Chapter 1 - Kuro's Childhood

“Please, sir, you must stay!” cried the nurse, tears streaming down her blotched face. “Please!”
“Not a chance,” grunted the pirate irritably. “I’ve more important and exciting things to do without dealing with a filthy, little kid.”
“But, this is your son!” the nurse said. “Please, sir, she would want you to be here.” Both of them could hear the loud, rushed voices behind the door.
“I can’t stay,” he grunted. “If I don’t leave now, I’ll never get another chance.”
“You choose booty over your own son,” moaned the nurse in disbelief. “Fine, leave, and woe betide you should you return!” The tears continued as she returned to the room from which the voices were issuing, and now leaving in a line, tired but happy. She stared upon the young woman, holding her newborn boy in her arms and resting on the bed.
“He...he...,” the nurse began, but she could not find the words to disrupt this woman’s hour of happiness.
“I already know,” the woman said. “It is to be expected. But, I do love him, and trust his judgment.” She shifted her arms a bit as the newborn fell asleep. “When he returns, he’ll be ready. But, right now, he can’t handle this.”
A silence swept across the two of them. They both understood. They both knew what would happen. But, aloud, they were not ready to confirm their shared fears.
Finally, the nurse broke the silence. “What are you going to name him?”
The woman thought about this for a moment, occasionally checking on the boy. Her eyes scanned the room and her memories, until it fell upon a black cat, resting upon the window. It seemed to almost be smiling, assuring her that all would be okay. She returned the cat’s smile and spoke, “Kuro. I shall name him Kuro.”
During Kuro’s younger years, he received such love and care from his mother such as no one else on that island had ever felt; and with good reason, as his father had not yet returned since his abrupt departure on Kuro’s birth.
Kuro proved to be quite adept, easily learning to walk before most toddlers his age and learning to speak just three months after his second birthday.
But still his father did not return. Kuro was oblivious to this; he was more interested in the world at his hands, particularly the animals that ran wild in the village. The cat that had been present on his birth made itself present regularly and permitted a few moments of love before placing itself well out of reach of the child. Kuro’s mother looked upon this cat as a sort of fill-in parent, someone that kept its eye over the young boy day and night.
But nothing really sunk in, formed a true memory, until he was five years old...
“Look!”
Kuro jumped slightly and dropped the small glass marble in his hand, letting it roll in the soft, dry dirt. He joined the other kids, who were gathered in a pack at the wooden-plank fence. It was a cinch for him to see over their heads; he was unusually tall for his age. Even from this huge distance the Southern Harbor was visible, as were a set of black flags. Within minutes, they could see a mass of people, marching solemnly and carrying a huge wooden box.
“Pirates!” some of the kids screamed as they spotted the flags. “What’re they doing here?”
“Dunno,” one of the shorter kids said. “I can’t see it.”
But at that moment, it didn’t matter whether or not anyone could see it, for the teachers had come out and began to usher the anxious children back into the schoolhouse.
“Aw, come on, we wanna see the pirates!”
“No fair!”
“Yeah, come on, just one peek!” Even Kuro began to join in; he’d never before seen a pirate; he’d merely had to rely on his mother’s words, which described them as ‘dirty, ungrateful slobs that only think of themselves.’ But, he was quickly silenced as he noticed the teacher making her way towards him.
“I’m sorry, Kuro. You need to return home,” she said gravely. “Your mother...she needs to speak with you.”
Kuro was on the verge of asking why, but decided against it and began to make his way home. The procession of men and the wooden box had passed, leaving the street completely deserted. Something about the empty street unnerved Kuro, so he ran home, looking over his shoulder periodically.
The talk with his mother was soon driven out of his mind as he drew closer to home; the people had stopped in front of his house. The wooden box was missing. He hurried forward, not knowing what would await him inside that house. The taller men noticed him and started to push him away.
“Stay back, kid, dis ain’t none of your biz’ness,” one of the men said.
“No, you gotta let me in, I live here!” Kuro gasped, exhausted from the run. “My mom’s in there! You gotta let me in!” More men began to push him away while Kuro screamed hoarsely, beating at the raw hands and coughing against the stench of grog on each man’s breath. His brain numbly registered that these men were pirates, but somehow seeing a pirate didn’t matter to him anymore; all he wanted was to see his mom.
“Let ‘imp through, common move, you drunken idiots!” someone yelled. Kuro looked up to see a man shoving the pirates out of the way. He tried to say thanks, but he was still gasping and merely dashed into the house.
He had found the wooden box, but now, from up close he could see that there had been a lid on it. He moved his sight instead to his mother, who was sitting straight in her chair. Her eyes stared into nothingness, cold and gray, very different from her normally vibrant sea green eyes. Her face was paler than the moon, giving her an eerie look. Kuro merely looked at her, occasionally looking back at the box.
It was a while before he spoke. “Mom?” He moved closer to her. She looked down and the eyes exploded into a mass of tears. She picked up Kuro and held him, still crying.
“What’s wrong, Mom? What’s in the big box?” he asked her softly. Still crying, albeit more softly, she looked down at him.
“Kuro,” she began, “do you remember what I told you about pirates?” This was the last thing he had been expecting, but he merely nodded.
“I ... I’m afraid that what I said ... what I said about the pirates ... is not always true. There are some good, decent pirates out there.” She set him down. “But... Kuro, your father left us a long time ago.”
Somehow this sudden change of topic passed unnoticed; Kuro merely stared at her still, clearly afraid.
“But, what’s in the box?” he repeated. His mother stopped crying; then, she stood up slowly and lifted the lid of the box.
“That...is your father.” Kuro stared at the cold, lifeless body of the man inside that box, the man that shared his hair color, his nose, even his hands. This man, this dead body...couldn’t be...
But, somehow, even as he knew that he’d never see his father alive, he wasn’t able to cry. Somewhere, deep in his heart, he could find no sadness, no remorse for this man that he’d never known, and never would know.
All he did was stare and listen to the sounds of the cats outside his house as dusk, then night, settled on the island. But, still, no tears, no pity, ever came.

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