30 Days 30 Stories, Installment 11 The Pirate

She was in love with a pirate. He had his ship and his crew, and he was, more than anything a hero to them, for he brought them money and goods when there were no money and goods to be gotten. Together, they had come from nothing just with his dreams. He had romanced her, he had swept her off her feet. Before him she had been a good schoolgirl, a good little girl going to church, helping her mother. Until they had met near the harbor, he with his stylish good looks, his rogueish smile, and his confidence. He had been just a sailor then, a fisherman from time to time, using his small ship to make the money he could in a place that had few rules - a place where only the tattered nets of a culture, and it's colonists, remained. But that smile, and those gifts, and finally, his lovemaking had won her. And now she was his. She was married to a pirate.

They lived in a grand house. She had two beautiful children. They were well-fed. They were well-clothed. They gave, almost constantly, to the needy. They ran companies with the money, they ran charities with the money. Their coast was so lovely, and so poor. They brought money where it was needed, where it was deserved. And they had little choice. It was this, or drown in the sand of their own country. He came home, his smile addictive, and kissed her with a flourishing bow. And he took her to bed, and he draped her with diamonds, and then he fed her meat and wine - wine!

She walked the halls of her palace. The corridors were neat, sparklingly tidy from the efficient and silent maids. The place echoed when it was not full of the children and the almost godlike presence of her husband. Her husband, the pirate. His closet was full and the fabrics of his suits shone with quality. She glanced in the mirror, and saw a person she never could have imagined. She was neat, and elegant, and well-shod. Her hair shone like his suits, her skin shone like the sun. She was neither ill nor starving. Her children were safe. It was a paradise. It was a fairy tale. She sighed, and went to her balcony. She stared at the trees draping the ground around their estate. She heard the birds, and felt the wind. And she sighed and wished he were safe, and said the prayer she always said for him, the thought, like a worn bone, so many times had she pressed her breath to the words, so many times had she caressed them with her tongue. They were her bed and her house, those words were her home.

The news broke across the capitals making little ripple. Piracy was constant these days. Everyone new some waters were dangerous. She had learned English early, being lucky in that. The satellite television, as always awake in the background, silently protested that there had been a rescue of a captain. There had been a rescue of a captain, and less importantly, two pirates had been killed. She stared. She blinked. She was sick in the bathroom.

The city wouldn't be the same without him. He was their hero, he was a good pirate. He had been her pirate. She lay on the floor, she felt as if she had been eviscerated. She wanted to be eviscerated. She wanted to walk into the sea. She was not a pirate, he was not a pirate - had hadn't been a pirate. Not like that. Not like that. How could it be illegal if it meant survival?