Summary: This story is my imagined history of Captain Jack Sparrow,
starting around when he was twelve years old. I've changed his name to
James for part of it. Note: This is unimportant, really, but 'Jack' is
really a nickname for 'John'..but it just seemed better to call him James.
He seems more like a James than a John, doesn't he? Alright, enough
senseless babble. Sorry, everyone.
Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Pirates of the Caribbean, although, in the stead of many hopeful young writers.....I wish I did. Most other characters I do, however.
Prologue: The Escapee
The night's mist was cool on James's face as he clung, turning slowly in the air, to a white, cotton bed sheet, a good twenty-five feet from the ground. He had already dropped his small schoolbag from the window, watching it land with a muffled thump among the low evergreen bushes planted along the side of the wall. It had flattened a small part, but he wasn't too worried; by the time it was noticed by a gardener in the morning, he should be long gone. But right now was the hard part: getting himself to the ground.....without breaking his neck. The going had been easy at first, the sheet not yet soaked by the pervasive moisture in the air. But his luck had not lasted, and without the usual brisk sea breeze, his clothes and everything else had quickly become clammy and damp. Already, his fingers were beginning to lock in place with the cold, making it hard to grip the cloth. Drawing a deep breath (and being careful not to look down), he forced his mind off of the general discomfort of the situation and convinced himself to move. Climbing with the natural ability gifted to all small boys, he continued shimmying down the makeshift rope, carefully navigating the knot that began the next bed sheet and praying it would stay tied to the one above it.
It didn't. A third of the way down, he felt the sheet begin to slide a little-and then his eyes opened wide as the two sheets separated and he fell eight feet onto the prickly bushes. If they had stayed knotted, he would still have had to jump a few feet to the ground, but caught unawares, he landed on his back, flattening a much larger section of shrubbery than his bag had. He hadn't quite had the wind knocked out of him, but he was breathing fast, his pulse racing with adrenaline. *At least I didn't scream*, he thought with some satisfaction, certain that no one had heard him fall. Lying there, he could see the dark shadow of the window of his room, one in a long row of windows across the side of the large, stone manor. Beyond that, the night sky was a dark gray, the stars shrouded by a thick blanket of clouds.
Getting slowly to his feet, he slung his bag over his shoulder and began to make his way quickly across the lawn to the long drive, which ended with in a large, wrought-iron gate. And beyond that gate..freedom. As he approached the gate, he saw with alarm that the light in the gatehouse was lit. Through the window, he could see the guard inside, sitting at the table with his feet up and idly reading a penny-dreadful. He noted with annoyance that it was the sixth in the Spring-Heeled Jack series, one he hadn't gotten to read before his father had found it and declared it unsuitable reading for young boys. Well, the guard seemed busy enough. Perhaps he could slip out of the small merchant's gate set further along into the wall itself.
He began to cross the gravel drive, rocks crunching under his feet as he attempted to be stealthy. Halfway across, however, he heard a sound from the small gatehouse as the guard stood. He had heard, and was coming to investigate. Not even bothering to think quickly, James sprinted across the rest of the drive, gravel flying under his feet, and ducked into the darker shadow of a large elm situated a few yards from the wall. He peered around the trunk to see the guard stick his head out the door, look about lazily, and then return to the more exciting adventures of one of London's most notorious criminals. James snorted; what was his father thinking, hiring simpletons like this? He put it from his mind, however, as he turned back to his own task: getting outside the very walls that had kept him safe all of his life.
Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Pirates of the Caribbean, although, in the stead of many hopeful young writers.....I wish I did. Most other characters I do, however.
Prologue: The Escapee
The night's mist was cool on James's face as he clung, turning slowly in the air, to a white, cotton bed sheet, a good twenty-five feet from the ground. He had already dropped his small schoolbag from the window, watching it land with a muffled thump among the low evergreen bushes planted along the side of the wall. It had flattened a small part, but he wasn't too worried; by the time it was noticed by a gardener in the morning, he should be long gone. But right now was the hard part: getting himself to the ground.....without breaking his neck. The going had been easy at first, the sheet not yet soaked by the pervasive moisture in the air. But his luck had not lasted, and without the usual brisk sea breeze, his clothes and everything else had quickly become clammy and damp. Already, his fingers were beginning to lock in place with the cold, making it hard to grip the cloth. Drawing a deep breath (and being careful not to look down), he forced his mind off of the general discomfort of the situation and convinced himself to move. Climbing with the natural ability gifted to all small boys, he continued shimmying down the makeshift rope, carefully navigating the knot that began the next bed sheet and praying it would stay tied to the one above it.
It didn't. A third of the way down, he felt the sheet begin to slide a little-and then his eyes opened wide as the two sheets separated and he fell eight feet onto the prickly bushes. If they had stayed knotted, he would still have had to jump a few feet to the ground, but caught unawares, he landed on his back, flattening a much larger section of shrubbery than his bag had. He hadn't quite had the wind knocked out of him, but he was breathing fast, his pulse racing with adrenaline. *At least I didn't scream*, he thought with some satisfaction, certain that no one had heard him fall. Lying there, he could see the dark shadow of the window of his room, one in a long row of windows across the side of the large, stone manor. Beyond that, the night sky was a dark gray, the stars shrouded by a thick blanket of clouds.
Getting slowly to his feet, he slung his bag over his shoulder and began to make his way quickly across the lawn to the long drive, which ended with in a large, wrought-iron gate. And beyond that gate..freedom. As he approached the gate, he saw with alarm that the light in the gatehouse was lit. Through the window, he could see the guard inside, sitting at the table with his feet up and idly reading a penny-dreadful. He noted with annoyance that it was the sixth in the Spring-Heeled Jack series, one he hadn't gotten to read before his father had found it and declared it unsuitable reading for young boys. Well, the guard seemed busy enough. Perhaps he could slip out of the small merchant's gate set further along into the wall itself.
He began to cross the gravel drive, rocks crunching under his feet as he attempted to be stealthy. Halfway across, however, he heard a sound from the small gatehouse as the guard stood. He had heard, and was coming to investigate. Not even bothering to think quickly, James sprinted across the rest of the drive, gravel flying under his feet, and ducked into the darker shadow of a large elm situated a few yards from the wall. He peered around the trunk to see the guard stick his head out the door, look about lazily, and then return to the more exciting adventures of one of London's most notorious criminals. James snorted; what was his father thinking, hiring simpletons like this? He put it from his mind, however, as he turned back to his own task: getting outside the very walls that had kept him safe all of his life.