Summary: In three words, this story is about JACK'S BULLET WOUNDS. In more engagingly extravagant terms, it is a TALE OF A MAN WHO HAD THE HORIZON IN THE PALM OF HIS HAND, AND THE PRICE HE PAID ONCE HIS REALITY AND IMMORTALITY CONFLICTED.
A/N: There is no overriding need for you to watch the deleted scenes of the (glorious) DVD, although it will certainly help. The story is revolved around JACK'S BULLET WOUNDS, which are revealed in the extended beach scene with Jack and Elizabeth.
A/N 2: Like before, there is also no overriding need for you to read the AUTHOR'S NOTES, they exist only for one purpose, and that is to mainly serve the author.
A/N 3: I would also like to note that I have capitalized the IMPORTANT WORDS AND PHRASES for your convenience. Isn't that sweet of me?
---
Truth
It was hard enough the first time.
There is a strange type of courage that is often muddled with recklessness. Nevertheless, it takes courage for a man to laugh standing at Gallow's Point. Insane, but courageously so.
It takes courage to deny truth to two bullet in your heart, even to a little girl.
"Is there any truth to any of your other stories, then?"
It was in her eyes. The man she had spent so many years pondering and considering and fantasizing stood before her, and he was not the reckless scoundrel who had jumped out of the pages of her books. He was not the one who took her hand and flew out the window and into the night.
"Truth?"
He had to laugh. The sands of time had slipped through his fingers. Drunken nights that he would never enjoy again have slipped. There were no more beautiful women and white horses at his door. He had no door. All that was left when the sand blew away was the raw truth that remained etched on his skin. "P" for Pirate, price, in case he ever forgot.
He might as well start there. The "P" was revealed, and she only stared.
"Truth."
He lazily lifted his blouse to reveal his heart. Where his heart was, in case he ever forgot, were two bullet scars.
"Truth."
And that would be enough.
"No truth at all."
"Where ye heart's at, if y'e'er forget."
Crimson lips pressed against his chest. They were the color of ten thousand roses and the color of a puddle of blood. It takes a strange type of courage for a man to let them graze his body. It takes courage to bathe in the owner's grace and cruelty. Kindness and bloodlessness. Recklessness.
A/N: There is no overriding need for you to watch the deleted scenes of the (glorious) DVD, although it will certainly help. The story is revolved around JACK'S BULLET WOUNDS, which are revealed in the extended beach scene with Jack and Elizabeth.
A/N 2: Like before, there is also no overriding need for you to read the AUTHOR'S NOTES, they exist only for one purpose, and that is to mainly serve the author.
A/N 3: I would also like to note that I have capitalized the IMPORTANT WORDS AND PHRASES for your convenience. Isn't that sweet of me?
---
Truth
It was hard enough the first time.
There is a strange type of courage that is often muddled with recklessness. Nevertheless, it takes courage for a man to laugh standing at Gallow's Point. Insane, but courageously so.
It takes courage to deny truth to two bullet in your heart, even to a little girl.
"Is there any truth to any of your other stories, then?"
It was in her eyes. The man she had spent so many years pondering and considering and fantasizing stood before her, and he was not the reckless scoundrel who had jumped out of the pages of her books. He was not the one who took her hand and flew out the window and into the night.
"Truth?"
He had to laugh. The sands of time had slipped through his fingers. Drunken nights that he would never enjoy again have slipped. There were no more beautiful women and white horses at his door. He had no door. All that was left when the sand blew away was the raw truth that remained etched on his skin. "P" for Pirate, price, in case he ever forgot.
He might as well start there. The "P" was revealed, and she only stared.
"Truth."
He lazily lifted his blouse to reveal his heart. Where his heart was, in case he ever forgot, were two bullet scars.
"Truth."
And that would be enough.
"No truth at all."
"Where ye heart's at, if y'e'er forget."
Crimson lips pressed against his chest. They were the color of ten thousand roses and the color of a puddle of blood. It takes a strange type of courage for a man to let them graze his body. It takes courage to bathe in the owner's grace and cruelty. Kindness and bloodlessness. Recklessness.
