A/N Wow!! I'm writing another POTC story!! Well it's just one shot so
you're gonna have to forgive me!! It's just I love the film so much, it's
hard not to write fanfiction for it!! Well, thanks for reading. . .
Weakness.
It is not how we live, that is remembered after we are gone, but how we die. People die everyday. But it is not your heroic feats, your daring escapades, your amazing, life saving discoveries that will be remembered, but how you face death, how you go to meet your maker. After all think of the spectacular death of William Wallace, all those hundreds of years ago, his name is still remembered. But in my entire life I have only witnessed one death that I thought worthy of recall. A death that will be imprinted firmly on my mind, until I too, leave this World. And that is the death of Jack Sparrow.
For a start it was the first time I had ever seen my mother cry, she wept bitterly, not even my father could calm her sobbing outbursts, as she ranted against life. Life was bad. She couldn't face the gallows, she couldn't face the commodore, or grandpapa. I was starting to worry about her, but papa shooed me away as he tried to comfort her.
Neither of them could face the day. And although both of them felt bitterly over the death of this grand man, neither tried to help. It was a shock to me, as a seven year old. When you are little you believe your parents are Gods, they can do anything, they could put out the sun, and stop the Earth spinning if they wanted to. So my first introduction to death, my first introduction to real life, and I was presented with my parents weakness.
I went alone to the gallows that day. They could not bear to see their friend die, but they did not have the strength to help him, and for that I despised them. The crowds had gathered, gory blood lustful crowds, worse then the most fearsome pirates I had ever met. I hated how they stood on their anticipation, willing the rope to fall. How could the barman, and the baker, who had once seemed so normal, act so blood thirsty when presented with death? A harsh awakening to real human instinct.
I stood beside grandpapa and the commodore, as the man's crimes were read.
I had seen hangings before, briefly. And none that I thought deserved to be remembered. Men weeping for their lives, begging for leniency, and claiming innocence as the rope gripped their lying, sinful necks. None worth remembering.
But this man was different. He stood proud, tall and defiant on the edge of death. As though daring the executioner to kill him. I had never seen someone face death with such a brave resolute manner. He truly was a man. His black dreadlocks neatly in place, his red bandanna shining in the sun, and the occasional glint off his gold teeth, his death was worth remembering.
He stared out into the crowd, as though searching the blurred, excited faces. He was searching for my parents, I despised them for their weaknesses.
The paper was folded up, and the commodore nodded at the executioner. I prepared to turn away, but for some reason my head would not move, my eyes would not close. His eyes met mine, and I refused to turn away. The trap door fell and the rope went taunt, and still I did not move. The crowd cheered, another pirate had been killed. They did not see, as I did, the noble man inside.
And here I am now, many years have passed since that day. My introduction to death. And after that I never saw my parents in the same light again, they did not deserve my admiration, they were human, they were weak. But Jack, Jack Sparrow, he was the strongest and bravest man I had ever known.
It is not how we die that will be remembered, but how we live. I only hope my death will be half as noble.
"Carrie Sans Turner you have been found guilty of piracy. . ."
It is quite amazing really, how the smallest of childhood moments can influence your life forever. . .
". . .and shall be on this hung by the neck until dead. . ."
Weakness.
It is not how we live, that is remembered after we are gone, but how we die. People die everyday. But it is not your heroic feats, your daring escapades, your amazing, life saving discoveries that will be remembered, but how you face death, how you go to meet your maker. After all think of the spectacular death of William Wallace, all those hundreds of years ago, his name is still remembered. But in my entire life I have only witnessed one death that I thought worthy of recall. A death that will be imprinted firmly on my mind, until I too, leave this World. And that is the death of Jack Sparrow.
For a start it was the first time I had ever seen my mother cry, she wept bitterly, not even my father could calm her sobbing outbursts, as she ranted against life. Life was bad. She couldn't face the gallows, she couldn't face the commodore, or grandpapa. I was starting to worry about her, but papa shooed me away as he tried to comfort her.
Neither of them could face the day. And although both of them felt bitterly over the death of this grand man, neither tried to help. It was a shock to me, as a seven year old. When you are little you believe your parents are Gods, they can do anything, they could put out the sun, and stop the Earth spinning if they wanted to. So my first introduction to death, my first introduction to real life, and I was presented with my parents weakness.
I went alone to the gallows that day. They could not bear to see their friend die, but they did not have the strength to help him, and for that I despised them. The crowds had gathered, gory blood lustful crowds, worse then the most fearsome pirates I had ever met. I hated how they stood on their anticipation, willing the rope to fall. How could the barman, and the baker, who had once seemed so normal, act so blood thirsty when presented with death? A harsh awakening to real human instinct.
I stood beside grandpapa and the commodore, as the man's crimes were read.
I had seen hangings before, briefly. And none that I thought deserved to be remembered. Men weeping for their lives, begging for leniency, and claiming innocence as the rope gripped their lying, sinful necks. None worth remembering.
But this man was different. He stood proud, tall and defiant on the edge of death. As though daring the executioner to kill him. I had never seen someone face death with such a brave resolute manner. He truly was a man. His black dreadlocks neatly in place, his red bandanna shining in the sun, and the occasional glint off his gold teeth, his death was worth remembering.
He stared out into the crowd, as though searching the blurred, excited faces. He was searching for my parents, I despised them for their weaknesses.
The paper was folded up, and the commodore nodded at the executioner. I prepared to turn away, but for some reason my head would not move, my eyes would not close. His eyes met mine, and I refused to turn away. The trap door fell and the rope went taunt, and still I did not move. The crowd cheered, another pirate had been killed. They did not see, as I did, the noble man inside.
And here I am now, many years have passed since that day. My introduction to death. And after that I never saw my parents in the same light again, they did not deserve my admiration, they were human, they were weak. But Jack, Jack Sparrow, he was the strongest and bravest man I had ever known.
It is not how we die that will be remembered, but how we live. I only hope my death will be half as noble.
"Carrie Sans Turner you have been found guilty of piracy. . ."
It is quite amazing really, how the smallest of childhood moments can influence your life forever. . .
". . .and shall be on this hung by the neck until dead. . ."