I Cut My Hair

Life is never easy. The things we do, and the treasures we seek always come with a price. I stood there, for several long minutes, staring into the cracked mirror. A porcelain picture stared back at me. I was Cain Alexander, the well known pub wench. I had spent my entire life in the pub, working as a bar maid with my 'family' as I struggled to retain the little dignity I had.

My 'family' wasn't really my family. I'd grown up with them. When I was still an infant my mother had left me on their doorstep. I had always wondered why she had left me, and for that matter with the worst 'family' around. The people in the pub weren't a family. They were horrid creatures that crawled about pushing themselves on the customers while the men paid for the women to sleep with them.

It disgusted me. If I didn't do my job I'd be hit, viciously. I had no friends, no life, except that maybe someday I'd earn a decent pay by selling my virginity, which was not going to happen so long as I could prevent it. I was a woman in the town of Barbados. Women were not allowed on ships. I had nowhere to go, until the day I talked to one of the old sailors at the pub. I sat there most of the day listening to his stories of the sea. They inspired me. He was one of the nicest men I had ever met in that pub.

I remember his features. He had grey greasy hair, but his eyes were a kind deep blue. He was smoking his pipe and smiling at my curiosity.

"A young lady like yourself shouldn't be so interested in ships," he had chuckled.

"It's okay to dream, is it not?" I had replied. He had then taken out his pipe and looked at me. I felt as though I were being x-rayed.

"Don't dream your life, sweetheart. Live your dreams." Those words had stung me. They had been engraved in my brain ever since. I had spent many months after, saving, and sneaking as much of the money the tavern maids gave me. I was beaten by some of the men who worked behind the counters of the tavern. I had many bruises and scars that had accumulated on my skin over the years.

So there I stood, a few months later, in front of my cracked mirror in my tiny room. I had stolen some old pants and a shirt from one of the men that worked at the tavern. My old dress now lay over the back of my chair. I had packed up a few more shirts and pants with socks and had even stolen some boots and a knife from the kitchen. I looked at my new image in the mirror.

My long brown hair fell over my shoulders. It was my pride. It was curly and framed my wide stormy grey eyes. My lips were chapped and most certainly didn't look pretty. I spun around a few times, trying to get the feel of my new attire. The boots felt more comfortable than the small shoes I'd been wearing for almost two years. The shirt was a comfortable fabric and allowed me to breathe evenly. Underneath I had wrapped special bandages around my chest, making sure people wouldn't be able to see my bosom. I then adorned a shirt over that and finally the other shirt over that.

I looked rather scrawny in the large clothing, but it was the best I could do for now. After checking off my appearance and making sure I was fit to set sail, I took the knife from my vanity.

It was the hardest thing I ever had to do. I would never again look upon myself with long brown hair. I would never see myself as a woman again. I had become Mr. Cain Alexander. I would never be feminine again.

I held the blade up to my hair as small tears rolled down my cheeks. That was it, I had to stop crying. Men didn't cry. They were tough. Besides, what were a few strands of hair compared to freedom? So I began to cut. I gripped my hair and let the blade slice through it. Slowly, but surely I saw my long locks fall. I cut and cut and cut. Slicing through my only pride. I sliced through my strength and love all those years. My long hair had been the only thing I'd ever been proud of.

At last I set the dagger down on my vanity and stared into the mirror. I didn't even recognize the boy before me. I was sixteen years old, with short brown hair that fell slightly into my eyes. My clothes were much too big for me, and now that my hair had been cut you could see the bruises.

Now and forevermore I would be a man. I would leave this life behind me and never return. It was my turn to do the dream, and I wouldn't back down. With a final nod toward my mirror I moved toward my window, grabbed my sack, and began to climb down without even looking back.

A/N: This is actually a second story I've decided to being writing about, since I am already working on another one, but this story just came to me out of nowhere and I really hope everyone likes it :) I've always loved giant ships and masts and sailing, and so I finally decided to write a story about it. I'm not sure if this will go anywhere, but what the heck, right?

So I hope you enjoy it.