The Queen Anne's Revenge

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic


With an iron fist we crashed down onto the shores displaced by solar winds, sails reaching the horizon of the void before us, the scent of ash carried past each burning port whenever we had the pleasure to land, drink, and take whatever was left from the sorry fools stuck on the scorched earth beneath.

Churches moved as mobile fortresses through the shining heart of galaxies seen brightly through scopes, but too far for most to truly know. The new worlds. They were our target, with gold like Lindisfarne, and drink like the Caribbean. We would take it all.

Our ships moved like rapid dogs frothing at the mouth through the darkness of the vast depths of blackened space. What lights could be seen should have been a comfort, but in times like these, our bellies instead rumbled a steady hunger, knowing we were closing in on a meal. The comfort became lust for the feast we would capture.

The target was seen through flicking radar like submarines. Beep. Beep. Beep. The sound would never cease. It became like a second heartbeat, for if it ever stopped, if we were ever wondering blind in the dark, we would surely die moments after, the pain, a ripping, expanding, crushing, freezing, or killing-in-whatever-way-was-most-cruel-at-that-moment-feeling, likely karma for our indecent actions and unlovable lifestyle.

We took what we wanted. We were the only ones that could. All that couldn’t were taken from. But eventually, all fall into the locker, into the void, crushed by the pressure of it all, those with black holes for hearts, the pirates of the desolate wastes and the new worlds in the heavens above earth.

We were chasing a ship. La Concorde. They had taken something that was mine, and everything belonged to me.

The radar picked them up. A missile. I told my men to fire back. They didn’t dare disobey. The running steps of a motley crew, broken and bandaged, legs of wood, or steel, or something else entirely marched in disarranged strange panic to fulfil my commands. Like steam scattering in the wind out of broken pipes with shifting gears long dislodged and spinning without aim, they moved.

The missile hit. The fools didn’t react fast enough. I shouted their names and told them to fix up. They did. They knew what was at stake.

We fired back. They did so again. Back and forth as the metal creaked, the air fled, and the soldiers fell to fire-scorching-skin, their lungs expanding till they had burst, with no screams able to make it out of them as they did so, the eyes of the dead eyes forever focused on the ship as they drifted through space.

Finally, it was time. We were being boarded. I picked up a sword and rallied the troops. 

The enemy came through the lower decks. We wore suits to keep our oxygen stable through the breaching. They did too. A single hit was enough to burst a tank, the pressure break caused a small explosion. The enemy fired with automatic, single fire, or traditional arrow, whatever could be found. They were just as scattered and disorganised as we were.

We fired back. Blood rained up and danced about in whatever direction the gravity kept spinning. The enemy affixed bayonet and charged.

We danced, sword to gun, sword to hand, hand to mouth, bullet to brain.

Hours passed.

We had our just rewards. They had all died but the prisoners, and half our lot had joined them.

Finally, as I made my way through their ship, I had found what I followed them for.

A moment of passion in an aimless world. The wealth of an enemy. The slaves on the ship soon freed and joined our ranks. The unlovable life of the pirate. I had that thing they had taken from me.

My people, and our dignity.


Submitted: May 12, 2021

© Copyright 2021 ItsNotDenon. All rights reserved.

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Comments

Celtic-Scribe63

A very cool and atmospheric little story of pirating.
It really works well with skulduggery and Sci-Fi mix.

Nice one.

Thu, May 13th, 2021 7:05am

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