First PotC fic, hope it's okay. Reviews, constructive criticism, flames, whatever!

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I guess it all started when I was seven. I was outside while my mother worked inside the house and I sat staring blankly at a doll I had stolen earlier that day. Frankly, I didn't know what to do with it. I hadn't stolen it because I wanted it; I had stolen it because it was what I was supposed to want. My mother was always kindly telling me how I should act, and just how 'blinkin' odd' I truly was. Now that I think on it, she always was the thoughtful one.

Where was I? Oh, yes. So there I was outside with this doll. Her pink dress and matching shoes made me feel sick. I raised my hand and dagger to make some tasteful changes, when it was snatched out of my hand, and a young man stepped in front of me. He picked up the doll thoughtfully, and pocketed it. "You never know," he said, "I might need this."

"And what'd ya need a doll for?" He had already turned away, but he faced me then, and I got a good look at his ugly mug.

"I'm a very lonely man."

Hardy har-har. "Give me the knife." He raised a comic eyebrow. Rather like the town's local jester, Scully, from whom I'd taken away the need for birth control the day before.

He waved the pink bundle-o'–joy at me. "Wouldn't you rather have your dolly back?"

Stupid man. "No. I want my knife. Now." You don't steal from me. No one ever has, and no one ever will. Well, except...

"Aw, I'm sorry. Can't do that, girly." I scowled dangerously at him. Girly? ...the Hell? "I need it! Honest! Do you think I would steal from a kid if I didn't?"

I didn't answer, but kept the scowl. He rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and left; just walked away without another word! All pity gone, I ran the few steps after him and leapt up, catching him around the neck and let loose a bloody string of curses. He yelled pathetically and swung his arms uselessly. I would've had my dagger in another minute (he *squealed* when I yanked his hair), but my mother had heard our yelling and came at the bastard with a stick. I fell off his back, and watched the highly entertaining scene before me: my mother and stick beating the stuffing out of the turkey. He eventually managed to wriggle free, and took off. I ran up to my mother.

"Get it? Di'ya get it?" She smiled proudly and handed me the doll.

"I sure did."

Gee, thanks Ma.

Sometimes I just think I would've been better off being born dead.

And then these two British Naval Officers, (Bums Nobody Obeys, as I used to call them) came scurrying up to us, asking the whereabouts of a Jack Sparrow. I shrugged. Who cared about someone as stupid as to name himself after a bird? Tweet.

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