A Crossing of Destinies.

Ko-fi

It has been nearly 6 years since she had last seen her husband sail away into the horizon with a green flash. Her boy, Henry, bless him is sitting on the floor next to her, holding a toy boat and is pretending to make it float down a make believe river. His nurse is doing the same with another boat, pretending that her toy boat is one of the Royal Navy, after Henry’s Black Pearl miniature.

“You spoil him,” drawls the familiar voice that is Hector Barbossa. He is dressed in the dark blue of those under the King’s employment.

“Yes,” Elizabeth says as they both take a gentle sip of their tea, “He is my boy after all.”

“Takes after you,” Barbossa says over his teacup. He never quite let go of his flirtatious smile and pirate’s drawl so whatever words come out of his mouth are low and gutteral and never quite in the right order, but Miss Elizabeth Turner can understand him quite the same. It is better for them both that he keeps to this type of speech. He is more comfortable for one. And Elizabeth is most definitely not going to force him to use the educated speech of the high born and learned, no matter how much her peers complain.

Elizabeth’s smile is gentle as she toys with the knife seated on their little tea table. The breeze that floats through their little viewing room picks up suddenly and makes the curtains fly in a poor imitation of a pirate’s flag. For a brief moment there is a muffled flap and snap of fabric unfurling and then pulling taut, as though falling through the air and then filling to hold the winds that will pull it forwards.

“…Touch…”

         “…”

                   “….Destiny…”

There is a crash of good silverware on the floor, the sound of a sword unsheathing and a small gasp as a young body is suddenly pulled backwards away from the window.

“Miss Elizabeth?” wonders the butler from the now open door to their viewing room.

The silence is long but somehow not uncomfortable. Elizabeth’s servants are used to seeing their mistress standing with her feet apart, her skirts clutched in one hand and sword (or knife) in the other. They are also used seeing her companion in a similar position, hands poised to shoot or stab whatever enemy comes through the door.

It is another moment before Elizabeth sighs, straightens and puts the knife back down onto the table. The wind is gone, the curtains have been tamed by the maids who don’t fear the mysterious and after a moment, everything is mostly back in order.

Henry is awed. He has never seen his mother look so… Piratish, so like what he imagines Hector Barbossa looks like without his wig and dark blue privateer’s uniform and ridiculous makeup. “Mama?” he wonders as he tiptoes up to her, eyes wide with wonder and delight.

Elizabeth can only smile at her son. Out of the corner of her eye, Barbossa is looking at her with such an expectant smirk that it makes her want to laugh.

“How about I tell you a story about pirates?”

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No Regrets

You are a thief employed by the government. Your assignment is to break into a mad scientist’s lair and destroy his weapon so neither he, nor the world can use it. But when you get there, the only thing you find is a small vial labeled, ‘Cure for Cancer’.

The lab is despairingly white against the pale brown skin of the scientist and the dark red of the blood pooling around their body. There are a set of partial footprints leading away from the body, and the man who left them either doesn’t care or hasn’t noticed. He isn’t even looking at the body now, instead, he’s standing in front of a small fridge full of labeled vials.

 

He’s such a stark contrast in comparison to the blinding whites, greys, and blues of the laboratory around him.

Dressed in dark black chinos, a dark black shirt and supporting a variety of weapons on his person, this man, this person, this killer – has hooked one thumb into one of the side pockets on his vest and is fingering one of the cold vials in the fridge.

 

“Oh Doctor,” he whispers as he shuts the fridge containing the vials. Sighing, he ambles back over to the body that lies heavy on the lab floor and squats down next to it. Brushing a gloved hand over the other man’s slack-jawed face, the man, the thief, the killer frowns and says, “What did you get yourself into?”

 

There is a beep on the comm link that hangs just over his right ear, and the low whisper of a “Do you have it?”

 

“Confirmed,” says the man as he turns his attention back to the small fridge full of vials, “I’m looking at them right now.”

 

“You know what to do Mr. Jones,” the voice on the other end says and then there is a familiar clipping sound of the voice hanging up.

