a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
Nami was tired of taking.
It was all she did. She woke, she stumbled through a new and unimportant town, she stole, she stole some more, she ran, she sailed away, she started again. She charmed unsuspecting pirates with all the appeal she (only fifteen) could muster; long orange hair being her pride and joy, chestnut eyes with hidden mischievousness, yet deep and dark and pitted just like the crater that once was her island.
Nami watched the clouds pass and fiddled with her pocket-sized bag of loot, breathing slowly and carefully as the water gilded around her and the sail shifted in anticipation of strong winds. The leathery bag in her hands contained barely enough to buy more than a few meals at a cheap saloon, but Nami hardly cared anymore.
Almost indifferently, she remembered longing for money. Piles of it, living rich with servants to await on her every call.. the greed had filled her with pride and excitement and the exhilaration of the "chase" was her haven, and yet - the fun in taking was gone, and so was her reason for it all in the first place. Now she did it because it was a habit, a morally wrong habit that kept her sane and made her feel as if she had a purpose. Nami let the pouch slip from her grasp and gazed at it momentarily as it rolled back and forth on the deck. She barely remembered the feeling of a sneaky getaway, nor the way it all resolved like a fast-paced crime movie in the dark streets of the night.
Nami sighed, let her eyes close, and left her ship to be at the mercy of the waves.
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
The town smelt like death and dust. The rotting forms of houses leaned over the streets as if they would collapse any second, their old roof tiles hanging pathetically and shaking with the smallest gusts of wind. People watched her from the paneless windows; the gleaming eyes of starving children stalked her from the alleyways, taking in her peachy cheeks and healthy hair.
A boy, not any older then five, faked pitiful tears and asked her for her shoes. She continued walking, undisturbed and silent, keeping a tight grasp on her small bag of money. She shoved the burning, guilty image of the boy's famished body and taunt skin from her mind.
The island was dying, and no one cared.
She found the place she was looking for at the end of the road, nearing the outskirts of the famished countryside. The inn, simply put, was in shambles, but in far better condition than the rest of the street. She entered with caution, and saw a small desk warmed by the light of a dying candle.
The innkeeper, a tall man whose features were hardly recognizable in the low lighting, had hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. He was far skinnier than he should've been, but in considerably better shape than the dying, flea-infested children on the sidewalks.
A cough resounded from one of the rooms to Nami's left. It was sharp, wet, and sickly, and it sounded like a child's. The innkeeper in front of her grimaced when the sound dulled, and he winced again, as if physically pained, when the cough died away and the child (wherever he was) let out a muffled, throaty groan. The broken chandelier creaked in the now suffocating silence. Nami felt like she was surrounded by ghosts.
When the innkeeper finally noticed her approaching figure, his eyes widened a tad, as if he was surprised to see a woman so young in parts like these. Nami was used to those types of looks.
"I have enough for one night," Nami broke the silence, slamming four rusty silver coins on the plywood table, "what's the cheapest room you've got?"
"That's a bit of a small supply you've got there," the innkeeper commented, and Nami felt her temper so short.
"Just give me a room," she retorted. It wasn't a question.
The man shook his head, sighing, and he replaced her measly payment with a rusty key. Nami turned to go upstairs, before stopping short and questioning the man one more time.
"Sorry," Nami blurted, "but do you know if there are any merchant ships near this port that I could catch a ride on?"
The man smiled. It was sour, almost.
"Any specific destination?"
"Yeah," she replied, "far away from here."
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
Nami woke up in the bed of sheet-covered straw when something sharp pierced the skin on her forearm. She yelped in alarm, leaping off the bed in a terrified fury and assaulting her attacker, but she suddenly felt light-headed and dizzy in the dark, and collapsed to the floor, wooden splinters scratching her knees and legs.
Hands gripped her arms, feeble but firm, and a gag suddenly choked her as she uselessly tried to claw at the stranger's face; her movements had become progressively more sluggish and slow.
A spark sounded in the silence, and Nami's eyes stung when the candle in front of her was lit. From her spot on the floor, she recognized the figure kneeling above her, and noticed an empty, dripping syringe on the floor. Bile rose to her throat.
"You'll be going far away from here," The male reasoned, his eyes flickering in the candlelight as he tied up her pathetically flailing limbs, "but I don't think it'll be very nice out there, for a girl like you."
A seizure rocketed through her body. She didn't want this. The darkness felt closer, caving in on her, she was drowning, she was drowning -
"I'm sorry." The innkeeper murmured, his eyes misty and sunken and oh so far away, "but my son's going to die if he doesn't get treated; this is what fits the bill."
