The Legend of Anne Bonny

1782, CHARLES TOWN, SOUTH CAROLINA

Outside, the sun is high in the sky and the water of the seas are calm, soothing, beckoning.

Annabeth is staring out the window, having grown quiet since finishing the tale of Anne Bonny, her former self. Approximately fifteen minutes have passed since then.

Thomas is writing inside his journal, adding his own perspectives about the tale he’d been told, dipping his quill into ink every now and then as he goes. Occasionally, he’ll sip at the cup of tea that’s placed near his belongings.

Silence lingers between them, aside from the sounds of the quill scratching against the sheet of paper.

As he continues documenting his thoughts on Anne’s lucky escape, she gets a vacant look in her eyes again, seeing things, ghosts. “My Jack… My Mary… I will be with you in due time…” She smiles to herself.

He doesn’t acknowledge anything unordinary. He just continues writing.

Just as he’s about to close his journal and pack his things, she starts talking again, back to her usual self. “After my escape, I found my way onto a ship that was headed for these parts. I began working at a tavern soon after my arrival. Within a few years, I met my second husband, to whom I am widowed. I won’t tell you more than that about my life as Annabeth Fowey; you only need to know that it has been fulfilling and peaceful, nothing like my first marriage.”

He writes it all down, listening closely.

“Now, I’m old with many a child. I’ve lived many lives. The one I remember fondest of all is the life of Anne Bonny, the tale I have expressed to you. For pure entertainment, as I did when I revealed I am not simply Annabeth Fowey, I fabricated hearsay of my pirate life, to see how my lies and truths would get twisted and turned as it was passed along,” she continues.

He glances up briefly before continuing to write. “I presume that the tale became exaggerated?”

She snickers. “Very much so. They tell my tale with staggering flair, some crazed female beyond all prayers. ‘Is she real?’, ‘Is she lore?’, ‘Where lies her heart?’; with the truth came many lies. Only one comes closest to what truly happened, to what I have told you these two days. With research, you will find them.”

“You believe they knew of you?” he asks.

“I believe they have known me,” she corrects. “I have met many a people throughout the years, as Anne McCormac, Anne Bonny, and Annabeth Fowey. This person likely met me before my time of piracy and had seen me throughout it when we would be docked at the shores.”

“Interesting,” he mumbles, still taking accurate notes. “Do you think about Anne Bonny often?”

“I never stopped,” she states. “I still see the pelicans fly. I still hear the ocean at night, though it helps that I live by one now; then, I had not, yet I could still hear it as if it were right beside me. I still see Jack’s eyes. And Mary by my side. Sometimes, he is with her.”

“And so ends the tale of Anne Bonny?” he asks.

“And so ends the tale of a pirate queen, a woman who loved and lived, a she-wolf who reigned the Caribbean Sea with a pistol ready and cutlass keen,” she corrects with mild dramatics, slowly throwing open her arms with flair. “The villainous, infamous Anne Bonny.”

He cracks a smile at the elderly woman, quoting her words before closing his journal and putting his belongings back inside his satchel. “I thank you for this honor of speaking your truth.”

“I thank you for listening,” she says.

Hours pass. Thomas is long gone. Annabeth, no, Anne is all alone.

As the sun began to set, she stepped out of her home to approach the docks. She stood at the edge of the wooden platform, seeing what no one else can; she can see the ship she sailed on with Jack and Mary. She sees them on the deck, looking out towards her.

She grins and nods, taking a seat on the dock, her legs dangling off the side. Even when the sun is gone and only darkness remains, she stays sitting there.

And when morning arrives, that is where her body is found, her soul at peace and her final thoughts lingering in the atmosphere.

May we meet again in another life.

APRIL 2025

As soon as Nettie finishes the retelling of her previous life, Lainey jumps forward from her chair on the patio, climbing onto her love’s lap and giving her the most passionate of kisses. Her lips press against her love’s own lips, alongside her forehead, nose, and cheeks. Truthfully, she kisses her entire face, leaving nothing unmarked by her undying affection.

