Well, here's part 2. this one's about fire.
Fire, a dangerous passion when on board a ship. What harm could it cause, they were surrounded by water, you'd think. Ah, but once the ship was burnt, there was no point in putting out the fire, was what Captain Jack Sparrows would normally have thought. Key word, normally. Fire was one thing that he could not think rationally about. His normally cunning mid just blanked out when he watched the flame flicker in colours of vibrant red, yellow and orange.
Every night he sat in his room, candle lit, infront of him. He used to stare at it for hours, watching the small, so controllable thing that had consumed his parents, which had thrown him out into the streets. Not that he already wasn't but his back-up plan got screwed. He hated it, but loved it, it was like a bittersweet mixture of pain, memories and fondness. Why fondness? It had made him strong.
He put his calloused finger over the tip of the flame. It flickered, and his finger became slightly sooty. He gazed at it; it was similar to the remains of his parents. He sighed as he blew at the small dust like particles and watched them sway in the slight breeze. He heard the candle hissing. Water had fallen on it. Where from? He thought, and looked up at the expectedly-leaking-ceiling. But it was dry.
Then he noticed his cheek. Wet. It left a trail of clean on his face. He rubbed it away. He was a captain, no man to cry, he would remain strong till the end. He thought. Ana Maria sighed and cried for Jack, because he could not cry. She wished he would. It would help. She just prayed.
There ya go. I think I'm subconsciously relating it to my other story, Childhood. Go read it. REVIEW!
