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OUR WINNER HAS BEEN SELECTED! SCROLL DOWN BELOW TO READ OUR JUDGE'S WITTY COMMENTS AND THE WINNING STORY! |
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Bloody Roger Pirate Contest How Did the Pirate Lose His Body Part? THE STORIES HAVE BEEN JUDGED! READ OUR SURPRISE JUDGE'S COMMENTS BELOW! |
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Brief Biography of our Pirate Story Judge, Stephen Nichols: Stephen Nichols is a professional video game designer and programmer who happens to love reading stories. He's been making virtual worlds for over 15 years, which makes him suitable for critiquing others' creations. He also loves making children cry.
Note from Humdinger's Editor, Chris Goebel: http://www.realmserver.com/community_CL.shtml You can get a free trial of the The Realm at: Stephen also designed SnoopFree "privacy protection software" to make sure your computer has privacy! Keep in mind that Stephen's quick wit may or may not reflect the opinion of Humdinger Literary E-zine, but such is the case with any judge. On to the Stephen Nichols' hilarious judging!
"An Aye for an Eye" By Matt Casey Comments: Overall, I liked this story-nothing like a story about poking eyes out to get me going. And any story that has the phrase "poop door" in it immediately gets points in my book. However, it's a bit short for the 3,000 word limit ... weighing in at 782 words. Perhaps some of the rough edges could have been smoothed out with more content? Specifically, the transition from helping the captain to fighting seems weaker than it should be. I expected to see some insults fly about before they came to blows. It was entertaining, but a bit light on content. "Finger Cove" Comments: Three sword-wielding ladies? Genius! Ollie was one tough lady, that's for sure. I particularly liked the description of the bystander's decapitation. Short, sweet and with dancing no less. The story is entertaining, but I had to work pretty hard to unravel bits of it. It's a problem with flow, really. Not blood flow, because there was plenty of that. :) In several cases, I had to do a double take to understand what I just read. Good descriptions of carnage and enough body parts lost to start a donor center, although reading it was a bit like bobbing for apples.
"THE STORY OF LUC LE REUT" Comments: Wonderful! This story was a pleasure to read and made me laugh out loud more than once. It's a clever weaving of religion, evil and dental hygiene. I felt a little sad for Luc Le Reut at the end—poor old crazy pirate. What's the moral of the story? Brush your teeth and don't drink sea water! Original story with a well developed pirate character. Engaging writing style. Excellent! CLICK HERE TO READ THE WINNING STORY! "Untitled" Comments: A pirate love story? Almost, but not quite ... I had a hard time following this story—mostly 'cause o' the extensive use o' piratey flap. I liked that it was written from the pirate's point of view, but I can't help thinking that it would have been improved with a nice story-telling setting and better development of the relationship between the captain and Gwyn. Lots of potential here, but execution falls short of my expectations. "The Pittsburg Pirate" Comments: This seems to be some kind of attempt to merge baseball and piracy. At least I think so. If so, it's not doing the job very well. I particularly disliked the propensity of the writer to create long sentences that seem to have no ending in sight not even when you think they should have ended some time ago you know what I mean because it can get pretty trying on the eyes, yes? No "real" body parts were lost (excluding my reading eye). Should have been more thoroughly edited. Run-on sentences galore! |
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Click on an entry to be taken to that story or scroll down the page to live all of the pirate adventures.
By Matt Casey Silo confronts a pirate captain for gold and a girl. How did he lose a body part and why?
By Bonnie (Worthley) McIsaac A wild lass and Captain Headless MacTitan play THE game with the highest stakes. Who loses the body part and why? by Alex Gundy Pirate Luc Le Reut faces a shark head-on. Who loses a body part and why?
By Dan Sullivan This pirate should have never crossed Gwyn the Black! By Mark Blickley What is a modern-day pirate and what body part can he or she lose?
Synopsis: Pirate Luc Le Reut faces a shark head-on. Who loses a body part and why?
