Disclaimer: If I owned the POTC franchise, then I'd be filthy rich and/or have the last name of Elliot or Rossio and/or work for Disney. I have/am not any of the above therefore I own nothin'. . .savvy? :)

Summary: Life isn't something you can point to. Nor freedom.

Warning: Mild spoilers for DMC

A/N: Gosh, it's been almost a year since I posted anything out here :/ Well it's good to be back :)

Little drabble for DMC. Well, I guess its long as drabbles go. Anyways just an expansion on the snippet where Jack's is escaping the kraken – or trying to. The bummer thing about movies is the audience can't get in the character's heads and see what their thinking. I think writing is superior to film in that regard. *raises nose* JK :) But since movie made this a very short I decided to expand it.


Compass

What good is a compass that doesn't work? Well, it's no good at all really. What about a compass that doesn't point north? Most would say that doesn't work either. But that's not entirely true now is it? It's only not working if its north you wanted to find and it doesn't, savvy? Now, take a compass that doesn't point north; let's say it points to anything that you want, your heart's greatest wish. Nigh unbreakable.

If you think that you're a fool. And I'm a fool too for believing it. Cause I have a compass like that. It'll point the way to your greatest desire – but it can't tell you what that is. It hasn't been a problem really. I've always known what I wanted, which port, which fat merchant ship, which long-lost, half-forgotten treasure. But I've never been in more of a quandary than now. Life isn't something you can point to. Nor freedom.

I used think the sea was freedom – but it ain't. I'm sittin' on it now, and I'm as trapped as a man has dug his own grave. There's no one with me; I'm alone. There's some measly spit o' sand and trees behind me. And in front… In front.

A hex on whatever man thought to make ya sit backwards when yer rowin'! It makes you look back on everything you're leaving – everyone. So then what's behind you's in front of ya, and what you're aimin' for's in back. Not the proper way to aim at all. So now I have to watch. Watch me own ship go down. Me own crew. The measly handful of people who I might – and only might, mind you – call – just hypothetically – friends. But I'm a captain; a captain doesn't have friends.

They don't know I'm gone. That I've left 'em. But I'm the reason they're goin'. The reason that fishfaced, slime-fingered, heartless wretch is sendin' them to the bottom. And my ship with 'em.

They're all runnin' across the deck as if there's somethin' they can do. As if. One of 'em stops, leans over the rail. Oh hell. . . Her hair's swingin' in the wind. She's seen me. I don't have to be within ear shot to know the word she's callin' me.

Coward. . .

It's like she's yelled it and it's bouncin' around the inside o' me skull. I've been called that before. I've been called worse. But it's never stung like this. I can feel her eyes, starin', burnin'.

Hellfire, why can't things just slide off like they used to? Why does it have to burn? I can't bear lookin' at her, even from this distance. I turn in me seat and glance back at my 'freedom'. It looks empty. How long would I find life and freedom there? A day? A year? Years?

Is that what I want? Is life worth that? Worth years and years of emptiness? But if that not what I want then. . .

I pull the thrice a-cursed hunk of metal and magnets off my belt and snap open the lid. For the first time in, I don't know how long, its steady unwavering - straighter than it's ever been.

Its pointin' straight ahead. Back. To the Pearl. To death.

I know what I want.


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Thanks for reading!

Twain - out