Disclaimer: No I do not own POTC, however much I want to and however much
I wish I own Captain Jack Sparrow! All made up characters and the plot
belong to me, though, like the woman who the story is about. You can use
if you ask nicely enough. =D
A/N— this is my first POTC fanfic. Please, humour me! Read and review, tell me what you think. I won't know whether or not I should continue, or alter some things with characters.
Chapter 1—Beatings
Cement. Cement and the front of my shoes. That was all she saw as she trudged along the dingy street, staring at her shoes-and the sidewalk- as she walked home from her tutoring. Thoughts of 'how nice my shoes looks' and other useless things drifted across her mind; her facial features were devoid of expression, green eyes blank and staring straight ahead.
Each night she had never wanted to go home, never wanted to see her father's angry expression, hear his voice, yelling at her for some mishap or mistake that she had made. Perhaps she hadn't made his dinner well enough; perhaps she came home too late; maybe a pair of underwear was on the floor, and his house wasn't neat and tidy, the way it always was.
She hated her home; hated her life. Her father was an abusive man, and he beat her mother who, until her death, was one of the only people she could turn to for comfort when he would beat the girl. He was even more abusive and cold towards her now, told her she was a mistake and never meant to happen, to be here. Her body was striped black and blue regularly, blue and black bruises appearing over yellowish old ones. None showed on her face. He was abusive; he wasn't stupid.
The wind sighed all around her, orange and red leaves twirling around her feet as she walked along. The fall had always reminded her of mother for some reason, and it was her favourite season. She smiled a sad smile, the one she oft smiled when she thought of mother, and allowed her thoughts to wander away from the sadness of that train of thought.
Her speed of walking was slow enough, yet she seemed to reach her house in no time at all. She grimaced as she looked at it, white fence faded and peeling, pale blue exterior dirty and coloured to an almost brown. The flowers were wilted, weeds sprouting wherever there was room. Mother had always tended the flowers, and now that she was gone there seemed to be no more sense in keeping that reminder of her around.
Sighing she opened the fence and let herself into the yard. The gate banged shut as she let go of it, the wind carrying it. Black heeled boots clattered against the stone walkway as she walked towards the wooden door, as faded and peeling as the rest. Reaching behind her into the jean bag she carried she fish out her keys and shoved them roughly into the lock, letting herself in. The stink of cigarette smoke filled the hallway as she flipped her boots off, not bothering to let her father know she was home. If she had died he probably wouldn't have cared, would've only grunted and feigned sadness for a while, then gone back to whatever he did when she wasn't home.
As the girl, more of a woman, being the age of 20 now, padded towards to stairs and to her room, her sanctuary, a rough voice sounded through the living room doorway. "Where do you thin ye're going? Ye're late missie and I want an explanation."
She sighed and changed direction towards the living room, leaning against the doorframe a safe distance from her father. He sat in his favourite chair; pot belly hanging over his faded jeans and dirty white tank top, his hair lank and uncombed, a beer can in his hand she could see he had done what he normally did when he came home from work- nothing.
"I was walking home from tutoring, since it bothers you so much."
"Why'd it take so long? Tutoring ended three quarters of an hour ago! Or did ye stop somewhere ye weren't supposed to?"
The girl gave an angry sigh. "Why do you always think things like that of me? Why do you always accuse me of being a prostitute!? I was walking home slowly, so I wouldn't have to see your ugly sight!" She spat the ending bit at him. It wasn't a very good idea.
"How dare you say things like that to me!" He hissed, rising from his chair and advancing on the unlucky woman. Fear clouded her eyes as he raised his hand and brought it down hard on the side of her face. Seems he was stupid after all.
She raised her arms in defense, but the blows just kept raining down on her body. Tiring of his hand, or maybe the fact that it was red and swollen now from hitting her, he reverted to his belt. The blows did not stop till her father decided she had learned not to say bad things about him, and let her run up to her room. Her eyes were over bright with unshed tears, tears held back during another beating.
She slammed her door so hard that the pictures rattled on the walls. Unshed tears now streamed down her face as she threw herself onto her bed, sobbing into the pillow. Shouts to shut up drifted faintly up the stairs, but she paid them no mind. Sitting up she strangled her pillow, releasing a long scream of despair and rage. She had to get out; had to escape, but it all seemed so unlikely.
She was studying to become a teacher, but that would never happen it seemed. Money was low, patience was stretched thing; she would have to give up her dream. More tears streamed down her cheeks unchecked.
After her tears subsided a bit she groped through her bedside drawer and drew out a necklace. She had bought the thing at an antique store, and the large gold jewel that hung off it had caught her eyes. Gingerly she undid the clasp and placed it around her neck, doing it up just as carefully. She never let her father see the thing; he would disapprove of it immediately and 'confiscate' it. The thing had some sort of unearthly quality to it; perhaps that was what drew her to it.
Smiling she toyed with the gem, resting her head on the other pillow she had. The Shores of Sleep came to her slowly, but when they did they seemed strange.
The incessant rocking of something woke her, and it occurred to her that she was indeed rocking on, or rather, in something. Blinking sleep from her eyes she sat up, and stared. She was in a ship's cabin; how she got there she did not know. Her necklace was the only thing she wore; other then that she was bare. Hoisting the thick blanket up to her shoulders she barely suppressed a scream, but when the door opened and a man with a red bandana covering his dreadlocks, beads threaded into them, a bit of mustache above his upper lip, his beard forked and ending in beads. His clothing was most bizarre, garments she had never seen before. A leather like hat rested atop his head, a loose white shirt and brown breeches completing the rest of his weird look. Grayish eyes regarded her, scrutinizing her.
