Written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt #393
incorporating the word “occident” in exactly 23 words.
Also for Sue & Gerry’s Weekly Prompts Colour Challenge
(red) and FOWC (vague). In exactly 23 words, this is my flash.
Tag: Pirates
Noble Spirit
Written for Weekend Writing Prompt #370,
incorporating the word ‘pirate’ in a story of exactly 74 words.
Also for Thursday Inspiration #234 – ‘No Matter What/Nothing’,
What Do You See #242 (#WDYS) and Weekly Prompts –
The One-Day Prompt (3). Here is my story in exactly 74 words.
The fiery battle raged for days; in the end Evalyn, the Pirate Goddess, was victorious … but at what cost?
While fighting on deck, there was a sudden cannon retort followed by grapeshot finding its mark … Evalyn’s beautiful face. Her eyes were spared but she was disfigured.
That one day changed Evalyn into a stronger woman. For her, nothing else mattered.
Fashioning a mask of solid gold, she became Evalyn, the Noble Pirate.
NAR©2024
74 Words
This is “Nothing Else Matters” by Metallica
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
SILK SAILS
He sat on the low stool in the barn, hands flying like quicksilver as he milked the cow. His one stiff leg was stretched out before him.
I peeked around the barn door. He sensed my presence. “What is it, boy?”
“Can we go down to the bay to watch for boats?”
Without looking up my father spoke:
“I’ve left that life behind me, along with my leg. Go help your mother with breakfast.”
I watched him silently as I wiped my sniffly nose on my sleeve. He swiveled on the stool as fast as his wooden leg would allow. Raising his eye patch he growled menacingly.
“ARGH! Dammit boy! Don’t be making me angry or you’ll be walking the plank to yer watery grave!”
I jumped back, giggling. I couldn’t help myself.
“Can we go down to the bay tomorrow?”
He sighed in exasperation. “We’ll see; I’ve chores to finish first.”
“But tomorrow is Sunday and the boats will be coming in.” I dared to suggest.
My father became quiet. He rubbed his leg where the wood met his stump. I knew he was thinking back to that dreadful day when his boat was attacked by the marauders aboard the Crooked Star and he was left for dead. He washed ashore where my grandfather found him and carried him home for my mother to nurse.
“Sunday’s a good day to go pirate hunting, boy!”
And he thought again of the Crooked Star.
NAR © 2023
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