Story version:
THE INVISIBLE SHIP sailed sedately through the sparkling green water of the lagoon. All around it floated the results of the battle, tiny broken toy ships bobbing upon the waves, their pathetic bits and pieces clearing a path for their victor. In the prow of the ship stood a young pirate, looking as if she flew slowly over the water due to her vessel's invisibility. She silently surveyed the wreckage with a slight smile upon her face. The battle had been a brief one, very easily won; none of the toy ships had stood a chance against her men, as skilled as they were at sea warfare. She moved to sit upon the hull and splashed her feet in the turquoise water. It dripped warm between her toes; the sun shone brightly overhead upon the green lagoon and the black pines and the coral shore. Today had been successful.
She lifted her head and shielded her eyes with one hand. Something bobbed in the water far ahead. Something big. From afar she could make out the shape of another ship, this one larger than any they had taken on, and unplundered. Her mouth twitched and she signalled that they should steer toward it. It rested at the other side of the lagoon; there would be no escape for it, from here. This ship would be easy pickings.
She sat down again and dangled her legs over the edge as they went. She looked down into the water at her reflection and smiled. Then her mind drifted and she dozed a bit under the hot sun.
She had not always been a pirate. That she knew. She had a vague memory of having been something else, before the pirates had taken her away. Yet it was hardly worth calling a memory, and it didn't matter; she was a pirate now, and the others on her ship--the invisible ship, with its invisible crew--were who she belonged with. Anything that had gone before was as misty and nonexistent now as a fading dream. She was happy here, with her crew. The battle they had just won, one of many, only sealed the feeling. She yelled at her crew and they yelled back in a cheer. She threw forward one arm and they surged through the waters, cutting a white swath through the emerald.
Again she shielded her eyes and peered ahead. The pink sand broke the monotony of the dark trees and turquoise waves. Here the unplundered ship had beached itself as if in an attempt to escape, half in the water, half out, sails flapping in the breeze. She gave it only a cursory glance; she was more interested in what was upon it. Her own ship drew near and pulled up behind it at an angle. The people aboard the other vessel milled about silently, eyeing the pirate ship. She could sense their fear. She liked that they were afraid. She and her men were doing their job perfectly. She waited while her men tossed out a rope ladder to board the other ship, clambering across and taking the others prisoner, before crossing to the other vessel herself.
This crew...these were not pirates, as many of their other victims had been. These were civilians. A bit of a disappointment. They stood lined up along the deck, heads hanging, some looking defeated, a few others angry. None of them spoke. She climbed aboard, her men saluting at her, and started pacing the deck before them, looking over each. No one met her eyes as she went, though one did duck his head back down when she came close. She stopped before him and looked him over with a smirk.
He was older than she was, could probably have been her father or even her grandfather. His face was smooth, yet his hair had at some point turned to some shade between white and gray, not quite either, and yet both. It had been cut somewhat short, and spiked out in all directions from his head. His clothing was light and clean; most of them were dressed in the same manner, something she wasn't used to seeing aboard sea vessels. Still, none of this was what had drawn her attention. What had was the look she'd seen upon his face before he'd ducked his head. His eyes were angry and resentful--almost as if he felt that she personally owed him something. On noticing her stare, he'd averted his gaze; this had only piqued her interest, and she cocked her head at him, hands on her hips.
"Name?" she asked; when that got no answer, her smirk only grew. "You have a problem with us, old man?"
He didn't reply. As she'd expected. She snorted lightly in lieu of a laugh and moved on along the line.
Something sitting off to the side, nearer the front of the boat, caught her eye next. She stopped where she was and peered ahead. She realized now why it had attracted her attention so.
It was an old-fashioned chest of drawers, a dresser or vanity, sitting upon the deck near the mast. What would such a thing be doing aboard a ship, atop the deck like this? It appeared to have been placed there almost haphazardly; perhaps the crew had been busy trying to haul it overboard, when she'd arrived. Her smirk returned and she glanced back at the older man. His scowl had returned as well.