For fifty very long years in the 17th century, the pirate feared more than any other was a brilliant and brawny buccaneer called Luc Le Reut. His reputation was certainly justified. If you were unlucky enough to come across him, he’d stick a cutlass in you, and then, as you writhed in pain, he would grin at you—his trademark toothy grin that became the final vision of countless seamen. Luc Le Reut had everything every pirate dreamed of. He engendered fear in everyone alive. He was the poster-boy for evil. His mere name brought shudders to those who heard it, and even motivated children to eat their greens! He fully expected to be known and feared forever. But clearly, this isn’t the case. And this story will answer the question of how Le Reut was robbed of his rightful immortal infamy. It all starts one summer night on a beach, where Le Reut and his crew celebrated their latest conquest, drinking rum and eating tortoise. Le Reut, as usual, was complimenting his crew with a speech. " . . . Hell be frozen when we meet a band of men that you jollies cannot vanquish! You are the finest crew I have ever commanded, and that is that!" While his men cheered, he speared a hunk of tortoise with his sword and took a huge bite out of it. But in doing this he felt a distinct pain in his mouth. He lowered his sword, and peered at a small white object embedded in the meat. "It’s a tooth," said Rudy, the first mate. "A left bicuspid," added the gunner. "I KNOW WHAT IT IS!" Le Reut shouted. This scared his men silent, and with a great sigh he turned his back to them. He walked towards the jungle, staring at the sand, struck with an odd new feeling. Le Reut, while the source of more terror than any other man on the sea, was a stranger to fear himself. He had stared down a towering kraken, without producing a single bead of sweat. He had been captured and sentenced to death, and done nothing but plot his escape. He had sailed through whirlwinds, invaded fortresses, even dueled hundreds of men at once, but was never frightened in the least. Losing a tooth, however—this was a scare. As Le Reut stood at the jungle’s edge, with his head in his hands, Rudy ambled up behind and placed a hand on his captain’s shoulder. "I wouldn’t go making assumptions yet," he said. "Let’s get your mouth checked out." So the next morning, they went to see Dr. "Round" Rodney Smith, the esteemed pirate dentist. Rodney took one look at Luc Le Reut’s teeth, then stood back. "Very impressive gingivitis," he said, smiling. "I don’t think I’ve seen the likes of it once before now." "Very good," said Rudy, who had accompanied his captain as moral support. "What about his teeth?" "Departing," said Rodney pleasantly. "You’ve a year, at the most, before the last one falls out. There is nothing I can do, really, except fashion dentures and perhaps—" Luc Le Reut screamed. It was happening, and he could barely believe it. He would be a toothless old fogey. He would not be feared. He would not be the personification of dread. He would not encourage anyone to eat their greens, except as a cautionary reminder of the importance of a healthy diet. People would . . . people would laugh! He panted, he roared, he thrashed various dental equipment. He killed Rodney, but it didn’t make him feel any better. "I never thought it would end this way," he told Rudy when they were walking from the office. "I thought I’d always be remembered as nothing less than devilry." Then he raised his head and shouted into the sky: "Is this your idea of a sick joke? Is this how you punish me for my many sins?" "I’m sure He’s not exactly pleased with you," said Rudy. "Aye," muttered Le Reut. "You could wear dentures," said Rudy. "You certainly have no shortage of gold." "Ha! You believe that a mouth full of metal can effect fear?" "No, I suppose not." "What possible replacement can there be for my own teeth?" the despairing pirate cried. "Why, nothing short of—" He stopped. Rudy turned around a few paces later. Luc Le Reut was smiling. The captain addressed his crew immediately and informed them of Rodney’s diagnosis. They were almost half as distraught as Le Reut himself had been, but he motioned with his hand for them to hear him out. "I have an expedition in mind for us," he said. "We will seek no gold on this voyage. No gems, no cargo of any kind. We will be searching for one thing and one thing only: a shark." "Why a shark?" asked Tom, the helmsman, over less coherent expressions of confusion. "Because a shark," Le Reut replied vigorously, "bears the only teeth more feared than mine! It is those teeth that we will extract and it is those teeth that will inhabit my mouth! The name Le Reut will not fade from fame, me boys! Not while there is a breath in my body!" Le Reut continued to holler, but only