Fancying a New Leg [100-Words]

The wretched crew lined up midship, tattered hems of their shirts unencumbered by breeches. The wind skirted in—tickling the shirttails—allowing Captain Smythe to glimpse assorted legs. Though jaundiced and twisty, he coveted them like Crack Jenny’s teacup.

“Curses! Scrawny, like me Great Aunt Bessie’s, they are,” he spat a wad of tobacco on the offender’s boots.

“Blimey! Like a bloated corpse too long in the sun,” Smythe sank the blunt edge of his cutlass into Seaman Jones’ springy flesh.

Pausing mid-stride, he adjusted Barrelman Mick’s rotted leg, a knuckle too short, causing Captain Smythe an uncomfortable lopsided gait.


Lisa H. Owens
Inspired by a June 2023 Black Hare Press Dark Moments Themed Contest: Pirates
 

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