Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean or any of its characters,
places, etc. I do own Fiona, Henry Amherst, her dad. I don't own the
lyrics to any of the songs used or any of the poems used – they're the
artist's work (should be obvious).
I am colorblind Coffee black and egg white Pull me out from inside I am ready I am ready I am ready I am
I sat on the bench at the train station platform, waiting for the train to come take me to Charlottesville, then to Virginia Beach by bus. A large black suitcase, covered with stickers from different countries, cities, peace signs, '60's designs and phrases, and book titles, sat next to me while a backpack hung from my shoulders. My guitar sat propped up against the back of the bench. My breath condensed in the cold air, and even my mittened hands were numb. My cheeks tingled, and I shifted, trying to get warmer but to no avail. I had been abandoned, plain and simple. Thrown out with a bruised, cut face, a fistful of money, a suitcase and backpack, a pet ferret, and abandoned. You could safely say I was the relic of a long-lost love that had died shortly after being born and resulted in me. Oh, not to say that my parents didn't still live together. Well, I take it back, they didn't, hadn't since I was 8. But that didn't prevent them from violent, screaming arguments that raged from across the street or across the room, and someone usually got hurt. That someone was 99.9 times out of 100 me. The arguments were hard to ignore – always loud, always there. Why they still saw each other was beyond me. But it always hurt, mentally, physically and verbally. After cursing each other out they'd come after me, cursing me and my sorry existence and excuse of a life. That was usually my mother's job. My father would beat me, using his big hands to inflict bruises on my face, arms, legs, and a belt for my backside. I had stopped crying years before, having learned that the tears only made it worse. The only thing that was strange was that they were never drunk when the argued. When they were drunk, they avoided each other like the plague. I learned to keep my mouth shut either way, and stay out of the house as often as I could.
Taffy stuck, tongue tied Stuttered shook and uptight Pull me out from inside I am ready I am ready I am ready I am...fine
So one day I finally pitched in my can of beans and got thrown out for being an impudent bitch who talked too much and caused too much trouble. They had even packed for me, providing enough food for at least a few days on the road, and I remember my father slapping two sweaty $50 bills in my hand and shoving me down the steps. I tripped, landing face down on the icy cement. The air in my lungs was gone, my face numb with cold and pain, and it was a struggle to get back up as the door slammed behind me and the argument continued inside. The verbal attacks were usually about what a screw-up mistake I had been, that I was a waste of time and money, that the only good I was worth was for chores, and I didn't even do those well. My mother would think up things to say, blaming me for the drug addictions, the boyfriends who turned sour on her. They weren't true, but I didn't act ignorant. I just kept going.
I am covered in skin No one gets to come in Pull me out from inside I am folded, and unfolded, and unfolding I am
I was going to the only place where I knew I would be accepted, and where my parents would never come unless their own lives depended on it – Virginia Beach, the Naval Base, where my uncle was currently the commanding officer of his flying squadron. He was the only real family I had, since he wasn't married and didn't have any kids. I went there whenever I could. It seemed like a nice enough idea at the time, and the tickets were cheap. Admittedly, the ticket master, a woman in a crisp uniform, had given my battered face odd looks as she handed over the necessary tickets, but I had tried to ignore her stares and those of the few other people on the platform who didn't think I noticed them. Things were going to change, had to change, had already changed.
Colorblind Coffee black and egg white Pull me out from inside
"Hey, you goin' to Virginia Beach?" a man asked. I jerked out of my blank stare, glancing up at a ragged face of a construction worker.
"Yeah, why?"
"Train's boarding." He motioned to the big locomotive standing on the tracks, smoke whistling from it's wheels.
"Thanks." He shrugged, going back to the paint bucket and brush next to the window. Rising, I boarded, not ever wanting to look back.
I am ready I am ready I am ready I am...fine I am...fine I am fine
The train pulled put, chugging and straining to gain speed. The car was empty besides the girl sitting in a window seat on the left side, staring out at the rocky forest-covered hill across the tracks from the platform. She didn't mind, though – better to be alone than being questioned.
