A/N: This was inspired by two drabbles I've written recently: "Cast the First Stone" and "Lack of Direction." Writing Jack, along with his conscience and the multiple Jacks in the Locker has quickly become one of my favorite things to explore. I love attempting to interpret Jack's actions through his thoughts and hope that this little series will introduce you, the reader, into his very interesting - but complicated mind.
Thank you Nytd for once again, being my beta fairy.
Reader Key:
Bold and italicized text indicates Jack's conscience. (Since I can't differentiate with the sizing of text on here :P)
Place of Torment: A Series of Unforeseeable Circumstances
Day 1
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Purgatory - a place of redemption and punishment, a circular dimension the purpose of which is to cleanse an individual of sin from secular consequences. Jack Sparrow was no different; unable to avoid or talk himself out of his fate -- a fate that awaited many sinful souls.
In his purgatory, he lay spread-eagle under the godless sky, fingers twitching with sparks of life. His kohl-lined eyes were lightly shut, shielding them from the harsh sun high above him.
A small grunt escaped his lips, his breath dispersing in the dense air around him, droplets of saliva running down from the corner of his chapped lips. He wrinkled his nostrils slightly, nervously twitching the top of his top lip as he began to feel the skin of his face bake in the blistering sun. He felt the sudden urge to shield his perspiring body from the heat of the sun, feeling the desperate message travel from his mind, down to his arms, signaling from synapse to synapse, but he could not move; the signals refused to register. He felt electrified discomfort, paired with horrid stinging sensations pass through his muscles, punishing his thought of movement. His mind began to panic as his hands begin to burn, sending sharp jolts of pain throughout the length of his body.
As each distressing moment aged, overwhelming heat continuously bore down upon him as if his body were being devoured by flames and besieged by sharp, stabbing needles. The sweat from his hot flesh oozed down his ribs, thighs, and neck – deteriorating his body within a cocoon of slime with diminutive particles feasting upon his flesh.
Each pain served its purpose. The prodding needles distracted Jack's mind from the sound of his bones cracking, bit by bit, puncturing his skin as it seared and deteriorated, becoming more malleable by the second. His mind preferred to endure the burning flames upon his flesh because it took away from the suffering of his muscles as they slowly tore away from one another, each individual fiber bursting and peeling from his bone.
Jack Sparrow was slowly being taken, mind, body and soul by his own hand; his own deal with the devil. No man can out deal the devil.
His final breath in the realm of the living escaped his collapsing lungs as his soul crossed over the blank edges of the map to the land of the dead. It was hard to believe that the free-spirited soul that dwelled within him wished to imprison itself within the limp body that lay before the sun in anguish.
Lips slowly parting, his body longed for the sweet taste of oxygen. He gasped loudly from deep within his throat, inhaling a profound, shuddering breath of dry air. His brown eyes grew wide, blinded from the brightness of the sun. Twisting his neck slowly, he stirred his limbs, cells reviving, heart pumping, and blood flowing - his body felt purpose once more.
He groaned as he moved his arms above his head, rounding out his shoulders against the ground, he cracked his wrist, feeling the tautness dissipate from his joints. Pointing his toes, he stretched out the muscles of stiff legs and abdomen, biting his lip as he sensed various heated patches of tenderness throughout his body. Propping himself up on his palms, he rose up upon his toes, pushing himself to his usual posture. Once fully on his feet, it seemed as though the wind wished to thrust him a few staggering steps forward. He attempted to shake off the fatigue that plagued his legs and the dizziness that came from the blood rushing to his head. Crossing one leg over the other, he held his arms up for balance before coming to a halt at the sight of his hat laying just a few yards away from where he was standing.
He smirked from the corner of his lip, gently licking his teeth with his tongue as he uncrossed his weary legs to make his way toward reclaiming his precious hat. He held his arms out to it, ready to grasp its weathered edges with his coarse fingertips.