"A little late getting that thing tossed out of the way, are we? Let's just see what you've got in there."
A brief panicked look passed through his eyes. This only made her curiosity grow. If they were that reluctant that she see it, it had to be good.
She reached the dresser and stopped before it, giving it a critical look. It was old, almost antique, and looked as if it were badly in need of repair; the paint flecked away from every side of it, and the vanity mirror that stood atop it was smudged and stained with dirt. But what was more, a stack of old dusty books lined the surface. Her eyes widened on seeing them. She had always loved books, as long as she could remember; and here were some ripe for the taking. All old, thick hardcovers; one in particular caught her eye, and she reached forward to pull it out.
The old man lifted his head and his eyes grew. He seemed to want to step forward, but refrained.
The pirate picked up the book and blew off the coating of dust. The cover, slightly mildewed, looked mildly familiar...but from where, she had no idea. As far as she knew she'd never seen a book like this before. Yet she could swear that she'd had one like it, once, in the past. She turned it over to look at the title upon the spine, and it was familiar as well--but again she didn't know why--and this thought filled her with both nostalgia and anxiety.
The title...something she'd written before. Something she'd started to write, and had never finished, had abandoned halfway through. But...she didn't write. She was a pirate. Where did this memory come from and what did it mean? How could she have a memory that wasn't even hers?
She suddenly made a brief inventory of her life. Her real life, not this one...even though, until now, this had been her real life. She knew that she had had this same book, she was certain of it...but when she looked at it a bit longer, her certainty faded and her uncertainty grew. Did she really own this book, somewhere, somehow, after all? Perhaps she was wrong...it would make more sense. Perhaps it was only a similar book--a sequel? Or a prequel? Whichever it was, she knew for a fact that the same person had authored both--and so now she wanted this one, as well. One book was never good without its companion!
So thinking, she opened it up and peered inside the front cover. Here it had been signed by the author, and bore a price scribbled in ink. The amount disappointed her; she'd never be able to afford it. Should she really get it, if she couldn't be certain she didn't already have it? She shook her head at the absurdity of her thoughts. What sort of nonsense was this! She was a pirate. She could afford anything she wanted! What had put the idea in her head that she couldn't have this book as her own? Ignoring the old man's angry, anxious stare, she made up her mind that the old book was hers now. She flipped through its pages a bit, seeking to learn more of its mysteries.
Scribbles and markings lined every page. She paused in her flipping to take a closer look. Someone, at some point, had scribbled on each page, lines of cursive between lines of print. The result was messy...yet she found she didn't mind. She smiled at the markings. She knew the author of the book had made them, and she could tell that the author had liked the owner, had scribbled in all these extra notes and snippets just for them. She (the pirate somehow knew the writer of the book was a she) had described all of these scenes in minute detail within the margins...the scribbles weren't graffiti, but rather the marks of someone who loved their work.
I loved my work, once...
She shook the thought from her head as nonsensical. Work? She was a pirate. Where had she gotten that thought?
As she stood flipping through the book, stopping every so often to peruse the scribbled notes, the crew of the defeated vessel, her prisoners, still stood in their row, eyeing her carefully, as if examining her expression or reactions. She could tell they didn't like that she'd discovered the dresser on her own, nor that she'd picked up this particular book; perhaps she could play an interesting mind game with them, doing everything they wanted her to do least. It was fun to have others afraid of you. Her crew watched over the prisoners, yet she told them nothing. She didn't much care what they thought of what she did.
She turned a few more pages and a couple of pieces of thick paper suddenly fell out, fluttering to the ground. She frowned and bent to pick them up, bringing them to her face and inspecting them. The old man bit his lip but kept silent.
One piece of paper was blue, the shape of an orb--a round cutout. The other was orange, smaller in size. Both were held together by cellophane tape--cellophane tape? Childish drawings were scratched upon them in crayon--crayon? She frowned, wondering how she knew these things, and looked at them more closely...and they seemed more and more familiar.
It began to dawn on her that...
She had made these drawings, had cut out these little shapes, ages ago, when she was little...