jolly roars could be heard now. In an hour, the barque was bound for Still, when his barque finally reached "I don’t understand it!" cried Rudy, when all the men were back on the barque. "This area is usually teeming with sharks!" "Congratulations!" Le Reut shouted at the setting sun. "You take my teeth, then you rid the bay of every shark. You have won." "Don’t speak that way," said Rudy. "We will keep hunting. We will search every bay in all the world." "No!" Le Reut snapped. "We will not do anything. It is time to send me walking." Gasps filled the ship. "You can’t mean that!" said Rudy. "We are your crew, we will never abandon you for any reason!" "Your loyalty warms my heart," said Le Reut, "but it does not change my mind. You are all promising young pirates with healthy gums. You each have a chance at achieving the eternal status I have been robbed of. I will not endanger your careers, your images, by allowing you to fight under a toothless old fogy." "Captain," said Rudy. "I can speak for the whole crew when I say we love you and haven’t a speck of rancor for what is or isn’t behind your lips." "DO NOT ARGUE WITH ME!" the captain shouted. He tore off his coat and leaped over the starboard rail so quickly he nicked his arm on a nail. "Adieu!" he bellowed at the barque from the water. "Captain!" Rudy called. "Yes, my dear friend?" "We will never forget you." Le Reut nodded and swam toward the shore. Here, on a strange beach, Le Reut sat, sobbing into his hands. It was all over . . . everything. He was no longer Captain Luc Le Reut, the most feared pirate in all the world. He was merely a sad, wet old man with an expensive hat. He’d have to live in solitude now, of course, as he could never stand mockery. He resolved to gather gold from his caches, build a home on a secluded countryside and there endure the rest of his miserable days. But for now, he could only weep. He felt his tears trickling down his arm. No, not tears, he saw, as he lowered his hands. He was bleeding from where he’d been incised by the nail. A nail that Jacob, his former carpenter, had no doubt planted with various other traps to help foil an invasion by law enforcers. Le Reut managed to chuckle softly at this. Jacob was a hopeless worrier, but a genius with wood. Le Reut’s watery gaze followed the blood from its source, onto the sand where it had formed a dotted trail. The trail continued out into the bay, which was now a flawless skin, magnificently shimmered by the dimming semi-sphere that sat on the distant horizon. A flawless skin, that is, except for a gray protuberance Le Reut spotted at the end of his floating trail of blood. Dabbing his eyes, he saw the thin mass was triangular and that it was speeding towards him. Le Reut leapt to his feet. Could it possibly be . . . ? It was, he decided, when the object darted closer. It was a dorsal fin. In a second, he forgot about Jacob and he forgot about the house and the secluded countryside. He jumped to his feet, wiped his blood and rushed to collect reeds and vines, with which he constructed a sturdy rope. Then he stood, jittery, watching the fin approach the beach. This was it. This was everything. The shark slowed down fifty feet or so from the water’s edge, then began to swim circles and Le Reut could see now that his prey was a gargantuan beast. He dashed toward it, spraying bloody brine into the air and dove downward. When the brave pirate next emerged from the water, it was only long enough to take a breath, for he was ferociously wrestling with his miraculous find, attempting to fetter the fish while fighting not to be dragged into the depths of the sea. Finally, he was able to bind the shark’s fins, and drag it, thrashing, onto the beach, where it desperately rolled from side to side, its gleaming wet skin collecting a raiment of sand. Le Reut punched it in the head and it lay still on its belly. Le Reut stood and goggled at the creature. It had come to him. His prize. His solution. His salvation. A scene invaded his mind’s eye. A child, hundreds of years from now, trembling as he read of a murderous corsair who wore the teeth of a giant shark. Le Reut giggled with pleasure, then dropped to his knees in front of that glorious specimen he had hunted all day—ah, but it had seemed like a year! He seized its jaws, and pulled them apart. Immediately, his smile faded. He sat there for several seconds, staring into the rosy maw before him. Then, for the third time that day, Luc Le Reut screamed. The shark he had captured . . . had not a single tooth. Le Reut stood, spun around and yelled at the crimson clouds. "Amused, Lord? Do you think you’re clever? I wasn’t killing or plundering this time! I just wanted what is rightfully mine. You have always had fame, Lord, and status. You will always