He walked for a few moments, slightly hesitant; feeling as if the distance between him and his beloved hat had not diminished. He stopped, curling his top lip as he leaned back into the swagger of his hips.
"Hat," he uttered, holding his hands lazily behind his back as he averted his eyes to the ground. Lightly kicking several white, loose stones with his feet, he cleared his throat, adjusting his coat as he shifted his eyes back and forth between the ground before him and his hat.
"Elusive little bugger, aye?" inquired a voice in Jack's ear.
"Elusive? It's a hat. How bloody 'elusive' could it possibly be?" contested another voice, causing Jack to narrow his brow in determination.
In a sudden instance, he propelled himself forward, collapsing upon his hat with the full weight of his body. He coughed, feeling his breath forced out of his lungs from the impact, causing a thick cloud of white dust to emerge from the ground beneath him.
"I don't think that was entirely necessary, mate," the voice interjected, a few moments after the deed was done.
Jack simply smiled, revealing a fusion of pearl white and gold teeth. "Nay, that's what you think," he stated, letting a small laugh escape his lips as he held the hat up with the tips of his fingers.
"Oi! That's my hat, you thieving scoundrel…oh, Captain, is that you?" inquired a man behind him, confidently standing above Jack, casting his shadow upon his body.
Jack's eyes widened, clenching his hat tighter at the sound of the familiar voice behind him. He turned his head slowly. "Son, you must be mistaken, last time I checked…" his voice trailed before he could complete his snide remark, finally setting his gaze on he man above him.
"We've been waiting for you," the man stated.
"Oh," Jack muttered, fully turning his body forward, gripping his palms on the coarse ground as he crawled backward in awe at the sight before him -- a man identical to him in every aspect of his appearance, height and stature; paired with what seemed to be a matching intellect, wit and swagger.
"Do you not know who I am?" asked the man, curiously.
He slowly lifted himself from the ground, feeling the sun on his face once more as he cautiously stepped backward away from his replica's shadow. He hastened his pace with each step until turning to bolt away as swiftly as his legs would propel him. He refused to look back, hoping that what he saw was just a dream or rather – an illusion from too much heat. He, finally, had his hat, which was all he wanted and now it was time to go.
He ran for what seems like miles, feeling his heart pound through his chest with each grueling step. His pace diminished with time, body and mind slowly grew disheartened not only from the fatigue but because his surroundings never seemed to change. He drew himself to a stop, rounding his hips out to his usual stance, wiping rivers of sweat from his forehead before placing his palms on his knees, attempting to catch his breath. He closed his eyes for a moment, wishing to return to his usual poise.
"Well, that's not nice at all."
Jack's eyes grew wide as he turned, finding his twin behind him once again. "Ah!" he yelped, jumping back, jingling the items on his belt.
"Is something the matter?"
Jack didn't answer, he was frozen and standing so still that it looked as though he were holding his breath. He only moved his eyes, following his twin's hand as he waved it in front of his face, only inches from his nose.
"It's strange thing – losing one's mind and all," his twin confirmed, sighing while raising a skeptical brow. "Captain, I hope you return to your former self – can't weigh anchor without you, now can we?" he continued.
"Mr. Sparrow…" Jack began, unsure of how to identify this man. He cleared his throat, attempting to regain his composure.
"Aye, Captain?" Mr. Sparrow replied, awaiting his orders.
"We seem to be lacking in the ways of a vessel," Jack began, holding his arms out, flicking his wrists back to illustrate his point. "Can't sail with no ship," he confirmed.
"No ship?" Mr. Sparrow inquired, wrinkling his nose. "What about the Pearl?"
Jack laughed. "The Pearl? How could I possibly forget about my darling vessel?" he asked rhetorically, turning his back to Mr. Sparrow as he took a few steps forward. "Isn't she just marvelous?" he inquired sarcastically, motioning his arms toward the invisible ship. "Gotten rather thin hasn't she – must be from all the voyaging. I've put her through so much these days, Hell and high water, mythical sea creatures and all."