...and here they were, between the pages of a book that seemed strangely familiar, a book she was almost certain she had once owned, sometime in the past...
...sitting upon an old dresser, aboard a civilian ship which her crew was in the act of plundering.
Her eyes grew. Her heart felt like it was squeezing itself to death within her chest.
She whirled around to face the old man who had looked so angry before, standing with the other passengers. He was staring at her with a kind of neutral look, as if trying to gauge her reaction. The anxiety in her breast was replaced immediately by fury. She threw the book to the ground, stormed to him, and grabbed his collar with one hand, shoving the little cutouts in his face with the other.
"What are these?" she demanded, her voice cracking with hysteria. "Where did you get them? How did you get them? What are they doing on this ship?"
The whole time she spoke, she shook him furiously as a rat shakes a dog, dropping the cutouts as well. She couldn't believe the rage that welled up inside her, along with--what?--shame?--humiliation?--hurt? She felt hurt and...betrayed. Why did she feel like this? What could bring on such a feeling?
She suddenly knew. As if finally lifting her head above water, things grew clear to her now.
The dresser. The book. The cutouts. Her book and her cutouts, upon this civilian ship. She had not always been a pirate. The pirates had taken her away from...from what she really was. Long ago, when she was still young. When she'd still loved what she did, who she was.
Kidnapped by pirates. Raised by pirates. Taught to believe she was one of them. That she belonged.
These civilians, her prisoners...they must have known her, once, long in the past. Not necessarily family, but friends. She had been taken from these people so long ago. And yet...
The anger that surged up inside her. It wasn't toward the pirates, for taking her away from her real life. It was toward them--these people--her own kind--who she really was. She felt hurt, anger, shame that she wasn't really what she thought she was, thought she had been all these years. The pirates had misled her. But these people...these people had brought her the truth, in a little hardcover book that she had scribbled in once. And that truth was the greatest shame of all.
They let me be taken away. They never tried to bring me back. They let me believe this is who I really am! And once I believed it, they came back and shattered everything I've ever believed in!
While she still screamed at the man and shook him, the other passengers, her crew, watched; he attempted several times to calm her down, to talk to her, to answer her enraged questions, but she never allowed him the chance. She was too hurt and humiliated. She let go of him and shoved him roughly away so he backed into the mast, and she turned back to join her crew, leaving the book and cutouts behind. So much anger, over her lost, forgotten childhood...a childhood she had once loved, but now wanted to escape more than anything...she couldn't stand to look at him anymore, much less speak to him.
I should hate the pirates. They're the ones who took me away! I should return to my real people!
But--they gave me a home. They made me feel like I belonged. Like I was one of them. They treated me as one of their own--so I believed them all this time! Even with my memories--I could believe I belonged. I love them, I want to stay with them! It's fun being with them! They're my family!
And now, these people have come...and destroyed it all forever. I hate them now! I'm not one of them, and I'm not one of the pirates! I'm NOTHING now! I don't belong ANYWHERE! I'm NOBODY!
Her shame was too great to allow her to remember clearly what happened afterward. She left the civilians and their belongings, their ship, behind. She couldn't return with them, no matter how much they might care about her now. They had abandoned her long ago; she would return with those who truly cared about her. But...
She didn't look up at her ship or her crew as she passed by them on the way back to her own vessel. She couldn't stand to meet their eyes, to know what they'd known all along. That she wasn't one of them. That she never had been. That she didn't belong with them, either. This truth stabbed through her breast like a fiery cutlass through her heart.
I don't belong with anyone, anymore.
The young pirate boarded her ship. The civilians lined up along the side of their own and watched as she pulled away, back into the green lagoon. She kept her eyes lowered, the pain too great to allow her to think about what she should do next. Her toes just barely trailed in the water as she slowly sailed away, invisible ship, invisible crew, carrying her back to...wherever.
