The first thing I noticed was a slight twinge of pain that always accompanied a long night of sleep and rum. Though no man is immune to the inevitable post-drunk pain, experience had considerably lessened the bone jarring agony, to a dull throb.

The second thing that I noticed was the smell. The warm, salty sea breeze, mixed gently with… smoke? What was smoke doing on an island in the middle of… oh no…

My eyes snapped open, and I struggled to my feet. As I turned around I saw that my worst fears had been realized. It was as if a gout of flame had worked its way up from hell, tearing through the earth, and reaching demandingly for the heavens. I actually found myself willing this notion to be true, though the pillar of fire was curiously devoid of the skulls of lawyers.

Then I spied the culprit, trudging to the flame with a large wooden barrel. Ah, so it was sent from hell then. But aloud I yelled " no… NO, not good! Not good!"

She threw the barrel into the flames, and turned her head away in preparation for the coming explosion.

" No, not good… you've burned all the food, the shade…the rum!" I yelled, hoping against hope for a denial of some sort, still entertaining the hell possibility.

"Yes, the rum is gone" she replied, dashing this loophole.

"Why is the rum gone?" I demanded.

"One," she yelled, whipping around to face me, "because it is a vile drink that turns even the most respectable men into complete scoundrels. Two… that signal is over a thousand feet high. The entire royal navy is out looking for me, do you think that there is even the slightest chance that they wont see it?"

Somehow she seemed to have missed the entire point of the question.

"But, why is the rum gone?" I begged.

"Just you wait Mr. Sparrow" she said cockily, making a seat for herself in the sand, "give it one hour, maybe two, and you will see white sails on that horizon."

I drew my pistol, shakily aiming at her back. Then the thought occurred to me.

Wait, that's too good for her. One shot and then it'll be over. What I should do is leave her be, let her go from lack of rum.

Aggravated at the prospect of no rum, and with no one else to shoot for causing the problem, I shook the gun at the air, the stalked away.

Wall, this does present a problem, I thought to myself.

You know what might make it more bearable? I thought back.

What? I asked myself quizzically.

Rum. I replied obviously pleased with myself for seeing the simple solution that I couldn't seem to find.

But I thought the problem in the first place was the lack of rum, I asked, wondering as to the nature of my strange reply.

Aye, I replied

So… we fight the deficit of rum…which is the problem in the first place… with more rum…which we have a deficit of, which in the first place is the problem? I established.

Aye! I reiterated.

And so, annoyed with how irritating I was being, I decided to ignore myself for the time being, and turn my thoughts to slightly more productive matters.

"Elizabeth," I muttered to myself, as I trudged through the sand.

It must be terrible for you Jack, being trapped on this island… and somehow my thoughts worked their way into my words.

" 'It must have been terrible for you Jack.' 'It must have been terrible for you…' " I snorted, then yelled across the beach "WELL IT BLOODY IS NOW!"

Then as if on a whim, I glanced out towards the ocean, to see, of all things, white sails.

" There will be no living with her after this." I muttered to myself, trudging back towards the smoke.