If I were to ask you for the definition of a pirate I imagine you would probably give me a long, drawn-out description of a murdering, thieving, rum-soaked old man with one eye and a wooden leg. If you were feeling particularly particular, you may even add in a parrot for good measure. You would then go on to tell me that they are revolting creatures, despicable law breakers who wouldn't be able to tell right from wrong if it slapped them straight across the face.
But then say we switched places for a moment and you were the one asking for my opinion. I would disagree with you.
Not all pirates are like that. True, that given half the chance, most of them would rob your house and slit your throat without a second thought on the matter. But I'm not talking about most of them.
There were once a select few known as the 'People's Pirates'. They stole and they killed, drank and sailed the same as any other but they did it for the good of the people. And that is what set them apart. I spent my life following them, admiring them, wishing to have but a taste of their courage.
But this story is not about them – at least not directly. Neither is it about me. I am simply an observer, a narrator finally telling a tale that should have been told long ago, and in doing so I gain nothing but the hope that my mind will be put to rest when it is done. But like I said, this story isn't about me.
It's about her.