A/N: I'm sorry about this one, it's really just a disaster. My muses
are morbid and it caused this. Not really as bad as it sounds but not
tremendous either. Please don't flame, I realise I can write better than
this.
Jack was cold.
Well, so were the rest of the crew, but Jack's cold was deeper than the mere bite of the wind and splash of the water.
It was like when you pick up a gold coin, it was the metallic cold that sent a chill to one's soul. Something you never forget.
It was trust faded.
It was a heart broken.
It was a life lived, a life known, a life losing its grip in all that was real.
It was a cold that the sunrise on the horizon used t be able to warm, the lapping of the water oat the hull, the rigging creaking precariously. Freedom, in general, used to warm this cold.
But now a predominating sense of finality had settled of Jack and it was drowning his senses in this numbing cold that seemed to seep from his very heart.
There was very little he could do. He was unhappy with his happiness, he was unhappy with the only life he had left available for him, the only door he hadn't closed immediately after seeing it.
Its not like anyone actually cared what he felt anyway. If he complained to his crew the would more than likely maroon him and leave him to burn in the sun or to be eaten by the secrets hidden amongst the wilderness. So he kept it all to himself, burying the cold inside him.
The was no need to worry about it. I mean, he only felt like this every now and again.
It was probably just a coincidence that this wave washed over him every time they sailed within close proximity of Port Royal.
It was silly of him to think otherwise.
So, in the mean time, Jack wrapped his coat tighter around him and stared straight ahead, keeping his dark eyes from the island to the right of the 'Pearl, the one that housed Port Royal.
And a certain Blacksmith and his wench.
Jack was cold.
Well, so were the rest of the crew, but Jack's cold was deeper than the mere bite of the wind and splash of the water.
It was like when you pick up a gold coin, it was the metallic cold that sent a chill to one's soul. Something you never forget.
It was trust faded.
It was a heart broken.
It was a life lived, a life known, a life losing its grip in all that was real.
It was a cold that the sunrise on the horizon used t be able to warm, the lapping of the water oat the hull, the rigging creaking precariously. Freedom, in general, used to warm this cold.
But now a predominating sense of finality had settled of Jack and it was drowning his senses in this numbing cold that seemed to seep from his very heart.
There was very little he could do. He was unhappy with his happiness, he was unhappy with the only life he had left available for him, the only door he hadn't closed immediately after seeing it.
Its not like anyone actually cared what he felt anyway. If he complained to his crew the would more than likely maroon him and leave him to burn in the sun or to be eaten by the secrets hidden amongst the wilderness. So he kept it all to himself, burying the cold inside him.
The was no need to worry about it. I mean, he only felt like this every now and again.
It was probably just a coincidence that this wave washed over him every time they sailed within close proximity of Port Royal.
It was silly of him to think otherwise.
So, in the mean time, Jack wrapped his coat tighter around him and stared straight ahead, keeping his dark eyes from the island to the right of the 'Pearl, the one that housed Port Royal.
And a certain Blacksmith and his wench.