Dislcaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean and all things associated do not, in any way, shape or form, belong to me.
So, this is really just a little drabble that ended up taking on a life of its own. It's not even funny how many little Pirates drabbles I have floating around my notebooks. I liked this one enough to spruce it up and post it, so here's hoping you like it.
Enjoy, and please review!
She opened her eyes, kohl-lined lids rising to unveil brown orbs filled with confusion. The first thing that she saw was the ocean, its transparent turquoise waters sparkling in the bright light of the morning sun. A frown tugged at her lips as the waves lapped at her feet like a playful dog; try though her tranquil surroundings might to belie the fact that something was amiss, her instincts told her otherwise.
Sitting up, she shook the sand out of her hair, brushing the gritty substance off of her simple dress and turning to take in her current locale. All appeared to be well: the water was clear, the beach pristine, and there were puffy cumulous clouds lingering in the crystal sky. Nevertheless, her feeling of discomfort remained, and she stood, rotating her head to peer up at the azure sky.
Clouds floated idly overhead, their white coloration a stark contrast to the rich blue of the heavens. A light breeze circulated throughout the island, caressing her face and teasing her hair into a gentle dance. Even as she stared up at what should have been a serene scene, she shuddered, a sense of foreboding and general wrongness penetrating her person.
She felt distant—disconnected. Something, some integral detail of her very being, was missing, and she didn't know what it was. Every time she felt the breeze against her face, every time the salty water of the sea curled about her toes, every time she felt the grainy sand beneath her feet, she felt lost.
For all she knew, she had always been this way.
Returning her gaze to the ocean, she watched a pair of seagulls wheel about over the waves, skimming over the surface of the glass-like water. They were carefree, soaring above the sea with a freedom and weightlessness that she envied; she longed to go and join them.
Frowning, she wondered why.
She wrenched her gaze away from the ocean, distancing herself from a scene that epitomized everything that she felt she lacked. Her hands were young hands, she noticed, gazing idly down at them—certainly she was no older than thirty. Why, then, did she have recollections of years that numbered far more than hers? How did she know that this manifestation, this body, this being, was not her?
She gazed out into empty space, trying desperately to remember. Her unfocused eyes landed upon the ocean, and its azure color filled her thoughts. She had seen that very blue elsewhere…
Unbidden, a name appeared in her mind: Davy. Something about that name…something about the sea… Her mouth tightened as she futilely sought to seize the elusive memory. Ethereal, it slipped behind the farthest corner of her mind, dancing beyond her frenetic grasp.
It all came back to the sea.
The gentle undulation of the bright waters against the sand seemed to mock her, rhythmically lapping out the beat of her inadequacy. The sun, so bright only moments before, seemed to dull before her eyes, its bright glare turning all that it touched grey and insubstantial. Something about the scene before her seemed off, seemed distant. There was some infinitesimal detail that had been altered, some thread that had been cut, and she did not know what it was.
She started long and hard at the sea, willing a memory—any memory—to surface. None came. There were no latent memories of her early childhood, no awkward teenage years to be drawn up from the well of her mind. There were no years of societal excursions, no adventures, no loves. There was nothing—no history, no present.
Long fingers kneaded her forehead. She had no name, no distinct memories. She had nothing.
Who was she? Why was she here? Where was here?
If she had happened to glance up at the ocean in that particular moment of despair, she would have perhaps noticed the lone ship hovering on the horizon. It sat far out in the sea, bobbing up and down with the waves, sails billowing but unmoving.
Perhaps a glance at that ship would have been the spark necessary to ignite the blaze of memories. Perhaps its careworn and weather-beaten appearance, its intimidating size and uncommon growth of sea life would have been enough to cause her memoires to come flooding back to her in one fell swoop.
On deck of the ship, the captain stood at the railing, staring out towards the isolated strip of beach on which the woman stood. His eyes were empty and devoid of all emotion as he gazed in silence at the lone figure on the beach. A pang of something shot through his heart with the intensity of a white-hot strike of lightning and he grimaced, hand fisting over his chest.
One finger curled through his shirt to caress the long scar that bisected his chest, tracing the raw red line diagonally across his pectoral. The touch was cool, soothing, but he felt nothing. He was supposed to feel nothing. He had to feel nothing.
Just as the woman alone on the beach was devoid of memory, he was devoid of emotion. Where she was powerless, he was strong.
Had the lost woman on the beach looked up and espied the ship with the long prow, discerned the observations of its captain, perhaps she would have once again become host to all that she had lost. As it was, though, her head remained in her hands; her mind, in turmoil.
So it was that when the ship caught a strong wind, turning to face the horizon, she did not see it. She did not see the one fleeting look of regret that passed across its captain's face before it was smothered by a cold mask of indifference. She did not see the ship disappear, did not see the cool waters rush up to consume the bow, flow across the deck as the ship submerged.
She saw none of this.
The sun was high in the sky by the time her mind wrenched itself out of the throes of despair and confusion, its powerful rays burning her skin. Trembling, she held her hands up in front of her face, turning them this way and that as if they were foreign appendages. This was her body, she knew, for she felt comfortable in this skin, but it was not her. The brown hands, the legs, the physical manifestation that currently embodied her were only parts a costume, worn to conceal her true identity—an identity that even she knew nothing of.
She sank down onto the sand, hugging her knees to her chest, and stared out across the rolling cyan waves. A great feeling of hopelessness flowed over her, and she shook, overwhelmed with emotions that were as foreign to her as the memories she lacked. What was despair? What were guilt, and anguish, and misery? The emotions pummeled her unmercifully, flogging her psyche with their alien qualities and the questions that they raised.
She shuddered, closing her eyes. This onslaught should not be happening. She knew she was not supposed to feel like this, to experience emotions at such overwhelming intensity. She was not supposed to be human, she was not supposed to be powerless, she was not supposed to feel.
The muscles in her eyelids fluttered as she squeezed them tightly shut. Her hands dug into the sand, fisting piles of the grains in between her fingers, her skin welcoming the sand's rough, gritty texture. Toes digging into the wet sand along the shoreline, she cracked open her eyes, staring into the sea. Questions streamed endlessly through her head, and she settled on the most prominent, the one that would provide her with answers to all the others.
Opening lips cracked from lack of water, she exhaled, breath leaving her body in a quiet sigh. Her voice, little more than a whisper, nevertheless carried far across the sea, carried even into the fathomless depths to the cursed ship and captain, so that all could hear when she quietly asked, "Who am I?"
It's been a while since I've posted one of my Pirates oneshots, so I would love some feedback on this!