have the world terrified of you. Yet you gleefully take these boons from one who has earned them. And you tease in the process! Well, you win. I am broken!" Le Reut bowed his head. Then, from behind him, a scratchy voice said, "What are you hollering about, human? You already gave me a tremendous headache." Le Reut performed a wary 180. The shark was grinning at him. "I certainly don’t want to talk to you right now," said Le Reut to the shark. "Well, that’s mighty rude, isn’t it? Seeing as you attacked me in my domain, tied me up, and kidnapped me to the land." "And were you not following my blood?" was Le Reut’s irritated reply. "I enjoy the smell," said the shark. "Actually, I find it hard to devour anything that isn’t seaweed." "Well, poor old shark," said Le Reut. "Aren’t you going to tell me what you’re so upset about?" "It’s nothing you’d understand." "Try me," said the shark. "If you must know," said Le Reut, "I am the ocean’s most notorious killer and I evoke terror in the heart of every person on this planet. But that is all about to change, because I am losing my teeth." At this, the shark cackled uproariously. "Right!" he hollered. "I wouldn’t understand that at all! My dear sir, I might’ve used your exact words a few months ago! Good gracious, don’t you wonder why I’m the only shark in the bay? I’m an embarrassment, that’s why!" The shark resumed its jolly laughter and Le Reut glared at it furiously. But before long he perceived one corner of his mouth was journeying upwards. Then the other corner. And soon he was laughing uncontrollably. Seconds later, he was rolling on the sand. When their laughter ceased, Le Reut and the shark sighed together. Le Reut crawled to the fish’s side, untied his makeshift rope and gazed once again across the ocean. "I liked the screams," he said. "I loved the screams," said the shark. "And the pleas for mercy?" asked Le Reut. "Don’t get me started on the pleas for mercy," chuckled the shark. They sat on the beach all night, those two aging terrors. They talked, they laughed, they cried. When the sun began to rise behind them, the shark decided, much to Le Reut’s dismay, that it was time to return to the water. "But I rarely leave the bay," it said. "Come visit me, Luc, whenever you like." "I certainly will," said Le Reut, pushing the shark down the beach. "Adieu!" The shark grinned, a big toothless grin and swam off. Alone on the beach, Le Reut looked across the bay at the slightly brightened horizon. He smirked. "Perhaps you are a little clever," he said. Then he lay down on the sand, put his hat on his chest and drifted happily to sleep. ©2005 by Alex Gundy
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By Matt Casey Synopsis: Silo confronts a pirate captain for gold and a girl. How did he lose a body part and why? AN AYE FOR AN AYE The candlelight reflected off the old man's eye and the boy's expression shifted to bald curiosity. “What's wrong with your eye?” the boy asked. “Gimme' ma' beer,” the old man growled. The boy dropped the mug and ran off. The old man drank alone in a corner for two more hours. As he emptied mugs, the boy placed more on the table and slinked away. After the hands of the clock marched past “What's y'er name, boy?” “Silo.” “Ye' want ta' hear about me eye, Silo?” The boy nodded and the old man grinned. “It was a long time ago . . .” *** I didn't much like the captain, and I didn't much like piratin' either, and now the captain had the first woman we'd seen at sea pinned to the deck while her crew and ours watched on. “Are ye sure we should take this one?” I said. “Quiet,” the captain said. He pressed his heel into the lass' bosom. She went all still. She couldn't move or talk from fear. “Now, lass, tell me where the doubloons are,” The young woman pointed at the poop door. “Go, ye rat,” the captain told me. The woman whimpered and looked at me with the sea's own eyes. They told me to help her, but I went into the poop. I found a chest with an iron lock hanging off the clasp against a wall. “Ye find it?” The captain yelled. “It's locked,” “Well unlock it!” So I got thinking about what he could open the chest with. I had a knife, but I didn't think that would do it. I thought maybe I could hack it off with the captain's cutlass, so I went back out to ask him for it. When I opened the poop door, the captain was forcin' a kiss on the lass. I felt rage boil up inside me like the very swells that sink ships. “Ah, matey,” the captain said. He pushed the lass' face to the deck. “Did ye get the chest open?” “No,” I said. I drew my knife. “Ah, so it's bein' that, is it?” the captain said. He drew his sword. “I think this'll be unfair for ye.” “Ye've ne'er been concerned wi' fair,” I said. “Right ye are,” Then the captain swung his cutlass at me. It seemed we fought for days, knife on sword, with neither takin' a wound, but that couldn't last. “Why are ye fighten' me?” the captain asked. I caught the captain’s blade and pinned it to the mast. “Because I'm a man, and yer a monster, and it's a man's duty to fight monsters.” The captain's mouth broke into an evil grin.