So, I know Will is supposed to ferry the dead, but I'm using my artistic liscense. Forgive me, as I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean in the least. I'm just an obsessed fan who hopes this story turns out as cool as it seemed when I thought of it one night at three in the morning. This story takes place about 60 years after the end of the third movie. Enjoy!
"Captain. We're comming up on a ships' wreckage. Should we check her?" I heard my father knock on my door. I slowly walked to the door and opened it.
"What are her colors?" I asked.
"I'll go check." Bill ran up to the deck, leaving me alone. I closed my eyes and leaned up against the door frame trying to keep my composure; and almost impossible task. I took a deep, ragged breath, trying to forget the painful memories floating through my head. A single tear ran down my cheek and I angrily wiped it away. 'Stop this.' I told myself.
"Part of a Jolly Roger is still flying from what's left of her main mast." Bill said, returning to the cabin. I stood up straighter and blinked back tears.
"Then we shall board her." I replied, walking out of my cabin and toward the main deck. I took my place at the helm and steered her toward the wreckage. The Flying Dutchman's crew stood by, preparing to board. "Lower the starboard anchor!" I yelled out to my crew. A few jumped to the task, and within minutes, we all stood on the wrecked deck.
"Will, we've gathered the remainder of the crew." Bill snuck up on me standing by the rail, staring out to sea. I slowly turned around and we walked over to where everyone else stood. A group of three men sat against the port side on cargo boxes.
"Do you fear death?" I asked the men. Normally I would have watched how I said this line. I didn't want to become another Davy Jones, so usually I made sure I never said it too cruelly. Nor did I want to seem weak, so I tried to stay somewhere in between. This time, however, I just said it. No emotion, no eye contact, no fear, no care. Nothing. I took a deep breath, annoyed at recieving no response from anyone. I looked down at them. "Do you fear death?" I asked, a bit more angrily than I had ever done before. The men shuddered and nodded.
"Aye, sir." They answered.
"One hundred years." I recited. "Postpone 'death' for one hundred years with my crew. Just say aye." I shortened the ususal speech.
"Aye, sir." They said slowly. I nodded and walked back toward my own ship.
"Are you alright?" My father walked up behind me. "You seem a bit...preocupied."
"I'm fine." I said, stepping up on the gangplank between the two ships. I hurried onto my own deck and rushed up to the helm. "Step to!" I yelled to the crew. They all began to cross over and I leaned against the rail. Involuntarily, my eyes closed, and my mind shifted back toward those horrible memories...the smoke...the flames...
"Will!" My father's voice brought me back to my senses. My eyes shot open, my breath heaving uncontrollably. "Son? Are you sure you're alright?"
"No. I haven't been alright for two years now. Here." I stepped away from the helm. "Set our course east. I need to go below." I took each step slowly, as if in a daze. Everyone continued with their tasks, and I couldn't help but watch them. Laughing, smiling, a few of them were even singing sea shanties. I wanted to be like that again. I shook the thought, and continued on my way to my cabin. I threw myself down onto my bunk and tried to think clearly.
"Alright, we're headed across the Atlantic out of the Caribbean. If we go to the Mediterranean, it will take about..." I closed my eyes and tried to calculate the amount of time it would take. "This is hopeless." I breathed.
"Will!" I heard my father knocking at my cabin door. He sounded urgent. "Will, we've spotted a ship on the horizon behind us." I jumped off my bunk and hurried to the door.
"Her colors?" I asked. "Is she a friend or foe?"
"We can't see her colors, but there is one big unique feature." He replied.
"What is it?" I asked.
"She has black sails."