what we live with

content warnings: kidnapping, amputation, suicidal ideation

it's a life long gone, your youth. the softness found in the harsh edges of the too-cramped house. you were hungry, but never starving. you were wanting, but never desperate. you were yearning, but never unloved. you refuse to dwell. the time spent aching for that past has already passed --- and you have already acted upon. the painful sobbing, the pitiful bargaining, the screaming denial. you were fifteen when you were labelled collateral for the debt your parents owed. you were kept for blackmail, days turning to months stretching to years. until the coin suddenly stopped. until your parents' demise finally reached your ears. you were eighteen when you were finally deemed a liability. an injury to the arm left untreated, rot creeping back through your veins. another mouth no longer worth feeding. they abandoned you on tortuga, feverish, delirious. it's better to forget this all. you cannot allow yourself to remember how sweet death tasted on your lips.

you awoke thinking you were whole. the beginning of your body and vision misaligning. sawbone stood with only one tending to the lot that walked through the tent flaps. they saved your brain and what strength was left in your heart because they immediately cut your arm. the rot had traveled too far, a threat that they weren't sure they could save you from. but there you breathed. and there you stayed. for long days and dark nights, you listened to the bustle of tortuga, and tried listening for the twitch of a limb against the sheet. by the time you finally rose, you stuck within that tent. there was nowhere else. first a nuisance, then a shadow. and still, a new life. you didn't want it then. you hold it tight now.

content warning: death, murder, blood

your face is a reflection of your mother's. at least, that's what your father told you. memories of her are sparse, broken into shards you struggle to piece together. warm hands rubbing your back. sharing bowls of food during a cold night. there is no face, no voice, you can recall. what you do remember is the stillness. the room buzzing with flies. her body, unmoving, as you --- fever wrecking you --- stared at her form on the floor. was her head turned away to spare you? or did she believe she would wake? the little you memorized is the feel of the ends of her hair as you reached for her. how long did you stay like that? by the time your lungs cleared, a man entered the room, heavy gaze sweeping over your mother's body until it landed on you. decide if you're coming with me, he said. a demand. the room finally breathed, the spell broken. with shaky limbs, you stood to face him. he smiled. called you son. and you left your mother behind.

the sea loved you. a hard-won love, but given nonetheless. why else was your small frame never thrown overboard? why else did the storms spare you from injury whenever the wind thrashed about? how else did you live on that ship, on and on and on? you climbed through the ranks with gritted teeth and howls unleashed. the sea wouldn't have you, for it's greatest show of love was leaving you above waters. and your father noticed. rarely did he call you son, not in front of the crew despite your shared surname, and never with the same warmth as the day he found you, but in the privacy of his captain's quarters, his praise was the greatest treasure. nearly two decades on the sea, you rose to second mate. you could've continued under him. you could've stayed happy. but maybe the sea loved you too much to leave you in ignorance.

you weren't supposed to hear. you barely thought of it at the time, when the crew spoke of their travels to other countries and lands. the long treks, the years spent in villages unknown. how the captain wanted someone to mold. they were near your village for two months. you listened in the dark, absorbing everything. but it wasn't until days later, watching the waters, when realization settled on your shoulders like death's grip. your mother died in less than a month. and your father ---- your father ---- you left her cold body behind.

once, after the grip relented, after you started tending the seed, you went to him. you wanted to know about her. she was okaasan and your mother, but that wasn't what she was gifted at birth. tell me her name, you said. a demand. and he stared at you. chuckled. i don't remember. and so you decided his fate.

was it an ending your father deserved, crumbling upon the wheel? you still struggle with the answer. but he died without witnesses, for the lookout raised the alarm long after his last exhale. suspicion circled, but never did gazes land on his tobacco bag and the flakes you sprinkled within. a slow poisoning. fights arose not to avenge, but wanting to lead. and you threw yourself forward. shedding your father's surname, you rose as captain with blood running down your face.