Nami let out a muffled scream.
so he opens his throat to sing
The walls were permanently covered in dust. Though to any other pair of eyes, they would've seemed pristine and spotless - but to her eyes, she needed to start again. She did. She started at the crack of dawn; first she cleaned the silks and luxurious fabrics of the Enchantresses' clothing till her knuckles rubbed raw and pink, then she sewed back the buttons on endless piles of blouses, then she scrubbed the china dishes and the crystal champagne glasses, then she brushed away the specks of dirt lining the professionally painted tiles. She continued with the counters, then the curtains, then she beat at the rugs(the cushions had stains so she soaked them in soap), she swept the hallways, she polished the statues in the halls. She couldn't forget the mirrors, so she sprayed them twice - then it was noon time, she hung the wet slipcovers outside to dry.
The table was set, the wines were prepared, the cooks downstairs worked feverishly. She took down the cushion covers, which were finally free of messes, and returned them daintily and carefully, as though they were gold. She looked up just in time to see the Enchantress.
An alluring woman strode in the room. Long, swirling black hair, porcelain skin, plump pink lips, delicate grey eyes; she was dressed in all the jewels in the seas. Pearls were strewn throughout her hair, jades lined her wrists and fingers, necklaces of gold adorned her neck and chest. A cloud of crimson circled her feet, drifting as she walked; the red belonged to a dress of light fabrics layered over her hips with a stunning elegance that made her seem almost otherworldly.
"Slave!" she accosted, her glare searing, "Where is my veil?!"
The slave with sheared orange hair set down her basket of freshly-dried and freshly-folded laundry, which had been observed and checked all the hours as she has hoped not to be scolded. She lifted the silk, and presented it to the woman with a vacuous stare.
The Enchantress snatched the veil but it suddenly slipped from her chiseled fingers, a horrified expression rising to her face as if she had been burned. An arm swung mercilessly at the slave girl's cheek, and the weak thing was thrown back from the force, she fell heavily onto her knees before she lifted her shaking wrists to nurse her swollen face. The Enchantress turned, her dress was shifting and twirling with her, full and beautiful, just as she was beautiful, just as her home was beautiful, just as her parties were beautiful.
The Enchantress was gone, her heels clicked on the marble, the slave girl was still frozen on the floor. The slave stared at the veil; it had trickled to the tile like water, diamonds lined the sides, woven in the finest shades of a dark, mysterious, prepossessing blue.
Nami reached for the cloth, and felt it with calloused hands. It was slightly damp.
The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
Nami watched the Enchantress give her orders, preparing for her first time out at sea. She had been sent the most gorgeous of ships by her soon-to-be husband, complete with a crew and rations. That hadn't stopped the woman from bringing Nami along, and the orange-haired woman was mopping the deck per her request.
"Bring the gold to the ship!" The Enchantress called giddily, a malicious smile spreading on her pale face, "We'll show the peasants of the world how important is Celestial Dragons really are!"
The sailors agreed in hurried fashion, and brought the gold up to the deck, uncovering piles of shining material and riches of all kinds. The gold shone in the sun, giving the ship a metallic shine that could be seen from miles away.
Nami dunked the mop. If the Enchantress was expecting a calm, peaceful sea past the island's horizon, she would be very disappointed.
of things unknown
but longed for still
Navigation was perhaps Nami's best skill of all. She could turn the sails to ride out any storm, she could predict the most minuscule of changes and the most bizarre of weather patterns. She could tell the temperature by just feeling the wind, know her direction by just glancing at the stars, realize the time by just the height of the sun.
But of course, no one knew of this, except her.
So it amused Nami, the scurrying sailors who desperately clung to the ropes, and the Enchantress' infuriated expression as she screamed curses to their incompetence. A simple, easy-going storm had the Enchantress in a panic, as her trip to meet her future fiance would be delayed and not as perfect as royal celestial had hoped.
The ill-fated Enchantress shrilled with fury when a wave crashed upon the ship and soaked her beautiful dress with salty water.
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
Nami dunked the magenta silk skirt in the leaky bucket, rubbing it and turning it before rubbing it again. It was a mindless task, one she had long since gotten used to, and it calmed her when she brushed the soft, damp materials against her rough, scarred palms.
The soapy water sloshed as the boat sailed along, and Nami was warmed by the sun trickling through the windows of the boat's cellar. Nami smiled contently; at least she was at sea, her favorite place in the world.
