Welcome to Pirate's Bay

Something new for the blog. A few years ago I wrote some flash fiction pieces. All of them run together to make a series. It's called Pirate's Bay. Here's part one. I'm going to post each part the next few Fridays. There are eight parts already written so that should take us a few months. After that I'll add to it. It was something I enjoyed writing once, I'm guessing I'll enjoy it again. So here you go, Pirate's Bay:

They are holding us in a place called Pirate's Bay. At least we think that's what it's called. None of the guards here speak English. It's some sort of pig Latin gibberish and when they are talking they keep saying something that sounds like "Piree Bah." We've figured they are trying to say Pirate's Bay, so that's where we say we are. Who we say it to is each other, but when someone tries to make a break we always remind him not to forget the boys in Pirate's Bay.

The last to try was Johannsen, a dorky little Swede with confidence two sizes bigger than he was. Have to give him credit, and we talk about him with respect when we talk about him, because he made it farther than any of us thought he would. He was a good two hundred yards outside the barrier, running at a dead sprint toward the mountains, before he went down. His right arm started to swing higher than his left. His left leg went stiff forcing him into this weird hop step. He ran like that for a few steps before his legs failed him altogether and he went over face first. It took the guards twenty minutes before they pulled a cart out there and brought him back. None of us could look at Johannsen's face when they dumped his body onto the pile of others.