It was the ocean. My first love, that is. Its sweeping waves were my lullaby, its roaring storms my opportunity, and its riches were, well, my riches. And, as first loves go, I thought it would last forever. As it turns out, forever is miserably short, and, as it turns out, there is currently a mutiny on my pirate ship.

“Now, let’s not get too hasty, Ollie!” I yelled into the freezing wind, backing away from my crew. They wore the faces of men who worked too hard for too little for too long, and as terrifying as that was, the weapons they bore were significantly worse.

“You’ve lost us at at sea,” Alister whispered. That was the thing with Alister. He never spoke above a whisper, and yet we all heard him quite clear.

I only gave a bellowing laugh, “Not true.”

In reality I didn’t know these waters. I didn’t even know of these waters, not by name, creed, much less of location. All I knew was that they were bitter, permanently overcast and free from any indicators hinting which way was which. No, this place was but a kind memory gone cold with disarray and disillusion.

I looked up at the winter sun. It seemed a crime for it to appear without its warmth. I looked towards the pistol in Ollie’s shaking hands. I brought my fingers down to press against my own weapon tucked away in my belt; my men were naive if they thought I’d go down alone.

“We know you have your riches split between London and Raleigh,” Ollie’s voice shook, as if he was testing whether or not I’d lie about what he knew. He was right, but only because Alister told him. Alister had been the only one to ever know.

I glanced at the horizon, searching for some speck of hope. Nothing appeared on the horizon. No ship, no land, not even a creature breaking to the surface. It seemed we were the only life for miles.

“You’ll dead without me,” I mumbled, still looking towards the horizon, “and I’ll be dead without my wealth. So put that pistol down and I’ll consider forgetting about this stupid little mutiny.”

Ollie’s face scrunched up. He was covered in grit and stunk to high heaven, hardened by years at sea, yet his skin healed fast, his grassy eyes still sparked, and he dreamt fondly of heroic leadership. Ollie did not plan this mutiny; I knew that much.

Yet just when Ollie seemed content lowering his gun, Alister spoke in his horrendous little voice.

“Three million—“

“Oh, please, the salts gone to your head—“

“We demand three million, Westland.”

Something about Alister saying it made it real.

He continued, “Westland, I have the locations of your accounts. I know you’ve entrusted your money to the O’Shea family. They know you trust me enough to receive any grotesque amount I ask for. So, take that pistol in your belt, and end your life faster than pain can comprehend before I do it for you.”

A crowd of sunken eyes and slackened jaws, pained with rotting teeth and cases of malnutrition, stared soullessly back at me. I didn’t see my reflection often, but on the case that I saw myself glancing back in the shine of my pistol or particularly calm tropic waters, I saw a man of health and money.

“Let me live and I’ll give it to you with a bow on top, Alister,” I tested, yet his gaze stayed motionless.

Alister aimed his weapon.

“Alister, Alister please—“

His hands were so steady.

“Don’t let me die like this—“

Not even a speck of regret lined his face. I raised my hands in front of me but I did not run; I would die with honor. Pirates seemed to be big on that sort of stuff. I look around helpless at my crew; they do nothing to help. Most of them don’t meet my gaze. Perhaps that is alright. I had led them for years, but always with success isolated to myself.

I would die in a bitter ocean surrounded by bitter men’s and I would deserve it.

I never showed my men how greatly I loved leading them. And when the pistol finally goes off, the last thing I think is how I really did love it.