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The first week they had acted politely towards her, the next week she was locked away, the third week they began giving her a minimum amount of food and water and by the fourth week blood was spilled. Even the marines would have a limit to their patience, of course Amaya knew as much but that was the problem. She knew too much and they wanted this knowledge. Amaya had seen with her own eyes what it could do, heard how it was supposed to be used and she wasn’t about to tell anyone about it. Navy or pirate, it didn’t matter to her.
She had been rescued by one of the marine’s ship some miles away from Punk Hazard; because of the distance she had made between her and the toxic island they hadn’t questioned her too much about it. Even if she didn’t have a reputation or a bounty, they still hadn’t trusted her too much and had chosen to search her bag. The moment the purple colored pear was extracted from her bag she was seen as a prisoner.
The luck she had had on the island must have been the last because it seemed impossible to be able to escape from the grasp of these marines. Day after day she was questioned, their ways becoming increasingly difficult to handle. Why didn’t she just tell them what she had heard? It wasn’t because she had thought of them as the bad guys, but whatever SMILE was and whatever had been done to the pear was just too dangerous. She couldn’t just trust any marine with the information, which she had told them, but they wouldn’t hear it.
Thirty five days had slowly passed by. The bars stood strong around her, making up the cage they had locked her in. Once a day she was given a piece of bread and some water, the water stone shackles that held her hands secured had not made it any easier to find any source of strength in her body. Those ten minutes per day she was allowed to not wear some was beginning to feel less different from when she was wearing them. After the second week they had taken away her bathing privileges and when the third week began they refused to give her any new clothes besides underwear.
But it was at this day she found the opportunity to escape. A low ranked marine was given the task to give her the food along with the ten minutes removal of the shackles so she could eat. He had unlocked the irony grip from her wrists as the first task before getting the tray of what little food she was allowed. From where she found the strength was impossible to tell, but it didn’t matter. What did matter, however, was how she was going to survive being stuck out on sea in a boat the size of a small bed without anything else than the dirty clothes she wore. The loose orange onepiece was filled with spots of dried blood and traces of the lack of washing. A single glance into the calm water showed nothing better; her usual curly red hair was tangled and dirty, her skin was pale and sickly looking, and the large dark spots under her eyes was just another sign of how she had been treated. She didn’t even dare to look at the rest of body; the bruises, dirt and blood was not something she felt like seeing at the moment.
Days went by with her body curled into a small ball in the boat, her shallow breath and fluttering eyes was the only thing she could concentrate about. The pain she had felt was becoming mere background to her. This must be it, she thought to herself. Could it have been worse? Of course it could. The sudden shake of her boat quickly pulled her out of her thoughts. Her tired eyes turned to look at the large yellowy boat right in front of her, her dry red lips parted slightly, while she could find nothing in her head. Every thought, every possibility of making a decision or making up a plan was gone, it was purely instincts that made her get up and get on the ship.
No one was on deck; the eerie stillness of the boat would usually have made her second guess her actions, but her body craved water and food. She entered through the only door she could spot, and did her best trying to find her way through the many halls. A vague sound of voices could be heard; she wasn’t about to be caught by anyone again. Not now. Her shaking body fought the fatigue with the best of its power but with every limping step she took movement became harder. The shadowy form standing at the end of the hall was what gave her the extra strength to actually turn around and run, or at least move faster. Adrenaline? She hurried away but her blurry vision didn’t make it easier to find her way through the unknown vessel. Darkness soon took over; the few feet she between her and the door almost made her cry.
She had been rescued by one of the marine’s ship some miles away from Punk Hazard; because of the distance she had made between her and the toxic island they hadn’t questioned her too much about it. Even if she didn’t have a reputation or a bounty, they still hadn’t trusted her too much and had chosen to search her bag. The moment the purple colored pear was extracted from her bag she was seen as a prisoner.
The luck she had had on the island must have been the last because it seemed impossible to be able to escape from the grasp of these marines. Day after day she was questioned, their ways becoming increasingly difficult to handle. Why didn’t she just tell them what she had heard? It wasn’t because she had thought of them as the bad guys, but whatever SMILE was and whatever had been done to the pear was just too dangerous. She couldn’t just trust any marine with the information, which she had told them, but they wouldn’t hear it.
Thirty five days had slowly passed by. The bars stood strong around her, making up the cage they had locked her in. Once a day she was given a piece of bread and some water, the water stone shackles that held her hands secured had not made it any easier to find any source of strength in her body. Those ten minutes per day she was allowed to not wear some was beginning to feel less different from when she was wearing them. After the second week they had taken away her bathing privileges and when the third week began they refused to give her any new clothes besides underwear.
But it was at this day she found the opportunity to escape. A low ranked marine was given the task to give her the food along with the ten minutes removal of the shackles so she could eat. He had unlocked the irony grip from her wrists as the first task before getting the tray of what little food she was allowed. From where she found the strength was impossible to tell, but it didn’t matter. What did matter, however, was how she was going to survive being stuck out on sea in a boat the size of a small bed without anything else than the dirty clothes she wore. The loose orange onepiece was filled with spots of dried blood and traces of the lack of washing. A single glance into the calm water showed nothing better; her usual curly red hair was tangled and dirty, her skin was pale and sickly looking, and the large dark spots under her eyes was just another sign of how she had been treated. She didn’t even dare to look at the rest of body; the bruises, dirt and blood was not something she felt like seeing at the moment.
Days went by with her body curled into a small ball in the boat, her shallow breath and fluttering eyes was the only thing she could concentrate about. The pain she had felt was becoming mere background to her. This must be it, she thought to herself. Could it have been worse? Of course it could. The sudden shake of her boat quickly pulled her out of her thoughts. Her tired eyes turned to look at the large yellowy boat right in front of her, her dry red lips parted slightly, while she could find nothing in her head. Every thought, every possibility of making a decision or making up a plan was gone, it was purely instincts that made her get up and get on the ship.
No one was on deck; the eerie stillness of the boat would usually have made her second guess her actions, but her body craved water and food. She entered through the only door she could spot, and did her best trying to find her way through the many halls. A vague sound of voices could be heard; she wasn’t about to be caught by anyone again. Not now. Her shaking body fought the fatigue with the best of its power but with every limping step she took movement became harder. The shadowy form standing at the end of the hall was what gave her the extra strength to actually turn around and run, or at least move faster. Adrenaline? She hurried away but her blurry vision didn’t make it easier to find her way through the unknown vessel. Darkness soon took over; the few feet she between her and the door almost made her cry.
