Prologue: A Missed Chance
He couldn't hear the cannons as they screamed over his head. He couldn't hear their loud splash as they hit the ocean in front of him. He couldn't hear the gulls as they barked their cries, nor could he hear the waves as they crashed upon the rocky cliff he was seated on.
All he could hear was his captain screaming his name. His namaka screaming it shortly after. In his mind's eye, he could vividly remember a hand coming towards him, intending to pull him towards the boat already out at sea, fleeing from the marines and their cannon fire. And he had reached out. Oh, how he had reached out towards that hand, elation coursing through him that his captain still wanted him. After everything he had done, they wanted him back. Just a few more inches, a firm grasp, and he could begin repairing the mental damage he had done to himself and his nakama.
And then the marines got a lucky shot in. It had not hurt the boat christened The Thousand Sunny Go. No, it had done worse. Striking the water next to the boat had knocked the Sunny off course, causing the hand coming towards him to swerve at the last second.
He remembers the brief feel of finger tips as two hands, one his own and the other made of rubber, strained to grasp onto each other.
And then there was nothing.
The Thousand Sunny Go, a silhouette against a red sunset, and the cries of the crew on board will forever be seared into his memory.
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