Author: Elliott Silver (firstname.lastname@example.org)
Summary: Even gold is black.
Crowning them with imperial light.
The room still muggy with darkness, still more night than day, though not for long.
She moved in sleep, slinking her body along his.
Her breathing a constant rhythm, deep like spicy bayou darkness, so deep he was lost in it.
Submerged in his blood.
But even blood could be spilled.
Splintering the metronome of their bodies.
Once again, separated into two distinctly separate beings.
There was a thin line between piracy and privateering. Always had been, always would be.
He was a pirate.
Just like Blackbeard, or Jean Lafitte, or William Kidd.
Killing himself because he was stealing her.
Always had been, always would be.
In old times, pirates were hanged on the beach and left there – until three tides had come and gone.
Until they were but remnants. Until all that remained was nothing at all.
His clothes flung to distant realms of the room, his body still with her.
Not a privateer. A pirate.
When his need for gold had become too strong to resist.
Then he went to her.
Without commission, without permission.
He just went.
He needed her.
Like he had never needed anything else.
Or was likely to ever need anything again.
His clothes cold, abrasive. His body screaming for her touch.
A narrow gangplank.
And nowhere to go but forward.
Into the abyss.
Email Elliott Silver
Return to Elliott's Pretender Fiction
Disclaimer: The characters of "The Pretender" are not mine; they rightfully belong to NBC, MTM, and Pretender Productions, as well as the actors and actresses who give paper and ink a life and a voice. I am making no profit from these writings; imitation is the highest form of flattery.