Mr. Sparrow stood for a moment, soaking in his Captain's words, slightly raising his brow. He stepped forward, placing a hand upon Jack's shoulder while turning him in the direction of a black spec in the distance.
"Captain," Mr. Sparrow began, raising an arm to the object in the distance, "the Black Pearl."
Jack walked several steps forward, letting Mr. Sparrow's arm drop from his shoulder as he shielded his eyes from the sun with his hand, peering out to black spec in the distance. He felt a bead of sweat drip down from his upper lip, weaving in and out of his mustache. He licked the drop with his tongue before it trickled down the crevice of his cheek, savoring the familiar taste of salt. It was as though a cord struck in his mind, inspired by the flavor of salt and the small image of his ship in the distance.
"The Pearl, you say?" he inquired suddenly, looking back at Mr. Sparrow.
"Aye, Captain," confirmed Mr. Sparrow.
Jack unlatched his compass from his belt, flicking it open with the tip of his finger. He looked down to it, longingly, for any sense of direction that it could give him. It spun wildly and gave him no indication of certainty. He sighed, falling to his knees as the compass continued to spin, with no sign of stopping.
"Well that's not good."
"You're only looking at it from one perspective."
"This place is dismal any way you slice it – can't see how looking at any other perspective will help."
"Where am I?" Jack asked, finally. "Am I in Hell?"
"Bravo, now that seems like an excellent interpretation. But, to tell you the truth, mate - I'm not entirely sure."
"Nonsense, this can't be Hell … I imagined it to be a lot warmer than this, with, perhaps, more fire and brimstone?"
"Don't forget about the laughing mischievous sprite with the pitchfork."
"Gents, please remind me why we've found ourselves in this vile place of torment – where ever it may be," Jack sighed, looking out before him, letting his eyes wander toward the invisible waves of heat that radiated from the ground.
"Tis a viable question – a viable question that certainly deserves and possibly even requires a clear, justifiable answer."
"An answer that we don't really possess, mind you," interjected the other voice. "Rather, I see it as more of a collaboration of unforeseeable events originating from the day we first laid eyes on that bloody tart!"
"Have to admit, she did and continues to do all that was necessary for her cause, at least in her mind. She knows how to get her way. Aye, it seems as though, our dear William has, in fact, not been frittering his life away with his swords," Jack confirmed, smiling a bit before returning to his desolate reality. "Perhaps, he's a bit more like dear ol' Jack than I might have hoped."
The voices were calm for a moment, leaving Jack to his own self realizations before intruding into his thoughts.
"I see quite a different starting point, if you please."
"Do tell," the second voice snarled.
"Let us begin with that slimy catfish, Jones. Were we not the ones who struck a bargain with the avaricious cephalopod? Furthermore, gentleman, were we not the ones in the rowboat, swiftly rowing away to safety?"
"Aye, I think we're all well aware of that," Jack stated, rolling his eyes.
"Why did we stop?"
"Bad decision …"
"So, are we confirming that it's the bloody compass' fault we're in this mess?"
"Seems like a justifiable conclusion, if you ask me."
"Don't blame the bloody compass, it's not able to defend itself," Jack interjected, holding his hands up. "Besides, as you two gents have so eloquently concluded -- it's my own damn fault that we're in here in the first place," he sighed, rising to his feet.
"Your fault? I'm not quite certain that we were implying that. It seems a bit far-fetched."
"Sir?" Mr. Sparrow interrupted, stepping forward to meet Jack by his side. "Shall we? The crew's been waiting long enough."
"Aye, how do we get there?" Jack inquired, looking over his shoulder to Mr. Sparrow for a response. He turned, finding that his question would, regrettably, go unanswered, for Mr. Sparrow had disappeared in thin air.
He adjusted his hat on his head, moving several of his loose dreadlocks from his face. "Right," he affirmed, swaggering forward to begin his quest.