“Duty's a squiffy's word.” “Than call me a squiffy.” The captain's grin widened as he dropped his cutlass and jammed his thumb into my eye.“Aye squiffy,” he said. Somethin' crunched in my head and I screamed like hurricane winds, but the captain kept pressin'. Suddenly he stopped and stumbled backward holdin' his gut. “I gut yer eye,” the captain said. A red stain spread through his shirt and he staggered back. “Aye,” I said. He wiped blood from his face. “But I gut yer gut.” “Aye, squiffy,” the captain said. Then he tumbled over the side and splashed into the drink. *** The old man stared into the bottom of his mug. “And then what happened?” Silo said. The old man shook off his daze. “And then I talked to the woman. She opened the chest for me and showed me the booty.” Now the tavern was empty. “And then what?” The old man slid his mug across the table. “She gave me the treasure.” “What?” “She was a messenger. She cared not a wink about the doubloons. Besides, me killin' the captain scared his crew away. She was safe and grateful for it.” “And then?” The old man smiled. “And then she kissed me. I stayed aboard a few days and she let me off at the next port.” So that's how you lost your eye?” “Aye,” Silo picked up the old man's mug and put it on a tray. “I don't believe you,” The old man shrugged. “The night be over, huh?” Silo nodded. “Then I should pay up.” The old man pulled something from a pouch and dropped it on the tray, and the boy's jaw fell just as fast. There it was, a gold doubloon with the royal crest. Silo stared at it while the old man stood. “G'night, Silo,” the old man said. And the boy stayed silent as the old man walked out. ©2005 Matt Casey
By Bonnie (Worthley) McIsaac Synopsis: A wild lass and Captain Headless MacTitan play THE game with the highest stakes. Who loses the body part and why? FINGER COVE “Don’t you be giving your eyes to those curs o’er there Ollie,” Lilly laughed as grog dribbled from the corner of her broad smile down her neck to the crevice of her bosom. There were new visitors in port. The strangers had made their way to the only tavern that was available. “Aye, lassie . . . you’ve gotten us into enough trouble as it be this week,” snapped Rose—her own brand of drunkenness beginning to show through. There hadn’t been a ship in port for several weeks. Most ships passed by Finger Cove because of a cluster of islets that surround it. Finger Cove was on no map. Folks found themselves here because they were stranded here. A ship could only find its way here with the help of a turbulent wind, a broken compass and the curiously strong undercurrent of the tide. “Put yer thorns away Rose,” replied Ollie leaning over on the table toward a group of sailors, her own generous bosom becoming evident. “That brawny one o’er there is looking a little too content to be needing any of our services.” “AHA,” yelled Lilly as she crashed her metal tankard down on the thick, wooden table as ale sloshed out on the sides. The crash clanged for several seconds. Ollie and Rose burst out into laughter by the noise. By now, everyone in the pub was looking at the three wenches. “Hey you – o’er there” Lilly yelled pointing her wavering finger towards a table of sailors where the hungry tall one was sitting. “Who be ye and what business do ye have here in our humble port!” It really wasn’t a question as it was sounding a threat. “Shut yer bung hole,” squirted a short fellow at the table. “Who’s talkin’ to you, you old cuckold?” boomed Ollie and then added with a false demureness. “We was inquiring to the likes of yer capt’n there”. The men at the table turned to the brawny one and then suddenly burst out laughing. The brawny one stood up. With a patronizing sweetness he replied to Ollie, “My missie! Were I to be the capt’n we would not ‘ve dropped anchor here in this bloody flux of a port!” The men at the table guffawed in loud bellows at this. Not even a heartbeat passed and the tip of Ollie’s sword was under the chin of the brawny offender. “Then tell these kind folks who ye be and ye purpose,” sneered Ollie. “Aye, don’t be rude” spiked Rose, her own sword at the neck of the short one. “What be yer names and what brings ye here?” “I am Jonathan Burley—First Mate on The Velocity,” the brawny one stated firmly, “ye think we’s afraid of three lassies with blades?” There was a moment of stillness in the pub. It was hard to tell if it was the silence or just plain fear that paralyzed the folks. “Who