Thanks for bearing with me. I'll try to update faster. Promise.
Barbossa The moonlight shows us for what we really are.
The storm continued to rage on into the night, but the occupant's of the Myrna household had gone to bed, choosing to ignore the foreboding weather.
When Jack reached his bedroom he did not go to bed, but to a small stool by the window. He sat down and stared out into the night sky. While counting the stars that surrounded the clouds and lightning he imagined a world more comforting to him. One where children weren't orphaned by disease and the ocean's waves lulled one to sleep after a day of climbing the mooring. Jack was in a place that felt safe and warm. It was a mother's embrace and the twinkle of a father's eye when full of pride. Jack was at home among the waves.
As he realized that his head was bobbing forward he abruptly stood up and headed towards his bed. The wooden object clattered to the floor, but he made not attempt to right it. He was too numb to care at the moment. He needed sleep. The weight of the world had pressed upon Jack Sparrow, and it was time for him to make his escape into night. As he put his head down on the pillow he prayed for a dreamless night. Sadly for Jack Sparrow that wish would not be granted that night or any night in the near future.
X X X
The boy moaned in his sleep as a searing heat passed over his body, each wave more intense than the last. He turned his away in an attempt to protect himself, but the flames only licked further up his body. He opened his mouth in an attempt to scream, but found nothing. He-
"Myrna we know you're here. Come out!"
Jack woke with a start and this time he did scream. Loud and clear, and through the haze of his terror he heard a clang in the living room. Silence fell upon the house once more.
"Don't pretend we didn't hear that Jacob." The door creaked as others entered the room and Jack listened for the squeak that would accompany the door closing. No other sound was heard other than the shuffle of booted feet.
A crash was heard as some piece of china hit the floor.
"Damn it boy! Bring that lantern over here. Can't you see it's dark?"
He heard a muffled whispering sound that could only be the boy answering the voice and moving forward with the lantern.
Jack covered his mouth with one hand to stifle his heavy breathing, and with the other he wiped the sweat from his soaked brow. After taking a moment to calm down, Jack decided that he would move closer to his doorway to get a look at the men. He inched forward slowly on his belly until he reached the doorway. He got to his knees and pressed his back on the wall. He felt the coolness of the plaster against his cheek as he turned his head sideways to look out into the room.
If he squinted hard enough he could make out three outlines. The lantern cast a faint yellow glow on the figures giving them an otherworldly appearance.
One outline was tall and incredibly skinny, and the other was obscured by the shadows of furniture. Father back in the room he could make out the shape of a figure holding a lantern. He was of average height and build for one in his early teens. He held the lantern in his right hand. In the left he held a glittering knife. The blade caught the lantern's light and cast it across the room in willowy shadows.
When the light shifted towards the other two figures a few features came into light. The tall one had a sheath attached to his belt in which a pistol rested. The hammer of the gun gave off a faint glint, and Jack could make out the hand that rested on the handle, poised and ready to fire. The man behind the furniture could now be more clearly seen. He wore a hat that held a lone feather on the left hand side. It was as red as blood and bright enough to indicate his status within the group. This man was most certainly the leader. Of what sort of organization this figure was a head of, was easy for Jack to ascertain. Pirates.
The feather turned with the man as he inclined his head to listen for any noise in the room. He spoke again, louder this time.
"We aren't here to hurt you Jacob. We're just here to have little chat." Jack saw the white of the tall man's teeth as he sneered and answered the man behind him.
"Yeah, we won't hurt ya."
A clap of thunder sounded in the distance.
"Much."
The accents were thick and harsh like sandpaper. Jack wanted to cover his ears to shut it out, but something in their tones heeded him to listen.
The pirates called out to the Myrnas again, but silence was their only answer. Either Mr. Myrna wasn't there, or he chose not to listen to the night's intruders.
Jack closed his eyes, praying that when he opened them that the intruders had been nothing but a bad dream and soon to be forgotten memory. However he might have wished his existence to change the world stayed the same as he opened his eyes. This time however, one detail had changed. Mr. Myrna had appeared in the doorway, a pistol in his hand. He set some other object down on the windowsill. It settled with a musical clank. A bottle. Jacob Myrna gestured vaguely towards it with his now empty hand.
"Is this what you've come for? The rum? Well you shall have it if it will spare the bloodshed."
The one who stood behind the furniture came forward. He- being shorter than his tall counterpart- was a bit more round but being of solid build gave little reason for one to call him fat. He appeared to be at least a decade older than Jack, perhaps more. He walked with a calculated step that spoke more of power than any slowness on his part. His steps on the unfurnished floor made dull thuds as he walked towards Jacob Myrna. He spoke with a rough voice that was like blades to a sharpening wheel. In his mind Jack imagined sparks flying from that blade as it was honed to a hair-splitting sharpness.
"It's been long time, hasn't Myrna? You've forgotten the rules of the game. It's a pity, you used to be strong."
"I was. Until I went to jail. When you were nothing but a deck swabbing brat. Jack the elder and Jonathan Sparrow changed all that. Taking up command of the ship and all."
"Yes. It's a shame that both he and his only son had died in such…unfortunate circumstances." Mr. Myrna's words finally caught up with the strange man. "Did you say Jack the elder?"
"Yes Barbossa. I know you're not deaf."
"Well, where's the lad? Or are you just stalling?"
