Task
By Juliette H.
Author's Note
Disclaimer: I own nothing of Pirates of the Caribbean, and my ideas, opinions, and views are my own, as well as the character of Alise Stephenson are all that I can classify under being mine. The rights to POTC go to Jerry Bruckheimer, and The Disney Company, not me. I made this story to express my views of POTC through a historically correct manner, and in doing so I have steered clear of any plot changes. This story is set around 1738 (that seems right) and ends around 1754. Please Read and Review, this is my first story, and I need your opinions.
Chapter I
The Death of Elisabeth
I lay in my bed that morning, unable to move, the pain of what was coming finally washing over me. Would my mother die? No, it couldn't be possible; she had always been so strong, how could she die of the epidemic? Yes, but others, who were much stronger, had also perished, it was a surprise that I hadn't. It had taken them all, young, old, rich, poor, and it thus proved that treasures could not save you, only the strength of your soul. Yes, and my mother had not been able to recover after the tragic death of my father, Lieutenant Stephenson, only two months before, of Influenza.
Who am I, you ask. I am Elisabeth-Alice Kimberley Victoria Stephenson, only living daughter of nurse, Elisabeth Marguerite Swann. My mother had told me many times what the story of my name was, so many that I knew that I would never forget it. "Elisabeth, for me, Alice for your grandmother, Kimberley for your deceased older sister (she died of the epidemic before I was born), Victoria for my beloved sister, and Stephenson, your father's name. Yes, and remember, Alise, you are both Elisabeth and Alice, and never let anyone call you Elise! For you should never let anyone refer to you as anyone but yourself."
Yes, my mother was a nurse, and she, during her long career had cured many of those consumed by the epidemic, including poor Mrs. Turner, who lived, very poorly and simply in the streets near our home. During the long winter last year, however, we had taken the widow in, along with her son, William, (who happened to be born in the same year, the same day, and within minutes of me) whom I had become quite fond of. Sadly however, last week, my mother had been found contaminated with Influenza, one of London's more deadly viruses, of which there was no known cure. And I, only eight years old, had lived on this earth only long enough to know that my mother would never be the same again. I had grown up among many diseased, barely alive people, so thus I had come to understand what death was. And when my father died, that realization became even clearer than before, I had always thought of my father as a strong man, capable of surviving anything, yet he perished among many more unfortunate citizens of London. Yet my mother held on, not allowing the fever to overcome her, quietly telling stories of her past family, The Swans, as she lay in the hospital bed, her staggered breaths slowly becoming slower, then slower.
"No chance of recovery now," the nurse had told me yesterday morning, as I knelt beside her bed, grasping her frail, yet strong hands. My usually calm way of speaking faded and I jumped up, ready to explain to the nurse my mother's force of mind. Yet something held me back, a voice inside whispering, "No, let it be."
William came to visit me that afternoon; he was now alone, seeing as his mother had died bravely a week before. I had always respected, and admired, this boy's courage, he had gone through so much in his lifetime, hate, loss, death, starvation, and even incredible pain, yet he held on, his bravery withstanding his suffering. "Why are you crying, Alise?" he asked me, for I had been crying, my minimal affliction affecting my entire body, and my tears' salty water was staining my brocade dress, making my eyes turn red.
"I'm crying because I don't think I'm ever going to see her again, my mother. Of course, you know exactly how I must feel, considering you have been through this before."
"But so have you, didn't you also lose your father to the epidemic?"
"Yes, but he was always away with the navy, I didn't know him well enough, I didn't know how to react when he was gone."
I left him then, making my way back to the hospital, it may be the last time I would ever see her, alive, again. And as I walked through the hospital doors, toward the room where my dear mother would spend the last days of her life, I thought of the things that would always bring back warm memories of her when she was gone. Her laughter, her story telling, her cherry cake, her warming embrace, and mostly, the love she expressed to all human beings, rich and poor.
As I walked in, my mother's almost lifeless form sat up to greet me. "Come in, dear daughter, there is something I must tell you." Then she beckoned me to kneel beside her, as her raspy whispers rang through my ears. "Did I ever tell you about what Mrs. Turner's last words were?" I shook my head sympathetically. "Take Will, keep him safe from harm. Will you do that for me, my daughter? Will you go to Port Royal, to my brother, Governor Swann? Will you promise me to protect him from all harm?" my mother asked, repeating the final sentence of Mrs. Turner, as I let go of her hand, her heartbeat slowing every second that passed.
"Yes, mother, I will," I said, my green eyes filled with watery tears. "Good," she said, as she lay back, her lids closing, as the steady beat of her heart stopped forever. And hence passed Elisabeth Marguerite Swann, beloved mother, sister, and wife.
Hoped you liked that, it took me only half an hour to type it up, and I put all my heart into it. As I said before, please read and review!
Thank you, Reader, Juliette Handover
By Juliette H.
