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As I stand here widowed with five children to my own, I find myself wanting to achieve this purpose more than ever but with no energy to search for what that could be.

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As I do a full spin to try and diagnose my pursuer, I cannot see anyone within my sight that seems to be out of place.
Picture: (Out of Place)

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It is inside me in which I feel him, not just a physical present, but a spiritual connection that is entangling my soul with his. I decide to return to the park bench nearest my children, hoping this identity will come forth to me; maybe I can not force him out.

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My gaze shoots to the approaching stranger and eyes linger on the most aristocratic, bewitching man my eyes have ever laid eyes upon. His obsidian hair lay on his shoulders, untidy much like mine this morning.

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And I shall do the same again today, as life seems to be passing me by.

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As far as the location I would want this set in Europe around the 1700's when pirating was most prevalent. The main characters that would be present in the story would be Mary, her children, and at the very end Don Pedro. The conflict in the story comes from Mary being unable to identity what it is thats bothering her and who it is that is watching her and it leaves her feeling very haunted. The costume and dress is probably my favorite part of the story, it is very elegant on Mary's part because it is taking place in the 1700's. She is a very aristocratic woman and is in nice gowns and clothing. Don Pedro is often in torn clothing from his pirating days and is covered in mud, oil, and other stains showing no concern for his appearance which marks their stark contrast. The politics of the time has a strict ruling against pirating so this puts pressure on Don Pedro. The lighting would be very dull, showing Mary's depression and boredom with her life.

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It is with a somber heart I realize how much these days have been passing in a fog, going through the same routine half asleep whilst just trying to remain emotionally awake.

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It is as I am composing my thoughts when a shadow casts itself over my line of sight.

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The swain’s eyes never left mine as he took my hand in his, callouses I felt covering his battle worn hands. “Mary,” He began breathlessly. “You may not remember me, but I certainly could never forget you.”

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He had the appearance of someone who had seen his share of warfare and misfortunes, but still maintained a softness in his eyes that couldn’t be missed.

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The autumn leaves crunch beneath my feet as I place myself in front of my youngest son. I mindfully gather myself realizing I have not been this emotionally stirred in some years.

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I look up to the mirror to see my chestnut hair, untidy at my sides and the somber bags under my eyes reminding me of the lack of sleep I have been receiving.

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I have very few memories of him, the man who blessed me with my name. As I am told, he was a gruesome pirate who boarded the ship my mother and father had stowed away on.

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All I do know of him, is that I am grateful to this unknown pirate-for he gave me a greater purpose in life, to try and be more than myself but to also live for the memory of the woman who’s name I hold.

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It is about halfway through my day of exasperatedly trying to maintain a passable appearance, that I feel an atypical feeling stirring inside myself. It is around mid-day when I notice this feeling and I instantly know that someone is watching me.

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The children are running ahead of me in the park, having needed to get out of the house today when I become quite neurotic due to this unsettling visitor.