Hey everyone! So I was planning on posting this tomorrow but I really want to post this. I did this request for Ishtel. I'm sorry I didn't quite fill the last part of your request, I hope what I did write makes up for that. This one is probably one of my shortest pieces so far, but I still like it. FYI this does have dark themes, so if that's not your cup of tea, I don't suggest reading this chapter. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy and I'd absolutely love to hear what you think.
Harry's father hated clocks. They reminded him of the Tick Tock Croc, which in turn reminded him of Peter Pan. Harry's father loathed Peter Pan.
Harry was fascinated with clocks. He found them strange, how could such a small contraption run people's lives? There was almost always one in his pocket, wrapped up in a cloth to silence the ticking when he was around his father. Once his father had heard it, the scar on his chest wouldn't have been as bad if there had been medical supplies in the brig. Harry had spent nearly four days down there, staunching the blood with his jacket until enough had dried to act like its own bandage. Harriet thought he was dead when she was finally able to get him out. Sometimes Harry wonders if his father would have celebrated if he had died. The answer is always probably.
He never saw that pocketwatch again, but it didn't really matter, there were always others. This time he was just a little more careful with around his father. He didn't get in trouble for the shiny trinkets again, but his father always found other things to punish him for. Harry could navigate every inch of the brig blind and crawling with one hand.
The memories from that day were foggy at best. There were some horrors even his head tried to suppress. He thinks it started simply. He had laughed at some misfortune of a pirate, standing high above the deck on a mast. His hands were on his hips as he balanced on L-shaped wood, cackling madly. Harry heard the shouts of fear, but paid them no mind. He hadn't seen, hadn't known. Not until he his side was burning as a sword sliced right through his tattered shirt, not until he was falling, crashing into the deck far before, his father's screams cursing Peter Pan filling his ears. Harry should have died. How did he not die? Why could he not just have died?
Numbers swam when he looked at them. He had never been taught how to count before then, and he certainly couldn't after that day. The watch in his pocket had been messed up during the fall, something Harry would laugh at when he was alone in his room. In his father's eyes he must be both Peter Pan and the Tic Toc Croc, how perfectly awful. His fists would become bloody when he thought of being the Tic Toc Croc. His wrists would become bloody at the thought of being Peter Pan. He'd keep the watch to remember.
Uma and Gil tried, Harry knew but at the end of the day there was nothing they could do. He lived on the Jolly Roger, the Peter Pan of the Jolly Roger. He just wanted to be a Hook. He'd throw away the watch when he was a Hook. Uma and Gil couldn't make him a Hook. He had to be a Hook in his father's eyes. The watch ticked from his pocket
How? How did he get here? He's staring at his reflection in the mirror. There is knife in his right hand. Is he at the Chip Shop? He thinks it's likely, but he can't fully say why. Harry looks at the knife in his hand, his eyes immediately trailing to the scars around his left wrist. The pocket watch ticks loudly in the empty room.
Tick, tock.
Maybe this time. Maybe. Harry brings his right arm up. He brings it slashing down.
Tick, tock.
He didn't do it. The cut is deep, he is on the ground surrounded by red. He couldn't do it.
Tick, Tock
Maybe he'll die. Third time's the charm they say.
Tick. Tock.
He feels darkness rushing towards him. He feels it the same way he knows when the clock is about to mess up. It's wrong, it's right, it's like him. Its gears catch, he knows. His heart is beating unevenly.
Tick. Tock.
Maybe his father'll be happy. Maybe he'll be proud. He killed his Peter Pan. Harry laughs.
Tock. Tick.