are ye then and why be ye here!” asked Lily adding her sword to Ollie’s. “A strong wind has carried us here and has wrecked our ship. We don’t e’en know where we be” he answered. “But I do warn ye,” Burley boldly added, “I’d put those blades away a’fore me capt’n arrives. Perhaps ye have heard of him me beauty, Capt’n Headless MacTitan.” The silence of the tavern became deeper and it was clearly out of fear. Headless MacTitan was known throughout the world on account of his short patience and tremendous temper. Ollie gently removed her sword from Burley’s throat. Lily and Rose followed in kind, returning them to the sheaths at their sides. “There,” sighed Burley triumphantly. “That’s a bit better. What say ye to a round o’ whiskey on the house?” “What say ye Jeb?” Ollie yelled to the pub owner. “Shall we welcome these fine gents to our humble port?” Ollie spoke as a hostage in her insincerity. “Aye,” shouted back Jeb, “and I shall be smart about it too.” Jeb had already lost his only two legs to such creatures before and was not about to lose another limb. “THAT’S THE WAY T’ DO IT!” yelled a deranged sounding voice from the entrance. It was none other than Captain Headless MacTitan. The folks in the tavern recoiled. “Fine job Burley—there be an extra cobb in yer wages this week.” MacTitan looked at the town folk as he made his way to the table. “Ain’t nothin’ to fear lest there be somethin’ I don’ like.” MacTitan followed this with a loud, hideous laugh that was joined by the bellowings of his crew just seconds after. The crew knew that MacTitan meant it whereas the town folk believed it as one believes a rumor or fairy tale. It had been said that the name “Headless” was given to him on account of his propensity to slice off heads whether it be because someone disobeyed him or because he did not like the looks of someone. “Fer example” MacTitan continued, “I don’t like the ways that gent o’er thar be dressed,” and with that MacTitan swiftly whipped his dagger toward the man, slicing off his head, blood spurting everywhere as the body danced before falling. The large gasp in the room meant that everyone understood. This be the real thing! “The ship be repaired,” stated MacTitan. “We set sail at 5 bells this e’vening. Be ready!” he ordered as he sat down. Jeb had arrived with the whiskey, trembling with fear. The glasses and the bottle were noisily clinking. “Quiet them glasses barkeep!” yelled MacTitan as he grabbed the bottle and a glass of the tray. Turning to his crew he added, “Ya think we be at sea!” The table laughed with the captain, no louder nor no softer than he. “We’ve got to come to our sense,” Ollie whispered to Rose and Lily while the table of visitors enjoyed their whiskey and laughter. “They don’t know they can’t be leaving this port. I don’t believe they be aware o’ the reversal of rip tide in the cove.” This was true, could the folks in town have left the port they would have, but the current in the cove was strong and only brought in ships. It was so strong that it never allowed ships to leave, even with the strongest of winds. “The capt’n will not like this one bit,” Lily whispered back. “We’d be losing our heads, or worse, we’d be living with that bilge rat fer the rest o’ our lives.” “How ‘bout the game?” suggested Rose. “This be no time for a game,” countered Lily. “Nay A game,” snorted Rose at the question of her sanity. “THE Game!” “Aye,” responded Ollie as though the light had dawn upon As the table of visitors lifted another glass of whiskey to their lips, Rose scurried out the back door. The Game was used to punish those who were too rowdy to reason with. Since there were no real laws to speak of in the town, the use of The Game was determined by the size of the mob that demanded its use, versus the size of the mob that opposed its use, for the particular offense. Out of fear for his own life, the Judge did the bidding of the larger mob. The Game consisted of the roll of a single dice by the wrongdoer. The dice had been carved out of coconut shell and had six sides. Each side had a different picture carved on it: a leg, a foot, a hand, an arm, an eye and the number 1. Whatever side showing face up would be what the Judge would cut off of the wrongdoer. This was why only the Judge kept the dice. Add the fact that the Judge was also the town doctor and could stitch up the maimed limb. Rose arrived with the Judge causing such a stir in the tavern that the Captain stood up. “Who be ye?” he asked looking with a threatening eye at the Judge. “SHUSH”, shouted Ollie standing to face the Captain. The entire tavern held their breath. “A brazen beauty in this here timid port,” the Captain said. Apparently, he had plans for this young lass before departing. “Ye look like a gent who likes to take risks,” Ollie