Disclaimer: The stupid mouse still owns all. If he didn't I would be rich. But I'm not.

Claimer: The plot's mine, so get lost. The dead crab and the bird are mine too.

Note: Italics are Jack's thoughts, "Normal fonts in parenthesis are what Jack/other characters say out loud", and regular writing is my narration.

Note: This could possibly be my second to last chapter, as I'm not sure if I'm going to continue after jack gets rescued by the rum runners, or leave it at that. If I do continue the story, it will be in the form another fan-fic, not adding on more chapters.

Note (Sorry, I swear to goddess this is my last "note"): Before I start the fourth chapter, I would like to thank everyone who reviewed! I can't thank you guys enough, especially since this is my first fan-fic, and well, let's face it... I'm ick at this kind of thing! laughs

Padme- Thanks so much! I try to do well and update... although things such as TEACHERS and HOMEWORK can get in the way sometimes.

Flying Sparrow- The mouse is pure evil. I have never loved the mouse, and never will. I like the bird also... I was thinking of naming the bird in the next chapter. Any suggestions?

Jaina Kenobi- Oh my goddess! I made someone laugh! AHH! Your review made me think "Holy Pelicans, I have a meaning in life". Now when I say "life", I mean the game. And I hate that game. Is "huzzah" really accurate? You know what, who cares if it's accurate?!?!? Huzzah rocks my world! To conclude, "freakishly loud laughter in the forbidden library" is part of my middle name. And believe me; I have a long middle name.

Lonaargh- Once, I was trying to see if that old superstition about "sprinkling salt on a crow's tail so it can't fly" was true. Only, I couldn't find many crows. So instead, I used a goose... which ended up biting me in the hand, right near the knuckles. Those things are very, very evil creeping things that creepeth upon this earth. I know how Jack feels. Oh, and I really do feel very much so sorry about killing the crab... it did brake my heart into tiny little pieces. I hope you continue to love Jack, because if anybody says the evil words, "I don't believe in Captain Jack Sparrow," a jack sparrow somewhere in the fan-fic world falls down dead... and we DO NOT want that to happen!

Oh, and thanky-thanky to my Beta-Ghost, my accountless friend, Sara.

Another heartfelt thanky-thanky to that guy who wrote the dictionary. Noah something.

After being a sticky wicket, I decided to start chapter four (which is really short... sorry)!

For the third time that day, Jack woke up with his head facing into the ground. Sadly, he was still not used to the taste of the salty, gritty textured sand stuck between his teeth. Pulling himself into a somewhat sprawled sitting position, he dragged his hand across his lips, ridding the exterior from the sand encrusted drool on his face. "Lovely." Jack strained to think what happened. Long night...? No... Was it another palm tree? At that moment, a rapid pain shot through his hand. Oh yeah, that damn bird and my brilliant trip from the palm to this... quite hard, thing. Before examining what he was sitting on, Jack tore off a small piece of fabric from a ripped hem on his pants, wrapping it in an odd way around his wrist through his fingers, and stretched out his aching ligaments, examining his homemade, bandaged hand. Subsequently, he stared down at the half uncovered, wooden... something he was sitting on.

Where'd you come from? Running his hands across the plank, he pushed off the sand, finding a corner. A corner... need three more of them, I do. Dragging his sand dusted hands along the edge of the wooden "thing", he found another corner, and then a third. Running his good hand towards the presumingly final edge, he felt a small bump stop his hand in its path. Another moment or so of uncovering the object proved to be rewarding, as he had found something he hadn't expected, a small iron handle. With the sun half blocked by the waves on the horizon, Jack figure he didn't have much daylight left. Might as well see what's under this bugger now instead o' later... Pulling that last bit of strength Jack had in his muscles together, he lifted the surprisingly heavy door. This couldn't have been easy for me, could it?! Clearly some higher power wanted Jack to struggle a bit more before he could alleviate his curiosity and pull that plank open. "Bloody oversized splinter" as well as a couple other choice words were mumbled as he peered into the dark pit.

The second he opened that door into the sand, now ex-Captain Jack Sparrow knew that his discovery would lead to something greatly impacting his stay on that Godforsaken spit of land. Maybe there were trollops and whores, waiting for him in the darkness, with rum. Or, Barbossa and the crew could be waiting behind the door, for some particularly odd reason, waiting to kill him, with rum, mind you, rum not for me own onceys. In his head, he particularly favored his first thought, for some reason unknown. Taking a step into the ditch, he smelled something familiar. So very familiar, that, for a moment, he could have swore this depression lead to Tortuga. The last ray of light from the fading sun caught the glare of something, just a couple hands from where Jack was standing. Not just ANY glare, but a shimmer in the peculiar shape of a... bottle. Forgetting about his stupid injuries and aches, Jack lunged for the bottle, knocking off of the shelf it was supposedly sitting on, and it smashed. Jack had been right on his first guess, well... half right at the least. There's rum down here... or, there was rum down here...

His eyes, which had finally gotten used to the darkness, finally notice something. In fact, lots of somethings. Jack felt like he was going to cry. He could see many rows of shelves, laced with rum bottles, leading into the pit. Maybe god isn't so stiff on good ol' Jack after all, and with that note, the pirate we all love and care about drank rum like there was no chance of seeing daylight again. Oh, and after some absent minded thoughts he fell to the ground, mumbled something to the effect of, "We should really stop meeting like this, luv...." and got some sleep, to be followed with a slight hangover.