Pirate Letters: William

William stared out at the ocean. The waves gently rocked the ship from side to side. The wind blew his bandana around his head. The sea mist grazed his face, cooling him from the Caribbean heat.

"Captain."

"Yes Lieutenant."

"We're ready to submerge." The lieutenant said.

"Very well. Inform the crew and submerge." William turned from the sea and headed for his quarters. He locked the door behind him a sat at his desk.

The Flying Dutchman dove into the ocean. The ship filled with water quickly. Not that it was a worry to anyone; they could not die, not as long as they were crewmen on the ship.

Will stared at his desk, or more so, a chest on his desk. The chest was painted silver and black. Silver vines and leaves decorated the border of the chest and latched. The lock, however, was made from a sword. A sword he had made. The sword that had pieces the heart of the feared Davy Jones himself. The handle served as a lock, but the key hung around William's neck.

The chest had been a present from Elizabeth two years ago. Will had placed small trinkets Elizabeth had given him over the years. His more pressing use was storage for the letters she sent him. Her most recent letter, though, had been more grievous than the past letters. Reading simply tore William up inside. Three years she has carried that burden, and he had no idea she blamed herself for his death. Nevertheless, he would die for her again. However, he could never tell her that. Not now, not in this condition. Seven more years and then he could, but by then, things could be worse.

William hated this. He hated being so far from her physically, but hated it more so emotionally. This change had been hard for both of them, but more so on Elizabeth. She had been the one left to wait for ten years while Will carried souls on his ship. Writing letters could only do so much for them. It was not the same as speaking with her in person. Merely reading her break was a thousand times worse than watching her break. He wanted to hold her, to dry her tears, kiss her even.

I should be grateful for living at this moment, if you call this living.