continued. “Perhaps a kind of gamble ya might not be used to.” “I’m interested,” affirmed the Captain as an invitation for more information. “Hand me the dice,” Ollie ordered the Judge. The Judge hesitantly gave over a small purple bag tied with a velvet rope. Ollie opened the bag and took out the chunky cube. “This is how The Game be played,” explained Ollie handing over the dice to the Captain. “I roll the dice, whatever faces up, yer cut off o’ me.” The crew became strongly curious as all drinking had come to an end. “If, however, th' number one shows up, I gets t' cut off th' limb o' me choice from yer body.” “How be this a game?”asked the Captain. “Aye,” sympathized Ollie, “ye be too yellow belly to be participatin’ in such a cruel game.” “Tis a game,” joined Lily, “because there be three turns.” This brought a swift stare of confoundment from Ollie. “If ye rolls the dice three times and are able to slice the limbs off o’ this lass, ye are the winner and gets to take with ye whate’er ye wants from the town. Ought ye to roll a one howe’er and yer ship becomes the booty of the town and yer crew owes their lives to the town folk.” Lily spoke as if these rules were to be found in stone someplace and not like she was making it up as she went. “Tis indeed an interesting game—I’m in!” The Captain figured that the likelihood of rolling a one was low and as such could not possibly lose the game. Ollie took a deep breath. She grabbed a shot of whiskey from under the Captain’s nose and drank it. The Captain seemed amused by this bit of ritual. Ollie rolled the dice and up faced a hand. The folk in the tavern groaned. Bad enough to lose a hand, but it was still the best of the choices on the dice. Without a thought, Captain MacTitan flung his dagger at Ollie’s wrist and sliced off the lass’ right hand while the crew cheered mightily. Ollie nearly fainted by the pain when the air hitting the open wound. The Judge ran over and tied a tourniquet around her arm to stop the bleeding. The folk in the tavern were grimacing. Tears began to flow from Lily’s and Rose’s and other lassies’ eyes. The Game was not yet over however and Ollie pushed the Judge aside. Taking another swig of whiskey, she rolled the dice again. This time it was an arm facing up. “Whoosh,” without hesitation, the Captain sliced another dagger in the air clipping off Ollie’s right arm just below the shoulder. Oddly enough, this showed some humanity on his part. He could have sliced off the left arm and left her right arm handless. This would have made living, should Ollie live, very difficult. The crew shouted in encouragement of their captain while Ollie fell back onto a wooden table behind her. The Judge came over and relocated the tourniquet taking it off of the now defunct arm. By now, some of the folk, men and women, were fainting in the tavern. Jeb was cowering behind the bar. This was not at all looking good for the town. Rose and Lily were beside themselves with fear and even outrage. “What are ye doing?” they pleaded with Ollie. After all, Ollie knew this dice. She knew its weight and how to throw it to get the desired outcome. It was now time for the third roll. Once again, Ollie took a drink of whiskey. She glanced in the air as if to say a prayer to whomever and then she rolled the dice. And this time a one appeared on the face. Ollie took out her sword with her left hand, and suddenly the Captain had a look of deep understanding in his eyes. Swiftly, Ollie sliced off his head, and the Velocity and its crew became the property of Finger Cove. Years had passed since then. That had been the last time The Game was ever played. Ollie had long forgiven Lily and her rule of three rolls (no one said it had to be three, but then again no one said it wasn’t three). Ollie had become quite used to living without her right arm. She and Burley had married some time thereafter. Lily and Rose found their own mates. Each lass was now raising her own family. Because of her courage and her wit, Ollie was forevermore known as Oleander “Lefty” Burley, The Peacekeeper of Finger Cove. ©2005 Bonnie (Worthley) McIsaac
