Here we have one of my more random thoughts, its kinda based on a poem I
wrote and realised could apply to Jack and kinda based on a random
wondering I had the last time I watched the movie, about Jack's eyeliner.
This will be entirely in Jack's POV, it's after the movie although by how long is up to you. And it's 500 words precisely.
As should be obvious, I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean, nor do I make any profit from writing these stories.
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I'm running out of kohl again. Remember to get some more, next time I'm anywhere. Looking back at myself, just Jack Sparrow. Eyes bare. Draws attention to the tiredness. Draws attention to the lines. Getting older. Not old, not yet, not by a long way. But definitely older. I wonder what they'd say if I didn't bother this morning. If I went out like this - as me, instead of Him. Perhaps they would like it. Perhaps they would ignore it, wouldn't care. Perhaps they would think I'd finally lost the rest of my mind. Perhaps they wouldn't recognise me.
No, the beads, the scarf - that's enough without the shadowed eyes. Perhaps I'll take them out. Then no-one would know me. I could slip away and leave Him behind. Leave the shell, the stumbling, quick-talking craziness. Or maybe some day soon, He will leave me. Mostly the mirror shows me Him now anyway. I think I hardly exist at all. This mask I created is all I have left. I wonder what it's like to die.
I think I know, sometimes. It's the sound of a sword as it slides through your chest. The sight of a ship turning away or the feeling of the ground vanishing beneath your feet. But those are ways to die, not death itself.
He knew. Barbossa. He looked at me and he knew. There was triumph in the lad's voice. I didn't celebrate. Didn't smile. Didn't say something fantastically clever. I just watched. In time he'll learn. Or maybe I will. Will. That's funny.
I wonder if I can walk away. If I really want to. Could I settle down somewhere, live my life? Or must it be that I go on, until I meet someone quicker than me, better than me. Or the sea takes back what's hers by right.
One eye done. Have to be careful. Wouldn't suit Him to be smudged now, would it. Half Him, half me. Interesting. Kind of how I feel when I hear the stories. My reputation, my protection and my own special curse. Even the ones I know to be true, I wasn't there. Or at least I don't remember. Not firsthand, just a whole lot of tales, told on bars and on ships all over the Caribbean. Maybe all over the world.
That's a kind of immortality I suppose. Better than the other kind. And worse. All the stories I remember, the ones that linger ended in the death of the hero. Hero. Not me. Not even a good man, really. Perhaps bloody Norrington is the hero, or will be if he ever catches me. But then, I'd have to kill him for it to be true. No, no thank you, not today
One thing I do know for sure; Jack Sparrow is mortal. That's the other eye done. Where's me hat? Captain Jack Sparrow will never be killed. That's the price of a legend, savvy?
Time to declare war on the world once more.
The End
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Why not review this? Feel free to shout, it was after all pretty much entirely pointless.
This will be entirely in Jack's POV, it's after the movie although by how long is up to you. And it's 500 words precisely.
As should be obvious, I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean, nor do I make any profit from writing these stories.
*********************************************************************
I'm running out of kohl again. Remember to get some more, next time I'm anywhere. Looking back at myself, just Jack Sparrow. Eyes bare. Draws attention to the tiredness. Draws attention to the lines. Getting older. Not old, not yet, not by a long way. But definitely older. I wonder what they'd say if I didn't bother this morning. If I went out like this - as me, instead of Him. Perhaps they would like it. Perhaps they would ignore it, wouldn't care. Perhaps they would think I'd finally lost the rest of my mind. Perhaps they wouldn't recognise me.
No, the beads, the scarf - that's enough without the shadowed eyes. Perhaps I'll take them out. Then no-one would know me. I could slip away and leave Him behind. Leave the shell, the stumbling, quick-talking craziness. Or maybe some day soon, He will leave me. Mostly the mirror shows me Him now anyway. I think I hardly exist at all. This mask I created is all I have left. I wonder what it's like to die.
I think I know, sometimes. It's the sound of a sword as it slides through your chest. The sight of a ship turning away or the feeling of the ground vanishing beneath your feet. But those are ways to die, not death itself.
He knew. Barbossa. He looked at me and he knew. There was triumph in the lad's voice. I didn't celebrate. Didn't smile. Didn't say something fantastically clever. I just watched. In time he'll learn. Or maybe I will. Will. That's funny.
I wonder if I can walk away. If I really want to. Could I settle down somewhere, live my life? Or must it be that I go on, until I meet someone quicker than me, better than me. Or the sea takes back what's hers by right.
One eye done. Have to be careful. Wouldn't suit Him to be smudged now, would it. Half Him, half me. Interesting. Kind of how I feel when I hear the stories. My reputation, my protection and my own special curse. Even the ones I know to be true, I wasn't there. Or at least I don't remember. Not firsthand, just a whole lot of tales, told on bars and on ships all over the Caribbean. Maybe all over the world.
That's a kind of immortality I suppose. Better than the other kind. And worse. All the stories I remember, the ones that linger ended in the death of the hero. Hero. Not me. Not even a good man, really. Perhaps bloody Norrington is the hero, or will be if he ever catches me. But then, I'd have to kill him for it to be true. No, no thank you, not today
One thing I do know for sure; Jack Sparrow is mortal. That's the other eye done. Where's me hat? Captain Jack Sparrow will never be killed. That's the price of a legend, savvy?
Time to declare war on the world once more.
The End
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Why not review this? Feel free to shout, it was after all pretty much entirely pointless.