“Oh, my Anne,” Lainey breathes out, wrapping her arms around the woman’s neck, some of her former life’s dialect entering her speech patterns. “I’ve kept you waiting for so long. Years. Then, centuries upon centuries. I’m so sorry I left you.”

“Your illness was unpreventable in those days, darling,” Nettie states, smiling brightly. “Unsavable, too. These days, modern medicine can fix that, though the risk of death still remains. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Lainey pulls back to stare into her eyes. “Jack? What about him? Has he returned, too?”

Nettie shakes her head sadly. “If he has, I haven’t found him.”

“We’ll search together,” Lainey promises.

“We will,” Nettie agrees.

Lainey snuggles closer, laying her head upon her love’s shoulder. “How did you come to realize you’re Anne?”

“I found my old journal,” Nettie states. “It’s been passed down for centuries. It’s weird, you know, being related to myself.”

Lainey snorts. “Well, no one said reincarnation was perfect.”

“True,” Nettie says.

“How did you know where to find me?” Lainey asks.

“I didn’t. It was pure coincidence that you worked in that modern day tavern,” Nettie says. “I knew it was possible; you look much like you did then. I wasn’t sure, though. I hoped that hearing the tale would trigger the memories of your past life, as it did with me.”

Lainey pouts. “You got lucky with encountering Jack. You got lucky with encountering me. You got lucky with escaping being hanged. You got lucky with creating a new life for yourself. You got lucky that your final wish came true. Now, you’ve gotten lucky finding me again. That is so unfair.”

Nettie laughs. “I’m sorry, darling; luck runs through these veins.”

“Well, that luck better help us find Jack,” Lainey says, still pouting.

Nettie kisses her forehead. “It’s gotten late. We should head off.”

“You can cancel your stay at the hotel; you’re coming with me. I’m not letting you out of my sight,” Lainey states.

“As you wish,” Nettie whispers, giving her a long, loving kiss before they stood up and left the patio.

The moonless sky is littered with stars. They reflect upon the surface of the sea, illuminating the calm waters. Boats and ships sit silently at the docks, unoccupied. No sails can be seen on the dark horizon, the sea at peace on the surface.

The silhouettes of two women are barely visible, standing at the end of the docks, looking out towards the waters. It is unknown how long they’ve been standing there.

Seconds pass.

Minutes pass.

It grows later and later into the night, far past midnight, closer to dawn. Yet, both of these women are wide awake.

The silhouettes move, heading back towards the land. And, soon, the light of the lamp posts shine down upon them.

Medieval gothic clothing of various quality coats their bodies. Bouncy curls reach her shoulders, the color of red-brown; her hair flows down to her shoulders in straightened locks, the color of darkness. Her pale cheeks are littered in freckles; her tanned face is coated with acne scars. Red stains her lips; pale pink lips remain untouched. Piercing green eyes stare forward, her walk feminine and full of confidence; her eyes are the color of the sun, her walk matching that of her lover.

They approach a home that lays nearby, owned by one of the women. Silence echoes from within; the woman lives alone. Not anymore.

Their expressions smug and smirks slowly forming, they stroll into their home to completely rekindle their flame.

~~~~~~~~~~

The way the story is written doesn’t matter. Professional, simple, perfect, sloppy. What matters most is that the story is being retold again for those who may have never heard of her.

Plus, Karliene is a lovely singer who deserves some more subscribers. She didn’t/doesn’t just write/sing songs for/about Anne Bonny. She also has songs about witches, middle-earth, Anne Boleyn, and others.

If you haven’t caught on, lines are made bold (this time italic) because it’s a line from the song that’s linked; I’ve been doing this for every chapter.

Bits and pieces of information about Anne Bonny come from the wikipedia page and other sources. It may be true; it may be exaggerated. That’s why I am calling this historical fiction.

And sorry that the lingo is a bit too modern; it’s very difficult to write how people once spoke when you don’t actually know much of how they spoke, even with some research.

Thank you for being a part of this twelve chapter journey!