|Pieces of Eight
Author: WhimsicalHeart PM
My english essay, that's why it is so short, random mini view from an 8 reale coin that was part of Flint's stash. in a bit of a hurry so summary sucks.Rated: Fiction K - English - Words: 695 - Published: 07-08-09 - Status: Complete - id: 5200017
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For you and I are past our Dancing Days
A/N: this is my English essay and my teacher quite liked it so I figured, what the heck and I posted it here, might expand later if people like the idea. We had to write based on a quote.
Disclaimer: I don't really know all the details about who owns what seeing as the author (Robert Louis Stevenson) of Treasure Island isn't among the living and there are so many movies and other stuff, what I do know is that I own nothing.
I have seen the world from the pockets of men, passed from hand to hand, stolen, coveted and now sedentary. I lay in an ornate silver box, padded with velvet and completely without appeal. What was once bright, shining silver metal is now slightly rusted, tarnished even. A proud 8 Reale coin maybe not as valuable as my Escudo siblings but I had become far more famous.
I was not made as coins were these days, an impersonal process, machines formed on them what a human caress had shaped on me. I was not so perfect and symmetrical I had been roughly cut, an estimate of the size I should be and my face pushed in while I was still warm and supple. I was much like a youth that bends and buckles till it finds its shape. I missed the taste of life I had once had. I had started my days in Spain, glorious Spain. I soon changed hands part of the payment to a merchant for a fine sword. I like swords, they speak of adventure and danger. They too know the touch of a human hand and the value there in, but I digress. We sailed for England a fortnight later, this excited me. I was as elated now as I had been disappointed ever time it was not I he drew from his sack, desperate to see the joys of the world.
On the way there had been many loud noises, people screaming, metal clashing a cacophony of sounds. It had ended in the hands of another, someone I learnt to identify as Captain Flint. Though I never saw bonny England I saw much of the sea from his purse, then from his chest. He became more and more possessive hording me and mine till eventually one day we stopped by a small island. He brought us and 6 of his men ashore. We walked across unfamiliar terrain till eventually we came to what he considered a worthy spot. He left us there, gold, silver, armaments, abandoned us. A strange deed in many ways, he had been loathe to part with us for other trinkets and items of value yet he left us here, alone, and gained nothing in return.
I spent a long time in that cave, seconds bled into minutes and minutes seemed hours, and each hour was an eternity. There was nothing to see, nothing to do, it was boring beyond belief. After what seemed like decades to me, but maybe it was less, a loon who called himself Ben Gunn came to move us. He often begged for toasted cheese and cursed the ship mates who had marooned him. He seemed to derive an odd pleasure from having found us though.
"But look now, now old Ben Gunn is rich"
Not so rich as he could have been though, for when others came, we were divided, all sent to different parts of the world. Ben and a pirate named Silver, an apt name I thought, for it was silver that he sought, stole me. Silver seemed to terrify Ben but why I was never to know, for when we returned to the shore I went with Ben. He was not an economical man, I was among the last he spent, and I was lost on the 19th day. Sometimes I remember the songs of the condemned crew, they priced us well:
one man of her crew alive,
What put to sea with seventy-five.":
Now, I say little, do less and see nothing. In truth my dancing days are over.