Take me away

chapter 1

My life is besought with sorrow, but I have learned to not cry. I have learned not to think of the despair that taints my world, that should have been full of light. Do you have a family? Do you have a good life? If so, then it may be hard for you to understand.



It may be hard for you understand how much it hurts, how it hurts to not have a family, how it hurts to not be loved, how it hurts to not have felt a Mother's touch, how is hurts to feel abandoned, to feel lost, to feel alone, to feel unloved. My name is Corina, and I was born during a summer storm, a screaming storm that made everyone close their eyes, and cover their ears. I don't know much about my family, except that they abandoned me.



That they left me with no one but a abusive landlord, he kicked me a lot, and he made me slave night and day, till I was sweating and exhausted, about to drop. That part wasn't really that bad though, it was when I hit puberty that things really got bad. He started to grope me, and tried to sneak into my bed at night.

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I was 13 when I finally got a clue, I packed my bags and I ran. I never saw him again, I spent late night shift working in bars full of sneering old men with groping hands. Thankfully, the bar tender, Janis, was quite protective of me.



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Janis taught me how to hold a knife, and how to employ it in such a way that the victim is screaming in pain within four seconds of having used it. Janis helped me, but she was also distracted, and she never filled the black hole in my heart that my parents had left vacant.

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What I really wanted, more then anything, was to sail in a ship, to be out at sea, tasting the bitter salt on my tongue, raising the sail, and plunging the oars over and over again into the depths of the ocean. But, that was a foolish wish. How could I, Corina the orphan, Corina the little bar maid, Corina the little slut, Corina the urchin who had to dance for in the streets for even a measly copper.

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I was considered quite comely for a village girl, my straggly black hair was long and matted. My grey eyes sharp and intelligent, my pointed features harsh and unforgiving. But I also had hit puberty earlier then most girls, and I had quite the bosom, the kind of bosom to make men drool. They drooled over me more then a overexcited puppy. It didn't help that I wore a off white, but revealing blouse over a long silk purple shift.

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Yes, I was quite the looker, as Janis would say. I did not appreciate her for it. I hated the way men looked at me, but I needed money and if it meant dressing like a prostitute, well...so be it. I may have looked like a innocent 16 year old, but I carried three knifes and I drank crocks of ale with Janis and the others after work.

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I wore metal tipped boots, so I could deliver a sharp kick if the need should arise. I talked quick and when I was mad I  used a fair bit of slang, but underneath that metal shell I created around myself, there was nothing. Nothing but a hurt little girl, abandoned and alone. Afraid of everything, a girl who slept in trees so afraid was she of the perverts that lurked the streets. A girl who ran into the woods when they started the bonfires, because she had some unexplainable fear of fire. No, under that shell, just a broken little girl.

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I still remember the day I first saw him vividly. He wasn't doing anything particularly different, or even that exciting. He was just sitting with his mates drinking rum. Maybe it was the intelligent look in his eyes that not many men in the bar possessed, maybe it was the subtle softness in his weathered face.

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Or maybe it was that slight smirk, that glint, not the glint of lust, but the glint that told me of adventure, of swords, of far off places, of spices and lemurs. I brought him rum first, then I lingered. He was telling magnificent tales of the seas he had sailed, the sea monsters he had faced. And I was entranced.

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I asked around about him, and I discovered that his name was Killian Jones. That he had a hook in place of his left hand, said he got it in a nasty duel. And, most interesting of all, that he was a pirate. I examined him closely, and I found him extraordinary. I could have asked him for a place on his ship, I could have gone up to him and talked, but I couldn't do it. You see, I was afraid.

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That morning I watched his ship sail off into the blue mist, and as my raven wing hair blew about my face, and my purple skirt danced around me, I wished more then anything, that I had joined him. That I had had courage. I know that I will regret this for the rest of my life. And for the first time since I was a toddler, I shed bitter tears, and they flowed down my face and dropped into the sea. Mingling salt with salt, like two lovers meeting for the first time.