A long time ago, in a distant land, there was an old pirate, the name of whom was remembered by no one, and his face was so distorted by the sands of time that people would no longer recognise him for his former self. He was merely a shadow of what he used to be, the remnants of a once-glorious ship captain who had conquered the seven seas with his might, and whose name was enough to send pure terror down the spine of any sailor. He was so clever that not even the whole navy could capture him, but now, he was merely a powerless, old man, before whom lied nothing but the once glorious past. Only one part of his former life remained with him: every day, he would not miss visiting the local tavern, where he would order a mug of ale, and keep drinking one mug after the other in one of the corners.
He had always done that when he was home, so it reminded him of the good-old days, when he fought against the fury of the sea or the anger of the navy. He always smiled at just how much treasure he acquired, at how much treasure he buried on a long-forgotten island, at the fact that he had taken more ladies' hearts than he could ever hope to count. It was good to remember those times, those golden years when his arms could still break in half the shin of his enemies, when his legs could still carry him across one ship to another without using a bridge, when his body would not collapse under the weight of a well-loaded treasure box. He could still remember how good it felt to raid a defenceless ship and then take everybody hostage for ransom. He still remembered the sharks circling around the ships after the battle, looking for fresh meat. He still remembered the sound of cannons firing, and bullets ripping through wood and steel.
Had so much time passed? Of course it had, but deep inside his heart, he refused to admit it. Like always, he could not accept defeat, not even if it was against his own, tired self, against his own body. He could not accept the fact that he spent his days like this, doing nothing and lurking around the local tavern, so on one particularly cold day, he decided that he would do something. He stood up from the corner where he always used to be, and walked towards a group of young people, some of whom looked like the troublemaker kind. They were speaking about many things he did not understand, but they were clearly men of the sea, soldiers or pirates, but either way, he did not care. He just wanted to feel those old days again, when he stood against a group of navy soldiers and managed to get out without a single wound.
"May I sit here, young gentlemen?" asked the old pirate, to which the group looked at him with hostile eyes.
"What do you want, pops?" asked one of the men, but another one simply waved at him, which made him shut his mouth. This young man was clearly the leader of the group, as whenever he looked at his lackeys, they would refuse to look him in the eye.
"No, please take a seat," said the leader of the young ones. "I have seen you here many times, old man... And each and every time, you were sitting in the corner, but that is not your place. You are like us, a man of the sea, yes?"
"Indeed I am, young gentlemen," said the old pirate as he got himself a chair and sat down.
"Then you must have experienced a lot in your life," said the leader. "So I would like to kindly ask you to share your stories... Even if they are false, I will gladly listen to them, for as a man of the sea myself, I can just not bear seeing that someone like me has collapsed so utterly," said the young pirate, and the old man's mouth curved into a smile. Of course he would talk about himself. After all, that is why he came here in the first place... To remember, and to be remembered.