So I actually have a piece of fiction for you! But don’t get too excited. It’s only an exercise my writing group did (which means it’s a mess) but what the hell. The idea (inspired by a short story by Donald Barthelme called The School) was to write two pages in which the tension increases in every paragraph. 

Some of the most fun I’ve had writing has been when the writing group does an exercise because the pressure is off. Whatever weird thing we come up with isn’t supposed to be perfect, we aren’t compelled to revise and revise it with hopes of publication some day. We’re taking the time to do these exercises because we love writing and want to improve our craft. I realized I love this part about writing- where you’re free to just play around with your ideas. For me, the creative energy goes into hyper drive and any idea is a good one. So here is Heloise and the Pirate Ship Revenge:

Heloise returned the smile of the skull on the fluttering black flag . It, indeed, looked jolly, as their tour guide (a young actress decked out in the finest garb of the 17^th Century Caribbean, speaking with a fading British accent) pointed out the Jolly Roger; perhaps the most well known of all pirate symbols.

Two bored-looking teenage boys with scruffy faces and ripped clothes of a sea bound Oliver Twist manned the oars of the small rowboat. It floated along at its tortoise pace, gently lapping the foot-deep turquoise water as it wound around the great hulk of the Pirate Ship Revenge. The perfect, realistic model of a 17^th-century pirate of the Caribbean ship.

As the row boat inched closer to Revenge, the tour guide informed them “Their clothes were especially designed to mirror the typical 17^th-century pirate captain and his crew.” Heloise peered with amazed curiosity at the wax figures in their stained, holey garments. Years of stress at sea, poor diet and too much rum shown in the etched lines of their faces, and in their hunched, broken bodies. Even the Captain looked haggard.

“Wait, did he blink at me?” Heloise muttered.

And then: “Woman! Shut your bloody mouth!”

Heloise whirled around, mistakenly thinking someone heard her mutterings and yelled at her to shut up. Oh, she would sock them in the nose, she would. She didn’t notice the other few occupants searching for the source of the noise.

And then. A splash. A shriek from the tour guide.

Out of the water popped a soggy pirate, his dirty hat wilting over his eye patch.

“Why, ‘ello there,” he greeted Heloise.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” one of the oarsman screamed.

“Shut it!” the pirate’s hand flew up and slapped him across the cheek.

“Bloody Hell!” A voice rang from above. All eyes turned toward the Captain. “Shut it! I, Captain of the Pirate Ship Revenge am taking over your pathetic little row boat. I demand you hand over all your food and money or face the pain of death!” He unsheathed his sword and raised it high. His crew howled and several of them flung themselves off the boat to seize the booty. The manufactures of the pirate attraction outdid themselves, the sword glinted even in the dim light of the Pirate Cave. Heloise had no doubt it was real metal.

She was admiring their handiwork when one pirate, the one with the wilty hat, yanked on Heloise’s arm and dragged her out of the rowboat.

“You’re coming with me. I think the captain would like to get a good look at you,” he pulled on one of her dark curls and watched it spring back in place with a strange captivated interest.

“Ugh. Get your filthy paws of me!” Heloise demanded. She flailed around, her legs, still trapped in the boat caught on the rim and threatened to capsize everyone. Another pirate came up behind her and seized her legs, “oh, whys you wearin’ pants. Cappins gonna want to see ya in a pretty little dress,” he leered and ran his finger up her leg.

Heloise yelled and demanded again that they “put her the fuck down” and she wiggled and waggled like a fish until they finally dumped her with a loud “oomph!” at the Captain’s feet.

He was, indeed, the most realistic pirate Heloise certainly had ever seen. Realer than real. A mean, ugly, menacing thing. Grotesque like the the haggard ink drawings displayed outside The Real Pirates of the Caribbean attraction. His skin sagged off his face in deep wrinkles, bluish streaks swept under his eyes. He probably hadn’t slept more than a few hours at a time in days. He at maggot-infested bread and drank too much rum. Cockroaches probably nested in his tangled, greasy black hair. He took a step toward her, swaying slightly. His body reeked like fermenting rum and urine.

“Why ‘ello, there Pretty. What’s this? Skin so smooth” his hand reached out to cup her chin. His skin gray and weathered, nails bitten and dirty.

Heloise slapped his hand away, “don’t touch me,” she spat the words at him.

The captain, stunned, said nothing for a long second. Eerie silence fell, punctuated only by the grunts of pirates hauling more booty- and prisoners- aboard.

Heloise stared him down and, with shocking agility given his wobbliness, the captain snatched Heloise by the neck.

He barred his carnivorous mouth, his remaining gray twisted teeth, “Why you, filthy little whore.” Spit flew from his mouth, hitting Heloise on the forehead. She clawed at his hand.

And then the captain started laughing, squealing like a drunken animal: “What you gonna do girl? What can a little girl do to me. What with one hand an all.”

Indeed. Only empty space existed from the elbow down on Heloise’s right arm.

“You and I are gonna have ourselves one special night,” he said, touching the withered stump beneath her shirt sleeve.

The captain and his crew erupted into laugher like laughing hyenas, the captain loosened his grip on Heloise just enough, and, in a flash, she jerked and kicked the captain between his legs. His eyes rolled into his head and he sank to his knees, then to the floor, muttering gibberish.

The shocked crew froze and Heloise seized her moment. Glad to have a practical application to her weekly kick boxing classes, she whirled around and “hi-yahed!” a pirate in his emaciated ass. Another expert kick to the ribs sent another pirate to the floor.

She noticed standing huddled in the corner, guarded by a pair of scrawny pirates, the tour guide, one of the oarsman, and a couple other people from the rowboat.

“Come on!” she bellowed. That shook them. They charged forward, trampling the pirates, grabbed riff raff from the deck, a piece of wood, a copper pot, using them as weapons while the pirates lunged at them.

“Come here, girlie” one said, wearing a soiled, white doorag and an eye patch. The tour guide also had cardio kick boxing experience and used her punches and kicks to send the pirates flying off the ship.

In the tustle, Heloise hadn’t noticed the captain get up until she felt his breath on her neck- and the point of a blade in her side.

“Tisk, tisk, girl. You should play nice,” he whispered in a singsong voice. He edged her away from the action, to the stairs that led to the captain’s private chambers.

He pushed her inside and closed the door. The sword at his side, he approached her, learing at her, the heavy stink of his breath clouding Heloise’s nose. She sank down on the bed and, with a satisfied grunt, the captain lowered himself on top of her.

He started nuzzling her cheek. Heloise felt sweat beading on his face. Just before she could gag, she sat up pulled the sword from the captain’s flaccid hand- and cut it off.

He was too shocked to scream. Blood gushed from the gaping hole, his dismembered hand peacefully resting on the bed as blood seeped into the comforter.

“I don’t play nice,” she said. And left the captain there to bleed to death.

She rejoined the fray, raising her sword and proclaimed herself Heloise, Captain of the Pirate Ship Revenge.