A/N : Before I do this, I would like to point out that I am not a crazy killa. This is just for fun. Death scenes are fun?? This is written from the fictional perspective of a fictional character who has nothing to do with me, aside from the fact that I am her creator. I don't want to kill anyone. I'm just writing about someone who does. Mmkay? Also, keep in mind that the narrator and Elizabeth are supposed to have a history. On with it, then!

I spot Elizabeth Swann at the Pennarrow Inn. She's disguised as a man. I have to laugh. She's trying so hard to keep a scowl on her face, to swallow her pride and act like a man, but the costume is paper-thin. I am a local here, and I can't resist. I waltz up to her barstool, where she is seated alone.

"Well," I purr as I drape a ringed hand around her neck, "who have we here?" She tenses. I smile. "You must be new in town," I continue, not letting her answer. "My name is Ethel Cashe." She knows exactly who I am.

"I'm sorry," she says, her voice only barely deeper than it usually is, "I don't waste my money on prostitutes."

Touche, Miss Swann. Barring the circumstance, I would have shot her. "Oh come now," I say with a smirk, "at least let me buy you a drink, lad." I motion over at Jim, the bartender and he pours a glass of rum. "Have you met my new friend, Jim?" I ask. He shakes his head no. "He's new in town. Just out of . . ." I trail off, feigning forgetfulness, "Port Royal, wasn't it?"

Elizabeth suddenly speaks. "Yes, as a matter of fact, Ethel. I sailed here from Port Royal to give you news of Jack Sparrow."

That strumpet.

"That so?" I say, acting unimpressed. "What, he press gang you into his crew?" Jim laughs with me.

Variation One

Elizabeth raises an eyebrow at me. "We're getting married." My impulse is to shoot her. I take out my gun. I pull the trigger. The gun isn't loaded.

"But you're a man!" Jim cries.

"No," she says, "I'm Elizabeth Swann." Jim is stunned. I'm livid.

"Cunt," I hiss at her. "Why did you take him?" My voice is getting louder. "He was the only man I truly loved. The only one that mattered out of all of them," I'm shrieking now, but I barely notice. I draw my arm back and hit her. She reels backwards and spits out a mess of blood and teeth. She tries to stand and fight me, but she has never seen hardship, never stared death in the face like I have. I hit her again and her nose cracks. She throws something at me and I step aside, easily dodging it. My hands are shaking as I reload the gun and fire three shots into her head.

I knew she was bluffing the entire time.

Variation Two

"He's dead, Ethel," she says, and her voice breaks. I freeze. She's lying. She has to be. I will my mouth to move, to say something, but I can't. We just stare at each other. Finally a word whispers out of me.

"How?"

Her eyes are dark as coal in her sunburned face. "The kraken." These are the only words she says. The only ones she has to say. Before I can stop it, a fat tear rolls down my cheek. Then another. Another. I don't even notice as my knees buckle from beneath me. I only know I am on the floor because the wood splinters as I try to grip the ground. My Jack. The father of the child growing inside of me. The only man to whom I gave my heart along with my body. I feel an arm around my shoulder. It's Elizabeth. She hugs me and I can feel her tears streaming from her face.

"It's my fault," I hear her say. I pull away from her embrace.

"What did you say?" My voice is hoarse.

"I made him stay behind," she whispers as her tears flow freely. I know she is not lying.

"I suppose you must feel awful," I say slowly. My voice is flat, emotionless. She nods, unable to speak for tears. I should feel sorry but I can't. I stand, my own tears drying. I offer her my hand and pull her up from the floor to my knife. She is dead before she can stop crying.

Fine