Black.
The colour of death and the sign of evil. The colour that is most prominent during war and periods of unrest. The colour that portends the arrival of pirates.
Red.
The colour of blood and the sign of lust. The colour that clashes with black during war and periods of unrest. The colour that portends life's demise.
I stared at his somber visage and it struck my heart so painfully so, that this man was in no means joking. But I could not, despite my respect, admiration and loyalty towards him, utter a single word of protest. The crew knew, sooner or later, that he would disappear from our sight. There was simply nothing we could do about it. The ache in my chest throbbed with every passing second, yet the fool stood on the deck and burst into a hearty laugh. He looked at me.
"We are all fools, aren't we, Rayleigh?"
His words would always bring forth a staunch spirit in us, but not today. It can't possibly end this way. Leaping across the ledge, the idiot headed west. Us, we stood on the deck, our silent yearning for the buffoon to return engulfed in the melancholic waves. I glanced over at the young man donning a straw hat and I knew that his dreams were robbed off him. Eyes glazed over, we silently waited under the sky's tears. We waited, and waited. But nothing came.
Barely a few days had gone by when the World Government announced the cretin's execution. I crumpled the piece of news – tearing it, shredding it, stamping on it. Grabbing my coat, I headed to the given location. By dawn I had arrived, my knees weak from exhaustion. I massaged my temples, seated on a stool in a nearby bar. From the window of the second level premise, I gained a clear view of the pathway.
The crowd was silent. The mighty figure, with his mighty coat and a mighty aura, strode down the path in a mighty manner that would make the bravest marine cower. Ruffled black hair swayed in the breeze, his silly mustache laced the foolish smile on his lips. I spotted the red-haired adolescent and his clown partner observing from a narrow alley – they were frozen in awe, in shame, in guilt and in pain. But it was what we were all feeling, except for that bastard.
"My wealth and treasures? "
Damn him.
"If you want it, I'll let you have it."
I reached out for the bottle of rum I had saved.
"Search for it! "
Roger...
"I left all of it at that place!"
Why?
And as the Sun's warmth filled the young ones with hope, he showed off that trademark grin of his one final time.
Silence, then a chorus of cheers and salutations, a din of joy and a spirit unmatched since the first time I met him. I gulped down the rum and I couldn't help but burst into an outrage of laughter. Hats and scarves flew up into the air, a standing ovation for the King, our final meeting. Children ran down the streets in a frenzy and I could no longer spot the two clowns from before. Who cares, they will eventually choose their own paths in life.
I drank to my heart's content, and laughed like I have never laughed before. That idiot, he had always loved to make a name out of himself, to be known far and wide. Whitebeard would be cross. Still, I've always wondered if I've ever really understood the captain. A strange man, he would never let anyone else know what went on in his mind. But I dared not question his logic. He always had a reason for everything. That was all that mattered. He did not abandon us, he saved us. For eternity, we would be in his debt.
Black, the colour of the King's pride and power.
Red, the colour of the King's might and kindness.
Why am I crying?