To each his own eccentricity as to each is his own fear.
Fears can range from something as tangible as blades, snakes or monstrous canines but can also be as vague as evil, sorrow and death. But in some cases, fear can be found somewhere in between.
Often, it takes the form of that which man can neither see nor feel at a certain instance, like darkness following fall of night even before one closes his eyes.
However, contrary to what bedtime stories have imparted to us, fear does not lurk in the deepest region of the abyss, it surfaces each time it senses its prey and slithers through the gaps of ones dreams turning them into nightmares one may only wish from waking from.
What is most apparent in this place in between is the fear of a certain uncertainty. A solid experience that mere symbol cannot exhaust.
For Jack Sparrow, it began the day he was marked, the day the prophecy of destruction was placed on his shoulders.
Grey clouds were descending on him, becoming heavier and heavier.
As Jack felt the weight of the sky pressing him down, he held his sword tightly at one hand with the other raised in level with his shoulder to maintain balance.
The currents had unusual strength that day. It would seem ironic that even the vast waters he was able to deceive throughout his life created a wall that will not hesitate to crumble should he turn to them for refuge.
His precious pearl was powerless against the forces of "unnatural nature" as he contemplated on them. The floorboards had just enough integrity to hold him upright yet he need not wonder how long. He skipped, and jumped and slid not without talent as a healthy splitting of wood originated beneath him.
It was evident that the winds were pushing for increasingly larger waves,
"What luck!" he thought with amusement.
A huge splash hit him with great force from the other direction but this time it was an enormous tentacle, which caused it, and immediately he knew he couldn't talk his way out of this one.
The arm he left swaying freely gave him more than just the poise of a drunken circus clown attempting a balancing act (which was not far from the feat he was performing anyway). It was this poise that prevented him from toppling over wave after merciless wave. Only about twice did the impact become strong enough to alter his stance.
The first one he received as a tentacle blow from behind which caused him to trip. The assault after it came as a mighty splatter of water right to his face that reminded him of a certain lady in Tortuga whose name he could no longer remember.
That couple of times his vision shifted from the sight of a raging monster to a small vessel floating away consequently allowing him a glimpse of what was once,
"And still is," he corrected himself… his crew.
Among them were William Turner and ELIZABETH,
"That pirate, ha!"
Had he not been threatened to be devoured by Kraken in a moment's wait he would have turned the ship 'round single-handedly, given her much praise and held her with pride but not without assurance that Captain Sparrow is not so easily fooled.
As he watched them float farther, an unmistakable smirk appeared on his face.
The force of the next splash was enough to sway him, but he immediately got back (again thanks to his dwindling arm).
All throughout he was able to maintain composure, notwithstanding that it was a brand of composure only he carried well, but he knew that there was something different about this battle and even if it was not his style, he needed to concentrate as the ocean prepares for another round of attacks.
The beast was furious with the appropriate description of having been starved for days. Jack proudly thinks of himself as a delicacy when it came to food, though he wouldn't really want to entertain the thought of being chewed or engulfed whole or slurped like soup. Besides, he had just stopped having nightmares of an incident concerning tribal cannibals mistaking him as immortal a finger count of nights before.
He was aware that its eyes were all fixed on him like they were dabbed with the gooey material that circulate in the flying Dutchmen's veins and accidentally made contact with the air around him. He wondered if he could just blow it away but didn't believe he had enough air in him.
At every opportunity found, he ran as far away as possible from even possibility itself. Looking back, he had considered abandoning his one true love. His lady.
At that moment, he tightened his grip, straightened his back, lifted his chin and angled his head with the composure that reminds one of a king leading his men in battle. The blade of his weapon pointed straight at the beast as sharp as his eyes focused at the same direction. The regal warrior cloaked with layers of his eccentricity in him was unveiled.
Jack had envisioned this scene since the day he spoke with ol' bootstrap.
He has seen himself trembling with fear and unable to speak. He'd try to pray to the god of the sea or the wind or the undersea god, one with the trident and fulfill his deal of begging (but of course, if he could negotiate then all this wouldn't be necessary). But what he felt was different from what he had expected.
He realized that no voice inside his head convinces him to turn about and swim for it. There weren't biological sensors tingling. There weren't flashbacks of all the women he knew, nor all the adventures he had, nor all the woman he has yet to meet. He stepped forward and found that his knees weren't as shaky nor did he feel cold. There weren't undead butterflies in his stomach, just rum. He knew what he had to do.
For the first time in his life, Captain Jack Sparrow knew where he was headed.