AN: I don't know what exactly inspired me to write this, but I hope you enjoy it.
Jack Sparrow awoke to the sound of waves lapping at the shore, the sensation of a cool breeze, bright sunlight on his face, sand beneath his body, and a horrific headache. Groaning in pain, the captain, or ex captain as of two days ago, rolled on to his side and squinted his eyes, the rum bottle beside him coming in to focus. Sluggishly, Jack picked up the bottle and brought it to his lips, only to find it was empty. Of course. Wasn't that how it always worked out?
Jack lied on his side for longer than necessary, simply thinking, re-thinking, and overthinking his current situation. The image of his ship sailing further and further away from him, in the possession of the mutinous man he once thought to be his friend, crewed by a group of pirates who hadn't hesitated to overthrow him, replaying in his mind. It made him sick.
Finally deciding to get up, Jack crawled away from his fire pit into the shade and got to his feet with the aid of a tree. Instead of going straight for the cache of golden liquid, Jack took a different route and walked through the sparse vegetation, heading for the other side of the island. He didn't know why, especially since more rum would mean less of a headache, but he felt an inexplicable urge to face the North instead of the South. Perhaps he was finally going mad.
The other side of the island looked exactly the same. His footprints from his first day were still embossed in the sand, the large triangular rock still stuck out of the water a few feet from the shore, and the track created by himself after dragging a piece of driftwood to his fire still remained… all was the same, with the exception of a strange glint in the sand further up ahead. Jack blinked hard to make sure he was not dreaming. The glint did not disappear. Immediately, a hundred possibilities of what it could be ran through his mind.
Jack hurried over as fast as his alcohol-impeded body would allow. As he neared, the shape of the object became more familiar. It was a clear bottle, reflecting the sunlight. Inside the bottle however, was a roll of worn looking paper, rolled tightly and tied together with a red ribbon. It was a message in a bottle. Jack collapsed in the dirt beside it and picked it up with careful hands, feeling a fleeting rush of childhood excitement fill him before dissipating at his internal chiding. He had been mutinied upon, he was going to die, and no message in a bottle was going to change that.
He would open it and read it anyhow, but any message within would probably cause his mood to worsen. Sighing, Jack uncorked the bottle and let the message fall out in to his lap. He tossed the bottle aside and untied the ribbon, sucked in a deep breath as he unrolled the message, and began to read the faded ink.
To whomever it may concern,
Have you ever yearned to feel the bright sunlight warm your skin and the breeze tickle your face as you sail over the sparkling water? Have you ever imagined yourself standing behind the wheel of a ship, your arms spread wide, as free as a bird, as though nothing could ever stop you? Every day I imagine myself somewhere else, far away from home, roaming the seas, under my own command. The thought of one day running away from Port Harrison is the only thing that can get me out of bed in the morning. It may take days, weeks, months or years, but one day I will do it, and that is a promise both to myself and to you, unknown reader. My name is Rosemary Norrington, and someday, I will be free.
Wish me luck,
Rose.
Not quite sure how to feel about the letter, Jack rolled the paper back up, retied the ribbon, and slipped it in to his jacket, where it was not to be touched again for a long, long time.