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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Action/Adventure · #1271879
A short story I came up with. Not completed yet! About a girl and a message in a bottle.
Ace of Spades
By ___

         “It had been sixty, no, a hundred days of this burning hell. Nothing matters anymore. My voice is beginning to crack and crumple and my body likewise.  I think my hair has grown to my knees, tangled and knotted, while my pupils have grown large and hungry for a new sight on that blessed horizon. For you see, my friends are dead, my rations are low, and I’m trapped on a desert island. But don’t just think I’d tell you this so you could come rescue me. I have with me the gold of the greatest treasure fleet that ever went to the Americas. Yes, me personally, am the lone survivor of the Ace of Spades.”

Signed,
Jonathan Hughes

Elisabeth read the torn note with amazement. She, a young girl of 12, had found the remains of the greatest treasure map ever, tightly rolled inside a stained bottle, which had washed up on the river shoals that afternoon. Everyone knew the famous story of the Ace of Spades. An English treasure fleet, loaded with more than a hundred thousand dollars in bullion, with plans of setting up business in America, had been hijacked by the terribly infamous pirate Blackbeard. Blackbeard and his crew shot down the ship with cannon and musket, and claimed it for themselves.  Legend had it that Blackbeard himself could not get to the treasure himself, however, for the ghosts of the murdered men had prevented him from getting it. Or he had been scared off. No one knew. Blackbeard simply sailed away, with no treasure, to haunt other trade fleets and leave this one in peace. And now, news of a survivor… She ran to tell her father.
         “It’s all a lie! These scammers, thinking they can get us to…”
         “Dad! You know that no one would plea for help like this if they were really lying!”
Her father was silent. His face was wrinkled with age and hardship, while his hair had changed to a silvery- gray long ago. He wore faded blue overalls, a pale mustache, and a distinct frown.
         “There is no way I’m going to spend my hard-earned dollars for a shipwrecked man who will be saved by someone else!” he shouted, his temple throbbing with annoyance, leaving Elisabeth speechless. 
It seemed as if there was no way to convince her stubborn father. And her mother… was out of the question. No, not even possible. So she devised her own plan for making it to this island. At night, while her father snored, she quietly lit a candle and drew a plan of action with the broken colored pencils she received when she was a child. She wondered if her mom were ever this mischievous. But Elisabeth convinced herself she would never find out. One day, her father awoke to find a note scrawled on scrap paper.

         I have gone to search for this man and his legendary treasure. Who knows when I will be back.
Goodbye.
Elisabeth

Of course, her father stomped around the house, thinking of the cruel punishments he would inflict on his daughter if she ever got back. But the truth was, inside, he was lonely and so prayed for her safety.
         And so Elisabeth set up ship on her neighbor’s skiff. She figured, with all the money she would be getting, there was no worry about borrowing things. She could pay people back. Simple as that. The skiff was a small but sturdy craft, with varnished wood and a small wooden mast with a sail attached. On the side of the boat, a brass plate read CRESCENT in big black font. She had taken her old black cat, for company, even though his terrible fear left him shivering in the far back corner with his bright white paws over his head. Elisabeth had also brought just what she could sneak out of the cellar, which wasn’t much. A loaf of bread, jelly, a hunk of cooked meat, and three potatoes. She packed these away in her knapsack, knowing that the meat would spoil soon. It would be her first dinner.
         Finally, after a night of hard preparation, Elisabeth sailed off in her little skiff, under the crescent moon.
© Copyright 2007 Someone Unimportant (johnman89 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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