Captain My Captain
A/N: Title not original I know but I'm not sure whether I'm suppose to disclaimer that.
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue, okay?
The red coats led the prisoner from the cell. He went without a word or struggle. His walk was more a drunken swagger. He seemed incapable of walking a straight line though they knew without a doubt he was sober. Slowly the small group walked up the stone stairway, their footsteps echoing in the passageway. From below there came moans and groans of the condemned, thankful that they had lived to see another go, but grieving for the man who shared their fate. There was a loud clanging, causing the red coats to jump. This raised an amused, yet cynical laugh from their prisoner. The one on his right raised his musket that had been hanging by its strap on his shoulder, and raised the butt of it over the prisoners head. He meant to strike, but the dark eyes of the condemned man dared him to try. He lowered the musket, a frown of anger creasing his face, but the prisoner turned away and started his drunken swagger once again to the door that led to the courtyard, forcing the soldiers to catch up.
The day was bright, not a cloud hung in the light blue sky. It was hot, most women who were present fanned their delicate faces to relieve themselves of the heat. The men simply stood tall, their military training prevented them from showing weakness to the heat. Beads of sweat dripped into their eyes and were carelessly brushed away with a hand. The sound of the ocean was carried to their ears on still air. All faces turned to the opening door. They held their breaths: this was the pirate.
He himself breathed in deeply, smelling the salty air. In his minds eye he saw his ship sailing on the water to freedom, then to peace. His crew worked hard, scrubbing the decks, manning the sails, while he stood at the helm, broken compass in hand, feeling the wind in his hair and the deck beneath his feet. He was pushed roughly forward, nearly falling on the hard cobbled yard. He caught his balance at the last minute, pulling himself into an upright position. He looked at the truth of his predicament. Hard military faces stared at him, judging his mind and motives. He was the lowest of the low: a man who would shoot you in the back if you trusted him. They stared at him, but he stared right back. How many of these men had seen a real fight? How many had watched comrades die before their eyes, been betrayed again and again. After all, circumstance made the man. All the men who met his eyes looked away. The pirate captain smirked.
He was moved down a man made path that curved to the gallows, a tall lonely, wooden structure. On it stood a large man with a covered face, along with a soldier to read his charges to the audience and a priest in case he chose to recant. He nearly laughed aloud. His captors attempted to rush him up the structure's stairs, but he did not want to move that quickly, and so he didn't. He almost always got what he wanted. He went up at a leisurely pace, bowing every so often at people near him, his eyes forever amused. At the top of the stairs, the executioner brought him forward so he stood in front of the noose, all eyes staring up at him. He noticed he could just make out the dark blue of the ocean.
He did not look at the audience. There was no bobbing hat pushing its way forward to save him. No parrot called out to him in a mechanical voice. He tuned in to the soldier reading the charges,
"Imitating a clergyman, imitating a commodore, theft, murder-" And the list went on.
He chuckled to himself; some of those times had been fun, particularly the clergyman. He glanced at the soldier, "Sorry, what was that, mate?"
The soldier rolled his eyes, "I said, do you have anything to recant?"
In his peripheral vision, he saw the priest step forward, "Sorry, mate, I don't do that sort of thing. Nothing personal, just a pirate thing, savvy?" He laughed a little.
The executioner placed the noose around his neck. This time round there would be no one to save him, and he knew it. He held his head high and proud, wishing fervently for his hat and compass. He stared at the blue meeting the horizon and once again thought he saw the Black Pearl, sailing into horizon. There was no sound. The executioner pulled the lever.
For Jack Sparrow, this time there was no escape.
A/N: Title not original I know but I'm not sure whether I'm suppose to disclaimer that.
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue, okay?
The red coats led the prisoner from the cell. He went without a word or struggle. His walk was more a drunken swagger. He seemed incapable of walking a straight line though they knew without a doubt he was sober. Slowly the small group walked up the stone stairway, their footsteps echoing in the passageway. From below there came moans and groans of the condemned, thankful that they had lived to see another go, but grieving for the man who shared their fate. There was a loud clanging, causing the red coats to jump. This raised an amused, yet cynical laugh from their prisoner. The one on his right raised his musket that had been hanging by its strap on his shoulder, and raised the butt of it over the prisoners head. He meant to strike, but the dark eyes of the condemned man dared him to try. He lowered the musket, a frown of anger creasing his face, but the prisoner turned away and started his drunken swagger once again to the door that led to the courtyard, forcing the soldiers to catch up.
The day was bright, not a cloud hung in the light blue sky. It was hot, most women who were present fanned their delicate faces to relieve themselves of the heat. The men simply stood tall, their military training prevented them from showing weakness to the heat. Beads of sweat dripped into their eyes and were carelessly brushed away with a hand. The sound of the ocean was carried to their ears on still air. All faces turned to the opening door. They held their breaths: this was the pirate.
He himself breathed in deeply, smelling the salty air. In his minds eye he saw his ship sailing on the water to freedom, then to peace. His crew worked hard, scrubbing the decks, manning the sails, while he stood at the helm, broken compass in hand, feeling the wind in his hair and the deck beneath his feet. He was pushed roughly forward, nearly falling on the hard cobbled yard. He caught his balance at the last minute, pulling himself into an upright position. He looked at the truth of his predicament. Hard military faces stared at him, judging his mind and motives. He was the lowest of the low: a man who would shoot you in the back if you trusted him. They stared at him, but he stared right back. How many of these men had seen a real fight? How many had watched comrades die before their eyes, been betrayed again and again. After all, circumstance made the man. All the men who met his eyes looked away. The pirate captain smirked.
He was moved down a man made path that curved to the gallows, a tall lonely, wooden structure. On it stood a large man with a covered face, along with a soldier to read his charges to the audience and a priest in case he chose to recant. He nearly laughed aloud. His captors attempted to rush him up the structure's stairs, but he did not want to move that quickly, and so he didn't. He almost always got what he wanted. He went up at a leisurely pace, bowing every so often at people near him, his eyes forever amused. At the top of the stairs, the executioner brought him forward so he stood in front of the noose, all eyes staring up at him. He noticed he could just make out the dark blue of the ocean.
He did not look at the audience. There was no bobbing hat pushing its way forward to save him. No parrot called out to him in a mechanical voice. He tuned in to the soldier reading the charges,
"Imitating a clergyman, imitating a commodore, theft, murder-" And the list went on.
He chuckled to himself; some of those times had been fun, particularly the clergyman. He glanced at the soldier, "Sorry, what was that, mate?"
The soldier rolled his eyes, "I said, do you have anything to recant?"
In his peripheral vision, he saw the priest step forward, "Sorry, mate, I don't do that sort of thing. Nothing personal, just a pirate thing, savvy?" He laughed a little.
The executioner placed the noose around his neck. This time round there would be no one to save him, and he knew it. He held his head high and proud, wishing fervently for his hat and compass. He stared at the blue meeting the horizon and once again thought he saw the Black Pearl, sailing into horizon. There was no sound. The executioner pulled the lever.
For Jack Sparrow, this time there was no escape.