She moved on to the next garment, then the next, then the next, but she was startled from her rhythm when the light that had been glowing in the room suddenly disappeared, and she was left in darkness.
Nami scrambled to her feet, wobbling slightly when the ship was forcefully rocked by a crashing wave. The quick absence of daylight was unnatural, and there was only one possible mass to encounter in these seas, and based on her position below deck, the only thing that could be blocking her window was - another ship.
The world turned lopsided and Nami was thrown across the wood floor, a high-pitched whistling filling the air and blowing through the hull. The boat was damaged, not irreplaceably so, but enough to keep them handicapped and unable to escape. The ship groaned like an invalid and Nami stumbled, ears ringing, disoriented and shocked. The enemy had fired at such a close range that the ship had almost flipped onto its side. Nami was lucky though. The cannon had demolished the bow side cellar, which was separated from where she resided - the stern cellar - by a wall. So she was alright, painful scrapes riding down her arms from her sudden fall, but alive.
A roar filled the air; not of machinery or wind, Nami realized, but of people, and the unmistakable sound of gunshots and clangs of metal weapons. The shouts turned to screams, as passengers, slaves, and soldiers alike were cut down on deck. A shiver trembled through Nami's body (though she felt no cold).
Someone fiddled with the latch of the trapdoor above her. Nami froze on the spot, as footsteps caused the wood above to creek, and voices muffled by the boards.
She was trembling in fear, scared for her life, as the hatch began to open, and light spilled past the cracks.
So she moved. She dived behind a pile of wooden boxes, huddling up the the wall as close as she could as someone climbed down the ladder and shuffled into the space.
Nami's heart beat so loudly she was surprised the intruder didn't hear it. The stranger stopped moving, and she held her breath. He must've noticed the pile of discarded clothing, and the spilled bucket of suds.
"I know yer 'n 'ere, sweet'art." A gruff voice snickered, his accent heavy and noticeably pirate. And God, Nami hated pirates.
She felt around in the damp cellar, until she grasped a conveniently placed slab of wood. She lifted it slowly in the silence, lanky arms shuddering; she crept behind the pirate, her scrappy weapon raised high.
He whipped around and met her eyes. Nami froze and fear shot through her limbs like poison.
"There you ar'," the pirate sneered, and his stance relaxed noticeably. "Why dun't you just come with me; we could have some use fer ya, per'tty girl."
Nami could've thrown the board to the ground and given up. She could've let her life go to hell once again and become a slave to someone else.
But this time, she was no longer at the mercy of her captors. This time she would fight back, she would escape; she would rather drown in her own blood then spend one more god awful day with those god awful bastards. She was done.
She wasn't going to be a slave. She was going to be free.
So she swung the wood as hard as her skinny arms could muster, high on anger and exhilaration, so hateful towards the people who touched her and hit her and confined her and cut her hair and stole away her freedom like a measly pouch of coins. He yelped and fell back; she slammed the board again and again, slamming and slamming until splinters dug into her fingers and blood stained her rags. She screeched and growled like a wild animal while her prey thrashed and convulsed in pain beneath her; she didn't stop until she grew tired. Finally, she stumbled to her feet and stepped back to admire her handiwork, but when her vision cleared she saw the mess she had created and her stomach churned.
Nami's throat stung, but she choked her liquid breakfast down and swallowed deeply, her temper fading. She strode past the body with the caved-in face and took the damp plank with her, climbing the unstable ladder and creaking open the door; she found the deck empty of fighting, instead covered in the corpses of Celestial soldiers (who were said to be invincible).
The pirates had sailed off somewhere, a group of no-names who had seen an opportunity and taken it. They did not care for the slaves aboard the ship, nor any of the Celestial passengers, but only for the gold that the Enchantress had piled pretentiously on the deck.
Nami wandered past the clusters of fallen figures, the slab of wood slipping from her slick grasp. The wind shifted and Nami noticed the change, the sudden drift and current indicating an incoming mild storm. Nami walked on soundlessly, until she found a certain body crumpled near the bow.
The Enchantress was perhaps the most mangled of all.
Bullet wounds were strewn across her body like constellations, her hair was soaked in her own crimson fluids, her toes and fingers were broken beyond recognition, her teeth had been yanked and her dress had been torn. She was slumped and destroyed, her mouth open and eyes rolled back in a permanent scream. However, there was only one thing that caught Nami's attention.
Laying in the mess that was the Enchantress was the prepossessing blue veil, framing the corpses' bloody face like a mask of tears.
Nami ripped it from her inky tresses and tore it apart.
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.