"'Ello luv. Glad to see yer awake!" He said cheerfully. She screamed.
A/N— this is my first POTC fanfic. Please, humour me! Read and review, tell me what you think. I won't know whether or not I should continue, or alter some things with characters.
Chapter 1—Beatings
Cement. Cement and the front of my shoes. That was all she saw as she trudged along the dingy street, staring at her shoes-and the sidewalk- as she walked home from her tutoring. Thoughts of 'how nice my shoes looks' and other useless things drifted across her mind; her facial features were devoid of expression, green eyes blank and staring straight ahead.
Each night she had never wanted to go home, never wanted to see her father's angry expression, hear his voice, yelling at her for some mishap or mistake that she had made. Perhaps she hadn't made his dinner well enough; perhaps she came home too late; maybe a pair of underwear was on the floor, and his house wasn't neat and tidy, the way it always was.
She hated her home; hated her life. Her father was an abusive man, and he beat her mother who, until her death, was one of the only people she could turn to for comfort when he would beat the girl. He was even more abusive and cold towards her now, told her she was a mistake and never meant to happen, to be here. Her body was striped black and blue regularly, blue and black bruises appearing over yellowish old ones. None showed on her face. He was abusive; he wasn't stupid.
The wind sighed all around her, orange and red leaves twirling around her feet as she walked along. The fall had always reminded her of mother for some reason, and it was her favourite season. She smiled a sad smile, the one she oft smiled when she thought of mother, and allowed her thoughts to wander away from the sadness of that train of thought.
Her speed of walking was slow enough, yet she seemed to reach her house in no time at all. She grimaced as she looked at it, white fence faded and peeling, pale blue exterior dirty and coloured to an almost brown. The flowers were wilted, weeds sprouting wherever there was room. Mother had always tended the flowers, and now that she was gone there seemed to be no more sense in keeping that reminder of her around.
Sighing she opened the fence and let herself into the yard. The gate banged shut as she let go of it, the wind carrying it. Black heeled boots clattered against the stone walkway as she walked towards the wooden door, as faded and peeling as the rest. Reaching behind her into the jean bag she carried she fish out her keys and shoved them roughly into the lock, letting herself in. The stink of cigarette smoke filled the hallway as she flipped her boots off, not bothering to let her father know she was home. If she had died he probably wouldn't have cared, would've only grunted and feigned sadness for a while, then gone back to whatever he did when she wasn't home.
As the girl, more of a woman, being the age of 20 now, padded towards to stairs and to her room, her sanctuary, a rough voice sounded through the living room doorway. "Where do you thin ye're going? Ye're late missie and I want an explanation."
She sighed and changed direction towards the living room, leaning against the doorframe a safe distance from her father. He sat in his favourite chair; pot belly hanging over his faded jeans and dirty white tank top, his hair lank and uncombed, a beer can in his hand she could see he had done what he normally did when he came home from work- nothing.
"I was walking home from tutoring, since it bothers you so much."
"Why'd it take so long? Tutoring ended three quarters of an hour ago! Or did ye stop somewhere ye weren't supposed to?"
The girl gave an angry sigh. "Why do you always think things like that of me? Why do you always accuse me of being a prostitute!? I was walking home slowly, so I wouldn't have to see your ugly sight!" She spat the ending bit at him. It wasn't a very good idea.
"How dare you say things like that to me!" He hissed, rising from his chair and advancing on the unlucky woman. Fear clouded her eyes as he raised his hand and brought it down hard on the side of her face. Seems he was stupid after all.
She raised her arms in defense, but the blows just kept raining down on her body. Tiring of his hand, or maybe the fact that it was red and swollen now from hitting her, he reverted to his belt. The blows did not stop till her father decided she had learned not to say bad things about him, and let her run up to her room. Her eyes were over bright with unshed tears, tears held back during another beating.
She slammed her door so hard that the pictures rattled on the walls. Unshed tears now streamed down her face as she threw herself onto her bed, sobbing into the pillow. Shouts to shut up drifted faintly up the stairs, but she paid them no mind. Sitting up she strangled her pillow, releasing a long scream of despair and rage. She had to get out; had to escape, but it all seemed so unlikely.
She was studying to become a teacher, but that would never happen it seemed. Money was low, patience was stretched thing; she would have to give up her dream. More tears streamed down her cheeks unchecked.
After her tears subsided a bit she groped through her bedside drawer and drew out a necklace. She had bought the thing at an antique store, and the large gold jewel that hung off it had caught her eyes. Gingerly she undid the clasp and placed it around her neck, doing it up just as carefully. She never let her father see the thing; he would disapprove of it immediately and 'confiscate' it. The thing had some sort of unearthly quality to it; perhaps that was what drew her to it.
Smiling she toyed with the gem, resting her head on the other pillow she had. The Shores of Sleep came to her slowly, but when they did they seemed strange.
The incessant rocking of something woke her, and it occurred to her that she was indeed rocking on, or rather, in something. Blinking sleep from her eyes she sat up, and stared. She was in a ship's cabin; how she got there she did not know. Her necklace was the only thing she wore; other then that she was bare. Hoisting the thick blanket up to her shoulders she barely suppressed a scream, but when the door opened and a man with a red bandana covering his dreadlocks, beads threaded into them, a bit of mustache above his upper lip, his beard forked and ending in beads. His clothing was most bizarre, garments she had never seen before. A leather like hat rested atop his head, a loose white shirt and brown breeches completing the rest of his weird look. Grayish eyes regarded her, scrutinizing her.
"'Ello luv. Glad to see yer awake!" He said cheerfully. She screamed.