Set 7 - Shanks 26
Title: Never Forget
Theme: #19 negative
Claim: Shanks
(Words:) 636
Rating: K+
Warnings: None
Disclaimer(s): Don't own One Piece
Hidden in a drawer in the captain’s cabin, far away from the sun and prying eyes, a tiny inconspicuous roll of dark material is tucked into a strip of cloth.
Even without seeing it, its owner could still remember its contents clear as day - the scenes were imprinted in his mind, just like how they were imprinted on the film. A series of photo negatives, carefully stored, told a precious story with each picture.
A red-haired boy, sound asleep with his head in his captain’s lap who had similarly dozed off, neither aware of the fond looks from the crew nor awaken by the soft click of a shutter as the first mate immortalized the moment.
The same boy, holding a wooden stick, charges at a blond man. A single glance by a veteran fighter would detect flaws in that stance, but no lack of courage or determination. A simple sidestep is sufficient to avoid the swung weapon completely. The man says something, critically, and tells his young pupil to try again. Another charge, a marginally improved form, no less fire in those young eyes. The captain, watching from the sidelines, captures the smugly approving expression on the first mate’s face that briefly replaced the stern façade.
Two young boys, sitting huffily side by side on the deck looking opposite ways, obviously annoyed with each other over their latest argument of a minute ago. A click, identical surprised blinks and two pairs of eyes snapped towards the source of the sound. Disagreement was forgotten in favor of chasing the laughing captain across the ship. Neither realized that the camera had at some point left the black-haired man’s hands. Another click, this one unheard over the ruckus, and the first mate stowed the item away from harm with a satisfied smirk.
A sea of clouds, a brand new world to discover, spread out all around them. A boy asks for the camera to capture this moment. Careful positioning to find the angle that would present the most beautiful image, a photo is taken. And if anyone noticed how the picture included the proud, laughing figure standing at the ship’s bow, no one mentioned it.
A group of merry men, with laughing faces and arms around each other, call out to the photographer to somehow join them in the family portrait. The photographer, stubbornly behind the camera, rolls his eyes and snaps the photo in all its chaotic glory. The next photograph is even messier, slanting slightly to one side and featuring half a black mustache and wide grin covering a good chunk of the picture. Behind the new photographer (who had attempted, to moderate success, to include himself in the portrait), an additional man had joined the ranks, their first mate being unceremoniously dragged away from this post behind the camera while their captain took charge of the device.
The last photo, just as precious as the rest, only had in it a ship sailing away into the horizon. The camera had failed to capture what was behind its lens - the tears and desperate faces - but if one looked carefully enough, it had immortalized one thing that by itself spoke volumes of the sorrow felt by all - the single figure that stood on the deck of the ship as it sailed, when there should have been others, standing beside him.
All those memories were carefully stored upon dark paper, to be revealed if there ever was the need. But there never was, nor never would be, because those pictures were already engraved in the hearts of those who matter much, much deeper than it had been printed on paper. So those negatives stayed in their hiding place in the drawer, unsullied by the ignorant world, the secret memoirs of the Pirate King and those who loved him.
Theme: #19 negative
Claim: Shanks
(Words:) 636
Rating: K+
Warnings: None
Disclaimer(s): Don't own One Piece
Hidden in a drawer in the captain’s cabin, far away from the sun and prying eyes, a tiny inconspicuous roll of dark material is tucked into a strip of cloth.
Even without seeing it, its owner could still remember its contents clear as day - the scenes were imprinted in his mind, just like how they were imprinted on the film. A series of photo negatives, carefully stored, told a precious story with each picture.
A red-haired boy, sound asleep with his head in his captain’s lap who had similarly dozed off, neither aware of the fond looks from the crew nor awaken by the soft click of a shutter as the first mate immortalized the moment.
The same boy, holding a wooden stick, charges at a blond man. A single glance by a veteran fighter would detect flaws in that stance, but no lack of courage or determination. A simple sidestep is sufficient to avoid the swung weapon completely. The man says something, critically, and tells his young pupil to try again. Another charge, a marginally improved form, no less fire in those young eyes. The captain, watching from the sidelines, captures the smugly approving expression on the first mate’s face that briefly replaced the stern façade.
Two young boys, sitting huffily side by side on the deck looking opposite ways, obviously annoyed with each other over their latest argument of a minute ago. A click, identical surprised blinks and two pairs of eyes snapped towards the source of the sound. Disagreement was forgotten in favor of chasing the laughing captain across the ship. Neither realized that the camera had at some point left the black-haired man’s hands. Another click, this one unheard over the ruckus, and the first mate stowed the item away from harm with a satisfied smirk.
A sea of clouds, a brand new world to discover, spread out all around them. A boy asks for the camera to capture this moment. Careful positioning to find the angle that would present the most beautiful image, a photo is taken. And if anyone noticed how the picture included the proud, laughing figure standing at the ship’s bow, no one mentioned it.
A group of merry men, with laughing faces and arms around each other, call out to the photographer to somehow join them in the family portrait. The photographer, stubbornly behind the camera, rolls his eyes and snaps the photo in all its chaotic glory. The next photograph is even messier, slanting slightly to one side and featuring half a black mustache and wide grin covering a good chunk of the picture. Behind the new photographer (who had attempted, to moderate success, to include himself in the portrait), an additional man had joined the ranks, their first mate being unceremoniously dragged away from this post behind the camera while their captain took charge of the device.
The last photo, just as precious as the rest, only had in it a ship sailing away into the horizon. The camera had failed to capture what was behind its lens - the tears and desperate faces - but if one looked carefully enough, it had immortalized one thing that by itself spoke volumes of the sorrow felt by all - the single figure that stood on the deck of the ship as it sailed, when there should have been others, standing beside him.
All those memories were carefully stored upon dark paper, to be revealed if there ever was the need. But there never was, nor never would be, because those pictures were already engraved in the hearts of those who matter much, much deeper than it had been printed on paper. So those negatives stayed in their hiding place in the drawer, unsullied by the ignorant world, the secret memoirs of the Pirate King and those who loved him.