could to survive, until I reached the age of twenty when I decided that minimal robbing would get me no where in life, I would become the very thing that the british were against the most, a Pirate, and I'll be damned if they would do the same thing to me, that they did to my mother.
Maria Barbossa will not leave this earth by death of hanging from a noose.