Dear My Friends, | ONE PIECE VARIOUS x Reader

Arrow 1. fear is an arrow unmasked.

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As you walk, the lonely streets only seem to grow more daunting. No one cares to pity another parentless child. The sight is common, you think, but children alike to yourself stand by their parents. They are sorry, gazes filled with relief that they are not you. It hurts.

There is no funeral for the passing of your father.

"Move along now," an elder calls, wooden stick pointing at the villagers who take their time. Your hands ball into angered fists.

Breaths come uneven as your body jolts in ache. There is a throbbing pain that eats you. The white skirt you wear is still painted with the shadow of small holes, and you are reminded of the promise of your father. It doesn't just hurt, it kills. Despite the lift of your clothes with the cool breeze that follows, you don't hesitate in staying unmoving. The sewed worn-out fabric is a provider of warmth.

You feel the urge to cry. It's embarrassing and beyond that, shameful to scar the memory of him. The bag remains hung over the sling of your right shoulder. A bow, five arrows, and a journal. Those are your belongings.

"Someone, no," you say quietly, a tremble is in your voice, "anyone, please, hear me!"

Your eyes pool in tears. You don't resist the drops of sad, but you are humiliated. As you fall to your knees, arms crossed in an embrace, you want to die. This time, they give you a passing look. But your heart breaks into hundreds, if not, a million, pieces. You are nothing more than a pebble in their path. Their eyes are cold, sullen, and mean. They walk around you and a circle forms.

"Please," you beg. "Please just treat him like you would any other person. Why is his passing any different?"

It's sudden. Footsteps stop right before you. The elder is gazing at you with something alike to sympathy, and he may have truly felt sorry, but it disappears just as soon as it forms. He's wearing a long coat, and his whole outfit is a sea-sick green. His hand disappears into his pocket, rummaging to find an object of sorts. You look back at him with a yearning wonder. It must be ugly of you to do so, because he scoffs, turning his head opposite to you. You're ashamed and the tears don't make it any easier.

"Sorry—" you say quickly, and it's almost an incoherent mumble. The elder shakes his head, simply sticking his hand back out. You're confused with his action, a little too much even, so your mouth falls open. He notices, using his wooden stick to point at you.

The elder drops the 10,000 berry notes in front of you. "Take it, child."

Money is what he gives you. It's righteous of him as an elder, to help out an orphan child, but you don't care for it. He knows this, seeing you make no motion to take the handouts. You grip his shoe with what could be described a death-tight anger, but the elder doesn't bother to do anything but brush you off. He turns around, nose pointing high to the sky.

Your sobs resume, head bowing deep to the ground in protest. It's scary without the smile of your father. The elder, the only villager to cast you a second look, is gone. You ask one last time, "Will you not at least honour his givings to this island?"

You don't receive an answer, but the stares of villagers are telling. As long as you bear the name of your birth, you will never be received as one of their very own. You are a curse, you know, to the life of your father, and those who you surround.

Caminus island is a place so far, and though it is deep in your heart, you wish you had never been born.

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The arrows you shoot don't miss the target. While you hold the bow outwards, your grip is relaxed. The arrow rest is positioned upwards, arrow placed neatly in between. You push the nock onto the string. The bow is now vertical. Your index finger takes place above the arrow; your middle and ring finger are underneath. Creases are numb to the process.