Chapter One: day 3649
The sun was bright and in the middle of the sky. The water was a clear blue, and its waves gently hit a large boat with massive sails that was moving swiftly across the water.
There was a man on the deck. His hair was wet and wild and black, pulled back with a rough purple bandana that used to be bright but had long since faded from almost ten years of constant use. His hands were rough and callused, like the rocky sand on the bottom of the ocean floor. He was topless, and his chest and abs were toned and glowed with the kind of tan that only came from day after day in the sun. The waves lapping against the sides of his ship, the Flying Dutchman, were almost like the beating of his heart….
He swiftly grabbed a knife out of his pocket and made a short, thin line on the mast. It matched three thousand six hundred and forty-eight similar marks, all neatly swerving up, up, up the mast. He ran his hand slowly over the lines, feeling the sharp indents of each and every one. He rested his forehead upon it and closed his eyes. Immediately images of her face swam up to the space behind his eyelids. Her soft skin, glowing in the setting sun, her brown hair whipping in her face as the wind blew this way and that. And in her amber eyes, the smallest, daintiest of tears which graced her face and made her even more beautiful. Elizabeth.
His fingers moved toward the scar on his chest. It was ice cold, like the sea, even though the day was warm. There was no pulse. Every time he touched the place where his heart should be he expected to hear a beat, but none ever came. The man, Will Turner, opened his eyes to the blazing sun and squinted towards the sky. "One day," he told himself. "Just one more day." But for now, it was back to work.
Day in and day out life, if it could be called life, was the same for him. He ferried souls who had been lost at sea to the other side. He walked across the deck and stared out into the sea. Wind whipped through his hair. Off in the distance, he saw a small boat. It was dark against the sun, and as the huge Dutchman moved closer towards the tiny dinghy, he saw the outline of a young man. Short and unshaven, the man looked up at Will with fear in his eyes as he rocked back and forth with the ongoing waves.
"Come aboard!" he shouted from above the man. "Climb up the ladder!" The man didn't respond. He looked at the water around him and mumbled something Will couldn't quite comprehend. "What?" he yelled. The man just looked up at him and stayed put. Sighing and shaking his head, Will reluctantly moved down the ladder towards where the man was floating in his dinghy. As he came down, the man's great big, blue eyes grew larger and he breathed short, quick breaths.
Will stepped into the dinghy. The man moved cautiously towards the other edge of the boat, as far away from him without being in the water. "Who…Who are you?" he stammered. Will could tell from the man's eyes, his movements and the way that he talked that he was afraid. He couldn't blame him. Even the bravest men were cowards when it came to death.
"I'm Will Turner." said Will. "Who are you?"
"John, John Morgan." said the man. He fidgeted in his seat at the other edge of the dinghy. "Where am I?"
They always asked this. How could he answer that question, when he himself didn't entirely know where he was either? He hesitated, but before he could answer the man said, "I'm dead, aren't I?"
This took Will by surprised. Usually, he would have to convince people that they were dead. Those who died at sea were unwilling to believe that they were dead, because it seemed as if they were still at sea. He looked at John and nodded.
"I thought so." he said. "The sea is different. It's not the right blue. And the wind feels too warm." he continued, looking into the water. "The sky, too bright."
Will nodded. He had noticed this almost ten years ago, when he had first began his job as captain of the Dutchman. But still after all this time, he remembered how the sea used to be. How this sea was more of a reflection of what the old sea had been. And he could tell from the man's face that this man had been close to the sea, he had been a part of it, and that the fact that he might never get a chance to see the sea again caused a small tear to form in the man's eyes which he quickly wiped away with the back of a grimy hand.
The sun was setting. If he didn't leave soon he would miss his one chance to see Elizabeth. "Listen," he said hurriedly, "I have to go, I-"
"Where are you going?" interrupted John.
"I'm going back to the sea. The real sea. It's just for one day… it's a long story.", he finished touching his hand to his scar.
"Can I come with you?" John asked. Will looked at him for a long moment. Can he come? The sun was rapidly sinking in the sky. If he has to get John back, he might miss his only chance.
"Fine." he said. "But you can't leave the boat, you understand?"
John nodded. He looked at the enormous hull of the Dutchman and smiled then scuttled up the ladder leaving Will no choice but to follow suit.
Will sighed as he climbed the ladder. An extra passenger would be aboard his ship today. But what would it matter? He wouldn't be on the ship. He would be on land, sinking his toes into the sandy beach of Port Royal.
Tomorrow, he would finally be with Elizabeth.