Mr. Myrna had pressed him against the wall. Jack watched as he slowly lowered the pistol back into its holster. The lantern caught the bottle and it gave off a faint glint. Jack watched as Mr. Myrna wrapped his hand around the bottle's neck.
"The boy's asleep. I intend to leave him that way."
"Alright. I'll find him myself." He turned on his heels and walked towards Jack's room. As quietly as he could, Jack moved into the shadow of his room and held his breath. Through the light of the window he saw the leering eyes peer in the gloom as if they were willing a shape to appear in the shadows. Jack couldn't look away for fear that that flicker of movement would betray his location. He held his eyes open even as they started to water and as they were about to close…
"Barbossa!"
Jacob Myrna flew at the man in Jack's doorway even as the other two men shouted their warning. Barbossa turned in time to catch Myrna's arm and with it the bottle of rum. A quick kick to the legs sent Mr. Myrna to the floor in the doorway.
"Tried to hit me with this did ya?" Sword now unsheathed the imposing man plunged the blade into Myrna's chest and laughed gleefully as he did so. He followed that offering with jabs to arms and legs, all while humming and nearly skipping around the body. Mr. Myrna stayed silent, and his attacker's mood soured.
"What's this no screaming? The lantern Mr. Turner."
The sound of a cork being removed bounced off the walls in the room. Barbossa brought it to his lips and took a drink, exhaling with satisfaction as he lowered the bottle back down.
"Here's to you Jacob. Rest in peace."
The bottle was turned upside-down on Mr. Myrna's face and this time he did scream.
"Jack!"
Taking this as an order to run, Jack leaped forward and at once felt liquid pouring over him, lazily falling down his chest. He kept going and soon collided with another body.
"Hold the boy, Mr. Turner. He may be of some use to us. Now as for you Jacob..." Barbossa leaned down and removed the pistol from its holster. "I think I'll be having this, but I supposed that I should trade you for it. How about a light?"
The "boy"- now identified as "Mr. Turner" – had set the lantern down on the floor. His eyes followed his boss' hand as he pulled a piece of paper from his jacket and lit in on the flames of the lantern. He let the paper fly; and it drifted dreamily down onto the chest of Jacob Myrna. Flames bloomed across his clothing and Jack screamed as the skin of what had been a rough, but kind face bubbled and blistered. Jack started squirming, but the grip on his arms were firm, and Mr. Turner- appearing to be several years older than Jack- had the advantage of height over him.
In a last ditch effort for escape, Jack slammed his heel into his captor's foot and managed to wiggle his way free. As he sprinted for the door the third stranger-forgotten by Jack- grabbed the discarded bottle and threw it towards Jack. The bottle hit the wall next to the door and shattered just as Jack reached it. The shards of glass flew in all directions, catching Jack above the lip and below the elbow of his right arm. He gave a yelp, but continued running.
X X X
Unbeknownst to Jack, the Myrna household slowly collapsed as flames licked across carpet and woodwork. The pirates, who had come and destroyed his home, left, choosing not to follow in pursuit of the boy. If he sought help no one would believe such a tale as he would tell.
X X X
Jack Sparrow fled his foster home. He had no place to run, no haven in which to claim sanctuary. The only other people he knew were the rich upon the hill, whom he knew would pretend not to know him if he went in search of help. The other villagers, while appearing friendly, would offer no helping hand to a child when they had their own mouths to feed. Towns were scary places at night, with dark alleys and dark foreboding buildings that offered no shelter.
As he ran Jack's mind whirled over the night's events. In doing so he only succeeded in slowing himself down. "Mr. Turner" could catch him if her were in pursuit. He imagined those long legs sprinting straight towards him with flaming clothing and the smell of decay. The bile rose to his lips, but he couldn't stop there, not for fear of being caught. He swallowed with a shudder and kept his head down. He ran through the encompassing dark, without even shadows to guide him. He knew that any shape that represented safety was beyond his reach and the dark kept him moving, and through moving he stayed alive.
He ran to the only place that his mind directed him towards. The ocean. Whether to hide under a dock or throw himself off the pier he was not sure, but his blood sang and urged him to the sea, his one constant comfort. Here the shadows were not sharp and foreboding, but smooth and subtle with long polished masts reaching up into the sky and flags flapping in the wind. He scanned the area and found his hiding place. The dock of his daydreams and youth. Beneath the dock there was a small space of land where the pier connected to the mainland. He held onto the dock with one hand and used the other to feel for the land beneath. Having located it, he set his feet down and slowly lowered himself. After twisting his body around he was able to lie down and rest his feet against the boards that made up the dock.
He covered his eyes with his hands and struggled to find some kind of composure in the midst of hyperventilation and fear. It lasted but a moment, and in that moment of clarity he wondered what had happened to Mrs. Myrna. When that moment was lost, it was then that the horror truly caught up with him. While running he had a focus, a reason not to think. Now, he had a jumbled mix of pain and dread.
His hand over his mouth stifled his screams and his palm met with the glass imbedded therein. He pulled slowly and could fell the sharp edges scrape inside. A sob broke on a gasp as he did the same to the glass in his arm, praying there was no cloth from his shirt inside the wound. When he had regained control of himself he removed his hand to find blood on it. He tentatively touched his lips. No glass remained. He ran his tongue over the swollen area, capturing a mixture of blood, tears, and a fiery substance. It mingled with saliva and became a part of him, leaving warmth in his throat. He closed his eyes and cried anew. On that stormy night underneath the docks Jack Sparrow had his first taste of rum.