Splash.
Splash.
The oars make funny noises as they cut through the surface of the water, every little splash bringing me further away from that ship.
That ship. My lips twist in a bitter way. I've been trying to keep my thoughts differentiated, but my efforts are doomed, of course. Because she's not 'a ship', 'some ship', 'that ship over there'. She is the ship. The best, fastest, deadliest, proudest, most dangerous and beautiful darn ship that ever sailed the Seven Seas. My ship… The Black Pearl. There is no way on earth I could ever stop thinking about her emotionally. She is a part of me.
But I'm still abandoning her.
Splash.
I'm abandoning her and everyone on her. People who trust me. People who count on me. I shouldn't feel bad about letting them down. If they were stupid enough to rely on someone like me, it's their problem, not mine. Never believe a word of what a pirate tells you. That's the first and most important rule they teach you in the Navy; I would know. Apparently, there are too many sailors who missed that very lesson or forgot it over the pile of other rules that no one really needs. Fools.
Trust is ridiculous, anyway. It's sad so many people keep trusting others. Who will ever be more faithful, more reliable, and more honest to you than yourself?
Splash.
Actually, all kinds of relationships or bonds just make everything more complicated. Life is so much easier when there is no one but yourself to care about, when only your own needs and desires are of any importance and there's no need to bother if you hurt someone. Maybe such absolute independence is the ultimate goal mankind should strive to accomplish. There should be a prophet teaching that. No, even better: I should be the prophet. Ought to be fun, having tons of adherents cheerfully doing everything I tell them to do. I could make them wear funny purple hats, for example, or talk in a Japanese accent.
'Make the world a better place full of egoists.' Yeah, that sounds like an awesome maxim. I would be a great leader, since I am perfectly sure about the correctness of my words. No one would need to know I can't obey myself.
Splash.
The sea is still quiet. Waiting for the beastie to come when I know perfectly well that it will but not when is agonizing. I'm not quite sure if I want it to happen right now so I'll be done waiting or if I want to keep waiting eternally, forever marvelling at the beauty of my ship.
Splash.
When I left the Navy – or, actually, got kicked out and had to accept my new job as a pirate – everything seemed very simple. I swore to myself that, since I was already forced to be a pirate, I was going to be one with all of my soul. I was going to do whatever I wanted to do whenever I wanted to just because I felt like it. I wasn't gonna give a fucking shit about the Navy, about my family, my own past or future.
I didn't even consider the possibility that there might turn out to be a catch about it. It looked so easy then.
Splash.
I think I already turned my back on these principles when I closed the deal with Davy Jones to get my ship back. I could have chartered on another ship, then plot a mutiny and make myself captain. Maybe it would have worked, maybe not. It would have been about as good as selling my soul to the devil. But I wanted the Wicked Wench back, even though we hadn't been together too long yet and she wasn't even that special then – or so anyone else would have described it. She was special to me, very special: She was mine, and I felt like I had to be loyal to her.
Loyalty… It's nearly the best way to make sure you get tied up in a wide network of various interpersonal relationships. Second only to love.
Splash.
In my first years as a pirate, I heard a saying "Those who survive the sea, love will bring 'em down". I remember being scared by that, so scared that I asked Tia Dalma to sell me a charm that would save me from love. Unfortunately, she didn't have one. She gave me a gun, however, so I could shoot potentially dangerous objects before any harm was done.
Love is for suckers. I mean, look at what it does to people. It can reduce a perfectly good pillager to a poetry-scribbling idiot. I've seen it many times. Elizabeth is a good example, although she's a woman and women tend to be even more irrational about it. She's got everything a good pirate needs (if she'd just throw her annoying sense of honour overboard), except her obsession for Bill's son. His influence makes her much more difficult to deal with.
Splash.
Isn't it ironic? Paddling away from the Pearl, I'm leaving behind everything that's ever meant something to me. My ship, my crew, my status, and some people I guess I could refer to as my friends if my pride didn't forbid that. I could also say that I am leaving behind my own identity, because I know that without my ship, I won't be Captain Jack Sparrow anymore, and I also know, although I refuse to think about it, that I'll be missing more than just my title.
But my neck's worth that, right? If I hadn't left, I'd be sure to die. And everything is better than death, isn't it? Surviving is worth the pain I endure with every splash.
Splash.
I wonder if anyone has noticed I'm gone. Somehow I find myself hoping for somebody to spot me out here, shout and wave at me, trying to get me to come back. It would give me a feeling of being wanted, being needed. The intenseness of my wish scares me. What has happened to me?
I don't need anybody to need me. I don't need anybody's approval. I'm Ca- I'm Jack Sparrow, and I will be just fine all by myself. Unlike the idiots who chose to stay on the Pearl… Ouch, that name stings.
Splash.
What am I going to do if I manage to get away? What am I going to do with my life, now that I've lost everything? I don't know. Being a religious leader sounds good, but it would also mean more people trusting me, which is exactly what I want them to stop doing.
Tia Dalma was right. I don't have a clue of what I want. How can I know what I am going to want while I prepare to watch everything I've wanted in the past being eaten? But to be accurate, I haven't known anything in quite a while now. There are just too many confusing wishes, too many desires inside me… Complications.
Splash.
The splashing sound of the oars seems to be speaking to me now. It speaks with many voices, silently shouting oppositional advice at me at the same time. What do you want? it asks. Be a good man, it whispers. You will die, it warns. You could live…
I think I might finally have gone crazy.
Splash.
I can barely find the strength to keep on moving myself forward. I know I have to paddle as hard as I can if I want to have the slightest chance of escaping Davy Jones and his terrible little beastie. But that's exactly the problem, isn't it… Do I want that?
My arms refuse to paddle any further. The splashing of the oars is gone, but the ever-lasting melody of the sea sings to me. I've spent a considerable amount of lifetime listening to the sea, but so far, it has always calmed me, reassured me… I've never heard it's voice sound like this.
Silence.
The sea sings to me, and my hands move slowly to my belt. My fingers tighten. I shudder, I want to let go of it or, even better, throw it into the waves, but my hands won't take my orders. They pull the thing out and bring it up to my face. I peek at it with both curiosity and fear. I fear what answer it will give, but I cannot resist its promises – I will help you. I can tell you everything you need to know… I will help you. I take a deep breath and deliberately open the compass.
Its needle doesn't spin around the slightest bit.
Splash.