Hey people! This is my new fic, my first try at a PotC fic. Lol. The first
chap is in first person. The rest of the story (apart from the last chap)
is in third person about Monice. This is her speaking now btw, so. . . I'll
say now that Him ISN'T God in any way shape or form (well, he is to some of
us ladies anyway, can you guess who it is yet?) lol. She just related to
him as a Him because she can't say his name without hurting. The second
chappie will be on its way soon. Please leave a review at the end it would
be appreciated. Constructive criticism welcome, no flamers please! Thanx.
Disclaimer; I own none of this.
Chapter One; Bittersweet Memories
I sit here, clutching my only evidence that I had once loved, an open bottle of rum and a half empty glass of the vile drink that I am only drinking out of habit. The desk I am sitting at is in front of an open window facing the ocean.
The ocean.
Where He is.
I can love it, and I can hate it. Like I can love Him and hate Him.
I have drawn Him, simply because once, long ago, He had drawn me. I look once more at his beautiful charcoaled face and I think that he was too beautiful, even, to capture on a piece of weather-worn parchment. My heart skips a beat just by looking at His roughly drawn face.
'Why?' I think to myself from time to time.
I, myself, was so busy looking for a reason for why I had fallen for somebody below me that I didn't have any time left to love Him. I could've had anybody I wanted!
I flip over to the other piece of yellowed parchment to check for the thousandth time how I looked then. I have not aged much; after all it was only eight years ago. Eight years of lonely misery. I looked pretty in a foreign way. I stand with a perfect posture looking out to the sea, oblivious to someone drawing me.
When I found out that He had drawn me I had asked why He drew me with much more beauty that I had to which He replied; 'Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, luv. You're such a pretty thing,'
That was the first most romantic thing I had ever heard. I was young, as you can probably tell.
But when I ask myself why, I then think, why do I need a reason? Love is an uncontrollable thing. We spend so much time looking for the meaning of life that we have no time left to live it. We are here to live, not to ask. Appreciate what is given to us, for it can be taken away in the blink of an eye and leave you with a horrible feeling.
Regret.
And that is what my story is about. Them and me. Pirates. Freedom. Love.
Disclaimer; I own none of this.
Chapter One; Bittersweet Memories
I sit here, clutching my only evidence that I had once loved, an open bottle of rum and a half empty glass of the vile drink that I am only drinking out of habit. The desk I am sitting at is in front of an open window facing the ocean.
The ocean.
Where He is.
I can love it, and I can hate it. Like I can love Him and hate Him.
I have drawn Him, simply because once, long ago, He had drawn me. I look once more at his beautiful charcoaled face and I think that he was too beautiful, even, to capture on a piece of weather-worn parchment. My heart skips a beat just by looking at His roughly drawn face.
'Why?' I think to myself from time to time.
I, myself, was so busy looking for a reason for why I had fallen for somebody below me that I didn't have any time left to love Him. I could've had anybody I wanted!
I flip over to the other piece of yellowed parchment to check for the thousandth time how I looked then. I have not aged much; after all it was only eight years ago. Eight years of lonely misery. I looked pretty in a foreign way. I stand with a perfect posture looking out to the sea, oblivious to someone drawing me.
When I found out that He had drawn me I had asked why He drew me with much more beauty that I had to which He replied; 'Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, luv. You're such a pretty thing,'
That was the first most romantic thing I had ever heard. I was young, as you can probably tell.
But when I ask myself why, I then think, why do I need a reason? Love is an uncontrollable thing. We spend so much time looking for the meaning of life that we have no time left to live it. We are here to live, not to ask. Appreciate what is given to us, for it can be taken away in the blink of an eye and leave you with a horrible feeling.
Regret.
And that is what my story is about. Them and me. Pirates. Freedom. Love.