Original dream version:
3/27/01
Okay...this was an impressive dream, and I wish I could remember where it started...but somehow I ended up on a pirate ship sailing over the water. It was kind of goofy at first because the ship was very small or else nonexistent--it's like I was walking on or floating over the water--and there were other ships around us (I was the "captain" of the ship, or else important--it was one of those role-playing dreams where you can kind of tell it's not all real, and you can control it to an extent, even though you don't know you're dreaming--it's like you're acting)--and these other ships were little toy ships. They had impressive sails but they were small--only about two feet tall! They bobbed around in the water and I swatted my hand at a few. We had just been involved in some sea combat and had won. We were GREAT pirates! :) The water around us, it wasn't like the open sea; it was more like a lake. There were trees all around it, pines, closing the lake in--perhaps it was a bay or a lagoon or something, I have the feeling it was mostly but not entirely cut off from the main body of water and we had sailed into it somewhere along the way. The water was VERY green. And WARM. I splashed around in it a lot. I found this whole thing to be very amusing. All the little tiny toy ships and WE had defeated them all. A few ships were larger but not in very good shape. They bobbed in the water all around us.
Now I developed more of a personality and I don't think I was the captain or leader of my group of pirates, but I was an important one. From what I could tell of my history, I think I had been kidnapped or "stolen" from my parents as a baby and I sort of knew this, but the pirates had adopted me and made me one of them. I felt as if I belonged. I think I was still female--this really tough female pirate who could take care of herself. I REALLY liked the feeling and just played the part of pirate to the hilt. We spied another ship we hadn't plundered yet and moved in to do so.
(I should point out that the "Pirate" was my elementary school mascot and I really liked him. Also, the whole time I was sailing around with my crew, as I said, it's like there was nothing below me, no ship, no crew--I just had the FEELING they were there with me. It was more like I just floated over the water on my own, splashing my feet in it. An invisible ship, an invisible crew. Strange...)
In any case, we drew in closer to shore and I think there was pink sand or coral or something, because the monotony of the dark green/blackish trees was broken. Here was a partly unplundered ship with its crew. Once again, it didn't really look like a ship, I can't really describe it at all, but it was SUPPOSED to be a ship. We'd captured it and taken the crew and passengers prisoner. I don't think it was a pirate ship; they were civilians. They were standing lined up with their heads hanging; I remember a man who looked VERY angry and humiliated, perhaps there was also a frightened young girl. I smiled at them--well, I HAD to, I was the tough female pirate, nothing could get to me anymore!--and then spied a chest of drawers on the ship, a type of vanity perhaps, with some books and other items lined up on it. This immediately caught my interest and I stepped aboard to inspect it, the prisoners watching me as I passed. I have the feeling the man wasn't happy that I was so interested in it, but he had no say in what I decided to do.
I reached the dresser--it was old and looked as if it needed a paint job--and perused the books lined up along the left edge. One caught my eye. It looked familiar, like a book I thought I had. I pulled it out. It was like one of those old Reader's Digest Condensed Books or whatever, with the wallpapery-looking cover. Very old, slightly dusty and mildewed. I turned it over to look at the title on the spine and it was "Osiris" or "The Osiris" or something similar. I immediately felt a mixture of anxiety and nostalgia.
(Note--I've written a novel called Horus and for a time worked on a prequel called Osiris but have yet to finish it...I haven't worked on it in quite a while...)
The way that things went in my dream...I briefly made an inventory of my life. My REAL life, that is, what I thought was my real life outside of the dream. I thought I had this very same book. When I looked at it a bit longer, I thought, perhaps I have a book that is SIMILAR--a sequel or a prequel, and this is another one by the same author--so I suddenly wanted THIS one, too. A prequel or a sequel isn't good without its companion, you never know the whole story without all of the books! I opened it up and noticed it had been signed by the author, and it had a price in it--$38. (It was just a small yet thick hardcover.) That was rather pricey. I REALLY WANTED this old book, but how could I be sure it WASN'T the one I already had? Truthfully, I couldn't be sure. I considered paying the $38 anyway, but then REconsidered--how could I afford something I might already have? Perhaps I'd just have to go without it...this thought made me sad but resigned.
