Please enjoy this excerpt from Pirate Girl: Margarette's Story Copyright (c) 2011
“Oh, I'm not booting you out, am I?” That certainly wouldn't be a
good start to her new life.
“No, lass your fine, I'm happy to give up my space for a lady.”
“Thank you, but I am no lady, sir. Just the daughter of a barmaid.”
He looked at her thoughtfully. “I know a lady when I see one.”
Margarette blushed.
Martin seemed to realize how serious he had just become and tried to
smooth things over. “Course we don't see many of 'em out at sea.”
He gave a forced laugh and closed the door.
Well here I am, Margarette thought.
She inspected the clothing that Martin had laid out for her. A cabin boys
outfit. Her outfit. It consisted of breeches that she knew would be
far too large for her. And a ragged shirt that looked rather roomy as
well. A pair of old boots stood on the floor beside the bed.
Packing her dress and woman things back into her bag, she took out
the few treasures that she had. The locket, left to her by her true
mother. It's gold surface was shiny and unbreakable. Inside lay a portrait but she had no desire to see it at that moment. She placed the
quilt that Emilie had sewn for her on the small bed. It brightened up the
room a bit. And that helped calm her nerves...a little bit.
She then grabbed the gifts that the boys had made for her, or just caught
for her. They often gave her the prettiest shells they found on the beach.
She stepped back and admired her work. It was starting to look like
home. Her home.
After she finished furnishing her room, her trepidation came to the
forefront of her mind once more. She was excited, could barely sit
still but at the same time, she was was scared. She couldn't remember
ever leaving their little dock town. She barely found time to leave the tavern.
It was heady to realize how open the future was now.
She tried to sleep but gave up, the morning was approaching quickly anyway. Perhaps she
should find Martin and get started on her duties. She opened the door
and stepped out, only to bump right into someone. That someone let
out a very colorful curse. They ended up sprawled on the hallway
floor.
“Oh, sorry,” she squeaked out, then remembered that she was
supposed to be a boy. She deepened her voice, “Sorry.”
The man that she had run into sat up. Margarette nearly fainted. She
had never seen a man so close, or so naked, before. He wore no shirts
only his tight breeches and polished boots. His skin was perfect and
tan, stretched tight across his muscles. Wavy black hair cascaded
around his face, harsh features surrounded dark eyes, in a stark
blue. Please don't. Please don't blush, she told herself....
__________________________
Under a Bridge Copyright (c) 2011
I was making the bus driver nervous.
It was to be expected, I
mean how many of his passengers, wore Demonia combat boots, a black
skull dress and a cape.
I was odd. And Goth. Obviously.
I sat in a worn row of blue vinyle
seats. There were very few other people on the bus. I fiddled with
the celtic cross around my neck and smirked whenever the bus driver
glanced back at me.
Alright so I wasn't being very nice,
but there were some perks to being gothy. I'd survived the merciless bullying of
my peers through to the end of my junoir year. It had been a welcome
relief to find that most people outside the brick building didn't
think I was an easy target. In fact many people seemed intimidated by
me. And I never really did anything. Slightly bothersome but useful
at times.
I decied to give him a break and
relaxed into my seat. I reached into my Emily the Strange purse and
checked my cell for messages. Nothing. But had I really expected
anything? I wasn't big into texting or anything.
There really wasn't much to do when
one was riding a bus. On a fairly long ride no less. I could have
read but motion sickness would pull me into it's grip and not let go.
Outside my window the forest loomed.
It was midday yet the light didn't penetrate the dark trees. I
remembered that forest. It stretched on for miles and miles crossing
many farms, my family's included and was very old. Evergreens, maple,
oak trees. The forest held a variety and they speed past the window.
The dirt road we traveled on hadn't changed in the seven years I'd
been gone.
It was still dusty, and pleasing. A
smile crossed my lips as the other passenger jumped and shook at
every little bump. It was a fairly enjoyable ride.
Yet soon the bus stopped at Bronson
Road.
I was home. I gathered my Skelenaimals
backpack, my purse, and my black suitcase. I sort of amazed myself by
carrying it all out in one trip. Thin and pale did not large muscles
make.
“You sure you're gonna be okay,
Miss?” The bus driver asked. He was shaking slightly and the
question seemed to be for looks sake rather than any real concern.
Still, it was kind.
“Well, I need to find some fresh
blood if you know what I mean. And I'll have to alert the local coven
to my presence.” I finished keeping my face calm. The bus drivers
eyes went cartoon wide and he quickly closed the door and left me in
the dust literally.
“I was kidding!” I yelled after
the bus, knowing that no one could here me anyway. “Besides its
daylight, I'd be an apple crisp if I were a vampire.” Of course
that brought o my mind some lyrices from If I was your Vampire.
Okay so Manson wasn't Goth but he was
still pretty talented.
“Who are you yelling at?”
Thank you for reading!
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