Pirate Treasure
The lazily setting sun began to obscure Oscar Wilde’s words and the sand, ever diving its fingers beneath the ocean’s waves, itched my back and legs. I stood to brush the granules away and was struck by the seemingly sudden appearance of a ship. Surly it had been making its way towards me for hours, but only now, as it neared the shore, did I see it.
The ship rocked in the water a good distance from me and my abandoned beach. A small boat began to lower from the ship; a single figure perched inside. I began to feel conscious of my agape jaw and furrowed brow though I did not know what else to do but to stand and wait.
A hat, a draping shirt, a sword, boots and the lagging shuffle-walk of a man too tired for pleasantries. “I have a treasure map” he shoved a scribbled-on paper in my face, “Help me?” There was still sand stuck to me, I brushed it off, the sun glaring in my eyes.
“I need help. Are you in?”
“Okay.” He grinned beneath several months’ worth of facial hair and beckoned me to his boat.
We sat in silence on our way to the ship. I asked to see the map but there was no response. The small boat clashed agains the ship as several men pulled us to deck. It struck me as odd that the man came to shore only for me and a string of unsettling questions popped into my head. Did he know who I was? Why would he be satisfied in finding me to help him? What makes him think I could help? Had we met before? Where did he find a treasure map in the twenty-first century and who were these men, not enough to find treasure, but enough to man a pirate ship?
Pirate. The word seemed archaic. Evocative and exciting, but disconcerting. A firm hand clutched my arm, disrupting my panic, and dragged me to what I assume was the Captain’s quarters, and the man attached to the unapologetic hand; the Captain. “What do you know of treasure maps?”
“Nothing.” I answered honestly. Apart from a certain classic ’80’s movie my treasure map know-how was lacking.
“Look.” He
The ship rocked in the water a good distance from me and my abandoned beach. A small boat began to lower from the ship; a single figure perched inside. I began to feel conscious of my agape jaw and furrowed brow though I did not know what else to do but to stand and wait.
A hat, a draping shirt, a sword, boots and the lagging shuffle-walk of a man too tired for pleasantries. “I have a treasure map” he shoved a scribbled-on paper in my face, “Help me?” There was still sand stuck to me, I brushed it off, the sun glaring in my eyes.
“I need help. Are you in?”
“Okay.” He grinned beneath several months’ worth of facial hair and beckoned me to his boat.
We sat in silence on our way to the ship. I asked to see the map but there was no response. The small boat clashed agains the ship as several men pulled us to deck. It struck me as odd that the man came to shore only for me and a string of unsettling questions popped into my head. Did he know who I was? Why would he be satisfied in finding me to help him? What makes him think I could help? Had we met before? Where did he find a treasure map in the twenty-first century and who were these men, not enough to find treasure, but enough to man a pirate ship?
Pirate. The word seemed archaic. Evocative and exciting, but disconcerting. A firm hand clutched my arm, disrupting my panic, and dragged me to what I assume was the Captain’s quarters, and the man attached to the unapologetic hand; the Captain. “What do you know of treasure maps?”
“Nothing.” I answered honestly. Apart from a certain classic ’80’s movie my treasure map know-how was lacking.
“Look.” He