- Song lyrics - "I am Colorblind," by Counting Crows
I am colorblind Coffee black and egg white Pull me out from inside I am ready I am ready I am ready I am
I sat on the bench at the train station platform, waiting for the train to come take me to Charlottesville, then to Virginia Beach by bus. A large black suitcase, covered with stickers from different countries, cities, peace signs, '60's designs and phrases, and book titles, sat next to me while a backpack hung from my shoulders. My guitar sat propped up against the back of the bench. My breath condensed in the cold air, and even my mittened hands were numb. My cheeks tingled, and I shifted, trying to get warmer but to no avail. I had been abandoned, plain and simple. Thrown out with a bruised, cut face, a fistful of money, a suitcase and backpack, a pet ferret, and abandoned. You could safely say I was the relic of a long-lost love that had died shortly after being born and resulted in me. Oh, not to say that my parents didn't still live together. Well, I take it back, they didn't, hadn't since I was 8. But that didn't prevent them from violent, screaming arguments that raged from across the street or across the room, and someone usually got hurt. That someone was 99.9 times out of 100 me. The arguments were hard to ignore – always loud, always there. Why they still saw each other was beyond me. But it always hurt, mentally, physically and verbally. After cursing each other out they'd come after me, cursing me and my sorry existence and excuse of a life. That was usually my mother's job. My father would beat me, using his big hands to inflict bruises on my face, arms, legs, and a belt for my backside. I had stopped crying years before, having learned that the tears only made it worse. The only thing that was strange was that they were never drunk when the argued. When they were drunk, they avoided each other like the plague. I learned to keep my mouth shut either way, and stay out of the house as often as I could.
Taffy stuck, tongue tied Stuttered shook and uptight Pull me out from inside I am ready I am ready I am ready I am...fine
So one day I finally pitched in my can of beans and got thrown out for being an impudent bitch who talked too much and caused too much trouble. They had even packed for me, providing enough food for at least a few days on the road, and I remember my father slapping two sweaty $50 bills in my hand and shoving me down the steps. I tripped, landing face down on the icy cement. The air in my lungs was gone, my face numb with cold and pain, and it was a struggle to get back up as the door slammed behind me and the argument continued inside. The verbal attacks were usually about what a screw-up mistake I had been, that I was a waste of time and money, that the only good I was worth was for chores, and I didn't even do those well. My mother would think up things to say, blaming me for the drug addictions, the boyfriends who turned sour on her. They weren't true, but I didn't act ignorant. I just kept going.
I am covered in skin No one gets to come in Pull me out from inside I am folded, and unfolded, and unfolding I am
I was going to the only place where I knew I would be accepted, and where my parents would never come unless their own lives depended on it – Virginia Beach, the Naval Base, where my uncle was currently the commanding officer of his flying squadron. He was the only real family I had, since he wasn't married and didn't have any kids. I went there whenever I could. It seemed like a nice enough idea at the time, and the tickets were cheap. Admittedly, the ticket master, a woman in a crisp uniform, had given my battered face odd looks as she handed over the necessary tickets, but I had tried to ignore her stares and those of the few other people on the platform who didn't think I noticed them. Things were going to change, had to change, had already changed.
Colorblind Coffee black and egg white Pull me out from inside
"Hey, you goin' to Virginia Beach?" a man asked. I jerked out of my blank stare, glancing up at a ragged face of a construction worker.
"Yeah, why?"
"Train's boarding." He motioned to the big locomotive standing on the tracks, smoke whistling from it's wheels.
"Thanks." He shrugged, going back to the paint bucket and brush next to the window. Rising, I boarded, not ever wanting to look back.
I am ready I am ready I am ready I am...fine I am...fine I am fine
The train pulled put, chugging and straining to gain speed. The car was empty besides the girl sitting in a window seat on the left side, staring out at the rocky forest-covered hill across the tracks from the platform. She didn't mind, though – better to be alone than being questioned.
- Song lyrics - "I am Colorblind," by Counting Crows