I'm running, running faster than I ever thought I could.
The moon is out, full and bright without any clouds for it to hide in.
The town is burning around me as I run, smoke from the flames hiding both friend and enemy. I can hear women and children shouting, terrified screams echo as they flee. The men have grabbed their weapons, pistols, knives, and swords as they attempt to defend their families.
It doesn't work.
I keep running.
I never liked the place anyway.
I find myself in the harbor, where the ships are.
My ship.
I climb up the sides, using the ropes to pull myself into the ship. At this point I'm soaked, and I should be cold.
I'm not.
I can smell gunpowder in the air, mixed with smoke and the smell of the ocean.
I hold the side of the ship, running my fingers over the dark wood.
This is my home.
I walk, still running my fingers over the smooth wood of the railing and stop, strangely numb.
The wood is wet.
I rub my fingers together as I mutter nonsense, feeling the slick, warm liquid begin to run down my arm.
My hands are red.
I begin to run my hand down the rail again, and stop once I reach the thick, sticky liquid.
Vaguely I realize the town has gone quiet, but I dismiss the thought.
I'm numb.
I begin to follow the red trail.
It leads to my cabin.
Some of the fog clouding my mind lifts enough for me to realize something else.
The wind is cold tonight.
Noises that I had ignored began to magnify themselves, the waves crashing against the ship, the burning town behind me, the wind whistling through the air. The ship creaks as the water beneath it shifts.
No voices, no animals. Just the wind and the water.
It's far too quiet now.
A coppery scent strengthens as I approach the door of the cabin. The door of my cabin.
The door is open.
I walk in.
The room is brightly lit, moonlight filters through the windows, candles are placed in all of the corners and in the center of the table.
The smell of blood is stronger.
The table in the center of the room is bare with the exception of a lit candle. It is not the table that captures my attention, but the chairs around it...
On the far side of the table, the left-hand side of the head of the table is the first. Her brown eyes stare into the heavens, as if pleading for life. Or forgiveness. Her head is tilted back, her mouth slightly opened. Her shirt has a hole in it, red staining the area around it.
To her left is the old drunk. The superstitious one. To his left is the man with no tongue, the bird a mess of feathers on his lap. The rest of the crew are on the floor, spread in bloody heaps.
I walk to the other side of the table, to see who sits in the remaining chairs.
The last two I see sit next to each other, holding each others hands tightly. Their waists appear to be tied to the chairs they sit in. They were probably made to watch as the bodies were moved to their current positions.
To my left is a young lass, in her prime with long, brown hair and a stubborn expression on her face. Her head is slumped forward, covering the mark of death that must be there.
She holds her husband's hand.
The boy is staring straight ahead, glaring at an empty space on the wall.
Will is dead.
There are still two empty chairs. One would be the head of the table, and the other has been placed on Will's other side.
I hear footsteps coming from the doorway, at least three men, on stumbling.
Yet, I don't care.
They are dead.
In the doorway, one man hold's another upright as another aims. He shoots, and the large man allows the other to fall to the floor.
I turn, out of morbid curiosity.
It is our dear Commodore, blood pooling around him.
He is still alive, but not for long.
He tries to say something, but it doesn't come out. He looks straight at me, and I understand what he tries to say.
He respects me.
Shortly, his breathing stops.
It's far too quiet tonight.
There are two men, standing over the Commodore's body. The tall one turns, and laughs mockingly as he walks away.
The other man stands there, his pistol in hand as he smirks at me. His gold teeth flash in the candlelight as he steps out of the doorway. His skin disappears as he walks in front of the moonlight, leaving a rotting corpse. The remains of his flesh drip grotesquely down his face, or skull if you prefer.
This monster raises his arm, also draped with his remaining flesh...
"Good bye, Jack."
I wake up.