By Dan Sullivan Serve me one more grog n' here be a shilling for y'ur grace. Never was I a pirate to be latched on, held by chains to any a person or place in these seas or the next. I be forev'r a sailing cutthroat, greed me gullet, and can make oath to that on the jewels of the black sky, says I, hold thee once. A might'r wind blew its way past me seasons and storms ago, by the name Gwyn the Black, the wild'st beauty I shall ever see in a thousand lifetimes at sea. She be a creation from the salt air and blue sea, more beaut'ful than any maiden from Vazqueza to the ports of Santa Maria, the only thing to near a place in me cold, dark 'eart. For hers I broke, it bein' a 'arder fall than Davy Jones' Locker, says I still. I came across Gwyn on the Gwyn had no possessions, save a gold ring she wore on a chain 'round her nape. I took her aboard, fed and clothed her, put her in me quarters so that she could rest, and she slept the rest of the voyage to Cape Annabella, a day n' night straight. When we took to land, some of me crew took it to sell her in the slave trade, without me first consent. But I need not interfere that day. As I watched the struggle, she fought with strength n' grace like nothin' I seen in this world, and when she slit the throat of three of me men and one land lubber, her green eyes nev'r left mine. If I be a man ev'r capable of love, than that day, says I, was it. I b'stowed Gwyn with a Portuguese gold ring, scurvied off the coasts of Brasil. She took the ring from 'round her neck and slid it to me four finger of me left hand, a Devil's pact like no other. From then on we sailed all over the Caribbean, pillagin' and stakin' all we could choose, drinkin' the blood of any who crossed our wake. Then me mistake be made, for on one pillage, my greed for gold had me choose to leave her and take the might'st faire tre'sure any man of the ocean see. Gwyn had found it, three leagues deep into the jungle sand on That eve, she awoke me from a troubled sleep, on me boat, strong of the coast of the isle. She must have swam but I never found out if that be the truth. I already knew me crew to be dead, and for I to be the last life she took with 'er. Instead she took me hands in the vice of 'er arms, and she cut each finger off, one by one, save me four finger on me left hand, where her ring rested, now an orb of betrayal, says she. She let me go, gave me one more dead look, and then withdrew a pistol n' shot 'erself at the temple. I sat there, in my blood and agony, cursing my life, wishin' to take it as well, save true that I no way to shoot the pistol. Me days at sea ended short then, my hands I had both r'moved, so that only these hooks you see. They be me pain now, the remind'r o' Gwyn, me love n' me hate.
© 2005, Dan Sullivan By Mark Blickley Synopsis: What is a modern-day pirate and what body part can he or she lose? THE It was the top of the twelfth when the aging, yet still dangerous, Dennis “Eyepatch” Donnelly was summoned from the fenced in pen that was bursting at the seams with the angry testosterone of men pitching a fit because they were being denied the sweet sweat of battle. Positioned directly beneath the deafening roar of an exploding scoreboard, “Eyepatch” screamed that he would kill his own mates just to get the chance to enter the fray this one last time. When the frustrated team captain turned in Eyepatch’s direction and cried out for Eyepatch’s help, the ground crew rose to its feet and cheered for the unkempt, foul smelling old Pirate who refused to shave or bathe or brush his teeth a full fortnight before battle. Yes, it was Eyepatch Donnelly, who had fought his way back to the big time after slashing his way through minor league stops all over the southern He was beloved by his mates, but not by the authorities who were infuriated by his lack of loyalty and his propensity to jump ship whenever the he sniffed a wind that would he would perceive as coming from a place of greater treasure and booty. Many were the groupies would speak out against the old Pirate’s selfish and insensitive battering of them with his foul pole. But Eyepatch would just smirk at their complaints, and continued to dig even harder into the mound until he leveled all obstacles within his path. The first opponent he engaged in combat that night was a giant of a man, standing no less than an inch under seven feet tall. The huge Mariner swung at Eyepatch with a ferociousness not often seen in that seaport city of Normally, Eyepatch would gleefully prance and giggle over the crumpled body of an opponent being carried off in a stretcher, but on this night something very unusual happened. The old Pirate’s stomach began to sink like an errant knuckleball, and a tear plopped out of his one good eye. It suddenly dawned on Dennis “Eyepatch” Donnelly as he was in his wind-up, about to deliver yet another frightening pitch, that this would be his final campaign. And overcome with emotion, he looked over at his fellow Pirates and then over at the younger Mariners and began to bawl. The umpires called it a balk, and when Eyepatch did not protest the call leveled against him, sportswriters from the across the country wrote that on a chilly October night in 2005, Eyepatch the Pirate lost his heart in front of nearly sixty thousand screaming fans in Seattle, fans who were swimming in a sea of Mariner colors. ©2005 by Mark Blickley
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