 

Mr. Jones fingers the vials again with a frown. One of the vials closest to him clearly reads Acute Myeloid Leukemia, and as his eyes travel up and down the mini fridge, he sees that some of the other vials are named for various other blood cancers, as well as genitalia related cancers. Then there is a familiar crack of a bullet piercing wood and Mr. Jones turns to face the stranger.

 

They are dressed similarly, in the familiar black shirt, black chinos and decked out in various types of weapons.

The stranger purses his lips at Mr. Jones as he lowers his gun, “Hello Mr. Jones.”

 

“Mr. Grey,” Jones acknowledges as he tosses one of the vials over to the other man, “Have you seen these?”

 

“Yes,” Grey replies as he fingers the vial before tossing it over to the dead body on the ground.

 

It cracks slightly as it clatters onto the ground next to the dead doctor’s fingers, “You haven’t destroyed them yet.”

 

“I think….” Jones starts, “I think these are the cures for cancer.”

 

“So?” Grey says as he aims his gun at the cracked vial. His bullet must catch the edge of the tiny bottle because Jones hears it shatter and just sees the cap of it bounce off the floor and the cabinets and yet the bullet also catches the fingers of the dead man and sends more blood across the floor.

 

Jones considers the other man for a moment. Their clothes are the same, their employers are the same and their jobs are the same. They are given a target and they execute their work without asking questions. Grey has no more of a moral compass than Jones and his peers do. He does not and will care if these vials can save the world.

 

 

“So, nothing,” Jones finally says, “Everything upstairs is destroyed?”

 

Grey only raises his eyebrows at his peer. Of course, Jones thinks, Do, without question and, Of course, it’s all gone. Not that he would have heard the gunshots. His people were well prepared. There are no more words to be said now, so Jones frowns, walks three paces, turns and aims his gun at the open fridge of Cancer Cures.

 

“No regrets,” he whispers as he opens fire.

 

“No regrets,” Grey whispers as he aims his own gun at the back of Jones’ head.

A Blurb

This is just a little blurb of a something I’m currently working on. I’m also going to be trying out a new posting schedule within the next month or so, so fingers crossed I can actually start pumping out stuff on a semi-regular basis.

Thanks for reading!

The lab is despairingly white against the pale brown skin of the scientist and the dark red of the blood pooling around their body.

There are a set of partial footprints leading away from the body, and the man who left them either doesn’t care or hasn’t noticed. He isn’t even looking at the body now, instead, he’s standing in front of a small fridge full of labeled vials.

He’s such a stark contrast in comparison to the blinding whites, greys, and blues of the laboratory around him.

Dressed in dark black chinos, a dark black shirt and supporting a variety of weapons on his person, this man, this person, this killer – has hooked one thumb into one of the side pockets on his vest and is fingering one of the cold vials in the fridge.

“Oh Doctor,” he whispers as he shuts the fridge containing the vials. Sighing, he ambles back over to the body that lies heavy on the lab floor and squats down next to it.

Brushing a gloved hand over the other man’s slack-jawed face, the man, the thief, the killer frowns and says, “What did you get yourself into?”

Blurb – the 100 Point system

This is just a small piece that I wrote up quickly for my current creative writing class and am in the process of trying to re-write amongst my various other projects.

I found this prompt on writing-prompts.tumblr.com and decided to run with it! Hope you enjoy!

“Presidential candidate Jolene Harper is advocating for adoption centers all across the US to upgrade their housing system,” says the reporter on the television set, “‘The children who are under the 20 thousand parent point mark deserve to live lives in the same comfortability as those who cost more,’ says Harper. Her opponent, Anders Nilsson, on the other hand – is advocating for the development of higher intelligence in children starting at the thirty thousand parent point mark.”

 

There was a whirring sound as the TV switches off, echoed by the sound of a door opening from the hallway leading into the living room.

 

“Hi dad!”

 

“Hello sweetheart!” called John Buchanan from his position in the living room, “How was class?”

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