Author's Note
Disclaimer: I own nothing of Pirates of the Caribbean, and my ideas, opinions, and views are my own, as well as the character of Alise Stephenson are all that I can classify under being mine. The rights to POTC go to Jerry Bruckheimer, and The Disney Company, not me. I made this story to express my views of POTC through a historically correct manner, and in doing so I have steered clear of any plot changes. This story is set around 1738 (that seems right) and ends around 1754. Please Read and Review, this is my first story, and I need your opinions.
Chapter I
The Death of Elisabeth
I lay in my bed that morning, unable to move, the pain of what was coming finally washing over me. Would my mother die? No, it couldn't be possible; she had always been so strong, how could she die of the epidemic? Yes, but others, who were much stronger, had also perished, it was a surprise that I hadn't. It had taken them all, young, old, rich, poor, and it thus proved that treasures could not save you, only the strength of your soul. Yes, and my mother had not been able to recover after the tragic death of my father, Lieutenant Stephenson, only two months before, of Influenza.
Who am I, you ask. I am Elisabeth-Alice Kimberley Victoria Stephenson, only living daughter of nurse, Elisabeth Marguerite Swann. My mother had told me many times what the story of my name was, so many that I knew that I would never forget it. "Elisabeth, for me, Alice for your grandmother, Kimberley for your deceased older sister (she died of the epidemic before I was born), Victoria for my beloved sister, and Stephenson, your father's name. Yes, and remember, Alise, you are both Elisabeth and Alice, and never let anyone call you Elise! For you should never let anyone refer to you as anyone but yourself."
Yes, my mother was a nurse, and she, during her long career had cured many of those consumed by the epidemic, including poor Mrs. Turner, who lived, very poorly and simply in the streets near our home. During the long winter last year, however, we had taken the widow in, along with her son, William, (who happened to be born in the same year, the same day, and within minutes of me) whom I had become quite fond of. Sadly however, last week, my mother had been found contaminated with Influenza, one of London's more deadly viruses, of which there was no known cure. And I, only eight years old, had lived on this earth only long enough to know that my mother would never be the same again. I had grown up among many diseased, barely alive people, so thus I had come to understand what death was. And when my father died, that realization became even clearer than before, I had always thought of my father as a strong man, capable of surviving anything, yet he perished among many more unfortunate citizens of London. Yet my mother held on, not allowing the fever to overcome her, quietly telling stories of her past family, The Swans, as she lay in the hospital bed, her staggered breaths slowly becoming slower, then slower.
"No chance of recovery now," the nurse had told me yesterday morning, as I knelt beside her bed, grasping her frail, yet strong hands. My usually calm way of speaking faded and I jumped up, ready to explain to the nurse my mother's force of mind. Yet something held me back, a voice inside whispering, "No, let it be."
William came to visit me that afternoon; he was now alone, seeing as his mother had died bravely a week before. I had always respected, and admired, this boy's courage, he had gone through so much in his lifetime, hate, loss, death, starvation, and even incredible pain, yet he held on, his bravery withstanding his suffering. "Why are you crying, Alise?" he asked me, for I had been crying, my minimal affliction affecting my entire body, and my tears' salty water was staining my brocade dress, making my eyes turn red.
"I'm crying because I don't think I'm ever going to see her again, my mother. Of course, you know exactly how I must feel, considering you have been through this before."
"But so have you, didn't you also lose your father to the epidemic?"
"Yes, but he was always away with the navy, I didn't know him well enough, I didn't know how to react when he was gone."
I left him then, making my way back to the hospital, it may be the last time I would ever see her, alive, again. And as I walked through the hospital doors, toward the room where my dear mother would spend the last days of her life, I thought of the things that would always bring back warm memories of her when she was gone. Her laughter, her story telling, her cherry cake, her warming embrace, and mostly, the love she expressed to all human beings, rich and poor.
As I walked in, my mother's almost lifeless form sat up to greet me. "Come in, dear daughter, there is something I must tell you." Then she beckoned me to kneel beside her, as her raspy whispers rang through my ears. "Did I ever tell you about what Mrs. Turner's last words were?" I shook my head sympathetically. "Take Will, keep him safe from harm. Will you do that for me, my daughter? Will you go to Port Royal, to my brother, Governor Swann? Will you promise me to protect him from all harm?" my mother asked, repeating the final sentence of Mrs. Turner, as I let go of her hand, her heartbeat slowing every second that passed.
"Yes, mother, I will," I said, my green eyes filled with watery tears. "Good," she said, as she lay back, her lids closing, as the steady beat of her heart stopped forever. And hence passed Elisabeth Marguerite Swann, beloved mother, sister, and wife.
Hoped you liked that, it took me only half an hour to type it up, and I put all my heart into it. As I said before, please read and review!
Thank you, Reader, Juliette Handover
