A Pirate Tale or Two

Writing Club Exercise #1

Apr 29, 2014

Prompt: Write something that involves a twinkling eye.

(I have no idea why a drunk pirate came to mind.  He'd be more bleary-eyed or bloodshot type than twinkling, but when it's a 10 minute exercise, I roll with the first idea that pops into my head.  We usually have a time limit and it's always so interesting to see what everyone in our group comes up with.)  

            “All that be glimmerin’ t’ain’t golden and I’ve a tale to vouch for that, me laddie!”  Vance spat to the side just missing Dale’s worn boots when the swab didn’t move.  He’d been painted red, not that Ole Vance took any notice.  “Ye heard the tale bout the sirens have ye?”  The old salt’s eyes glimmered at the thought.  The green parrot atop his shoulder squawked. 

Now perhaps, in retrospect I presume, twas more his eyes a waterin’ from the sea air or the fact he be one bottle of rum short of being tanked.  They’d drank the stores below deck plum dry just th’ eve afore.  And the mornin’ aft wit’ all its fiery glory twer’ surely loathe to look upon.  Though Ole Vance’s eyes appeared none to bleary to me. 

Starting into his tale once more for ears that hear no more, the old man stumbled head long over the coils of rope strewn about the fore boards.  But Hans weren’t at his duty this morn a clearin’ the deck.  His limp body lay slumped over the side of a barrel like a lion’o the sea.  It weren’t his fault much though, what with his studded dagger well placed between his ribs.  He’d been skewered like a bloomin’ fish.

Vance slapped dead old Hans on the back, sendin’ the parrot a flappin’.  “Wake ur self and get to yur duty Hans, ye useless squid.  Tend to the yardarms and mend the nets.  Up, men up, up and swab the decks, put out the sail.  The west wind she’s a blowin’ and we’ve casks to fill.”  He sang in a drunken slur, continuing on when Hans didn’t stir. 

 Ten men set sail in Bermuda along a southern wind on dreams of gold and jewels.  Now there's naught but one, old captain Vance, the lone pirate left of the Black Dragon's crew.  Kegs uncorked for thirsty throats took out the lot one star-lined evening. Hans he got stabbed in the heart when he fingered dozing Fitzgerald's golden pocket watch, one-eyed Murray tripped overboard while doing a caper. Tarred old Merrick, well marinated, turned to ash, when Tully dropped the torch.  Toodles toppled overboard and now the fishes he feeds.  Harold dove in after his friend to retrieve, alas he'd forgotten how to float while full of rum.  Abe and Huck had no luck when their loaded pistols they were shining.  For all the sea bottom had a silver lining.

Deep below lie sirens sing, sea wives for Davy Jones and his men. 

Treasure be tempting men’s hearts.  And when the lots been had and the song’s been sung.  That’s when we’re all but done.  Dear brethren knives display and the blood doth play.  And the siren, dear fools, doth win the day.  

I might develop this one further sometime.  The second last paragraph I added afterwards, I'm still not sure whether it's a help or a hindrance.