(A note, WHY would I even have to pay for it?--I was a PIRATE, for God's sake! I was supposed to just TAKE it! So why was I so anxious about the price and decided not to "buy" it when we were just plundering the place anyway?...)
I flipped through it a bit more and found out that the author, who had signed it for its owner, had marked up almost every page. There were lines of cursive between the lines of type on lots of the pages. Very messy, but I didn't mind much--I smiled as I looked down at it. Whoever the author was, she (I felt it was a she) had been very involved with this book and had loved it very much. I had a feeling she had known the owner and had done all this handwriting just for them, describing all the things in the book in detail because she liked the owner. These were the marks of somebody who really loved their work.
The whole time I stood there looking at this book the prisoners stood nearby watching me anxiously, as if afraid I would find something they didn't want me to find. My crew watched over them. I didn't really care what they thought of what I did.
I turned a few more pages and a couple of thick paper cutouts almost fell out. I caught them in my hand and inspected them. One was blue and sort of round, that thick paper or thin cardboard; the other was smaller and perhaps orange. I believe tape was holding them together. There were some childish drawings on them. I frowned and looked at them more closely and they seemed more and more familiar.
It suddenly dawned on me that...
...I had made these drawings, had cut these things out, ages ago when I was little...
...and here they were between the pages of a book that seemed familiar, a book I was almost certain I had owned, sometime in the past...
...sitting on this old dresser on this civilian ship that we were in the act of plundering.
I whirled around to face the man who'd looked so angry before, standing over with the other passengers. He was staring at me with a kind of neutral look as if trying to gauge my reaction. My face must have become FURIOUS. I stormed over to him and grabbed his collar with one hand, shoving the cutouts in his face with the other.
"What are these?" I demanded to know, my voice getting hysterical. "Where did you get them? HOW did you get them? What are they doing on this ship?"
The whole time I screamed at him I shook him furiously. I was so incredibly angry but also--what?--ashamed?--humiliated?--hurt? I think I felt hurt and betrayed. I could think of only one explanation as for why this book and these cutouts, MY book and MY cutouts, were on this civilian ship. I had been kidnapped by pirates sometime when I was young. Kidnapped from civilians. Raised by the pirates. These civilians...these must have been people who had known me. Not necessarily my family, but friends. I'd been taken from THESE people so long ago. And yet...THEY were the ones I was angriest with! I didn't feel angry with the pirates--rather I felt hurt and ashamed that I wasn't REALLY one of them--I felt angry with the civilians and hurt by them as well. Why is that? Is it because I liked my "pirate" life so much that I didn't want to be reminded of my "normal," civilian life? Was it the sort of anger an adopted child might feel after meeting their birth parents--did I somehow feel these people had LET me be taken away from them, that they didn't try hard enough to get me back? Why was I so angry with them?
All the while I screamed at him and shook the man the other passengers, my crew, watched, and the man kept trying to calm me down and talk to me, answer my enraged questions, but I never gave him the chance. I was too hurt and humiliated. I shoved him roughly away from me and went back to join my crew. I can't remember if I took the book and cutouts with me...but I felt so angry about my lost, forgotten childhood...and about whatever else it was, whatever it was that made me so mad at the civilians.
By all rights I should have been angriest with the PIRATES. THEY were the ones who took me away from my real home. I may have been a little angry with them for doing so, but they weren't the primary target for my anger. THEY had given me a home. THEY had made me feel as if I belonged, as if I were one of them--they'd treated me so well that I had even been CONVINCED I was one of them, despite my vague memories of a previous life. I liked them! I wanted to stay with them! It was fun being with them! And now these CIVILIANS decided to show up and dredge up everything from the past, remind me that I wasn't "really" a pirate, and just screw everything up for me. Is THAT why I was so angry? Or was it a mixture of all of the abovestated?
I can't remember what happened after that, only that I went back to my crew, leaving the civilians behind. I did NOT want to go back to them. The thing was...they had just disrupted my life so badly, I would no longer be able to just be a happy carefree pirate. So what would I do with my life NOW?
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