READ THIS FIRST!
'Ello me 'arties! Well G'day anyways! This is my first ever attempt at writing a Pirates of the Caribbean Fanfiction story, so please bare with my mistakes and don't come and knock down me dunny door! LOL! I am a crap speller and I don't own POTC, therefore I don't know how far one place is from another ECT! Okay? And yes, some events that occur may not seem likely or are highly. . . . . Strange or something like that, and you may be sitting there going, 'What the hell?' Or "Sure, like that would happen.' But this is Fanfiction and anything can happen, mate! But I will try not to hurt Jack too much... naw! Lotsa Jack torture and pain! BWA HA HA HA laughs evilly
Oh, and yes... I am Australian and I do talk like one too, you know by saying, mate all the time (Just like Jack!) and G'day (It means 'Good day.') And sometimes I even say strange phrases, that probably make nooooooooooo sense whatsoever! But hey! Aussies are Aussies! Also some words are gonna be spelt differently, like colour (color), defence (defense) and you get my drift. I will try not to use any strange things in my story though! But if I do. . . . . . Ignore it!
OKAY! On with the story! Oh, and also this story takes place after the Curse Of The Black Pearl.
Chapter One: Marooned
The night wind blew across the ocean, picking up the tops of waves, creating a fine mist. Sand skipped over the shoreline, mixing with the salty water, lapping at the beach. The palm trees swayed back and forth, as though dancing to a song unheard. All the while, the moon rested peacefully in her soft bed of clouds. She cast out her white beams on the tiny island below her.
The night was cold and rain could be smelt on the horizon, coming this way. Slowly, the clouds drifted to block out the moon's comforting glow. Drops of cold rain began to fall, and steadily the drops turned into a thick downpour, soaking the ground.
A lone figure sat under one of the few palm trees, head bowed to his knees, which were tucked up under his chin. His shivering form was a sorry sight for anyone to behold. But on this island, there was no one else.
As the rain pelted down, the marooned being ungracefully rose to his feet and stagged off down the beach in search of better shelter. Not that there was any better shelter on this god forsaken spit of land. He tightly clutched his shoulder, which had now started aching. Removing his hand he, he noticed that the bullet wound he had obtained had started to bleed, again As he walked through the blinding rain, he tripped and fell over an object, half buried in the white sand. As he lay on the soggy beach, he reached out to grab what ever had tripped him and felt a smooth surface under his fingers. He grabbed the object and brought it in front of his brown eyes. A rum bottle. An empty rum bottle.
Sighing, he climbed back to his feet, bottle in hand. Why had Elizabeth burnt all of the rum? Sure it had worked by drawing attention to this otherwise overlooked; island and they had both been saved. But why the rum? Not to mention the trees (which had luckily started to grow back) and the food!
Jack staggered down to the water's edge and began to wash out the old rum bottle and wash off his bloody hands. For four days he had been here, with a starving belly and dry throat. But now at least he could try to gather some rain water, to drink.
Upon returning to the palm trees, Jack found a low branch and pulled it gently downwards, so that the little water that had collected on it ran off and into the rum bottle. Looking up into the sky Jack noticed that the rain was subsiding and the moon was coming out of her cloudy hiding spot.
After gathering as much water as he could, and putting the cork back into the bottle, he decided to save the little water that he had for the next day. When he knew he would need it most, as the days in the Caribbean were extremely hot and unforgiving.
Slowly, he began walking further down the beach, to find a shady place somewhere, to prepare for yet another scorching hot day. As he ambled on he, grew very weary and stumbled, dragging his shoeless feet through the sand. Suddenly, his foot connected with a sharp rock and he tripped and fell down hard, his bottle smashing on a rock and others connected with is body.
Jack stayed where he was. He had not the energy to move, even though the rocks digging into his chest was agonising. He closed his eyes, listening to the sound of the wind blowing through the trees and the water, lapping a the beach, and imagined that he was once again on his beloved ship, the Black Pearl.
#FLASHBACK#
Captain Jack Sparrow stood at the helm of the famous Black Pearl, his pride and joy, his ship. She smoothly sailed through the deep green waters of the ocean. The wind rustled her sails, pushing her great black hull through the water, creating a slip stream of foaming white waves behind her.
Closing his kohl lined eyes, Jack took a deep breath of fresh, crisp morning air and smiled. He loved being on a ship, riding the waves and swell, the sea breeze on his face, the sound of the ocean water rushing by, most of all, he loved the freedom. . . . and he loved the Black Pearl.
Lack of activity on the main deck, snatched his attention. Peering over the wheel, he caught sight of his crew gathered near the bow, seemingly listening to someone. . . . . who was wearing a large hat, with a feather in it. Squinting, he tried to get a better look at who it was and what was going on, to no avail.
Tying the brace rope onto one of the wheel spokes, the captain left the helm and wandered down on to the main deck and towards the bow. Standing, unnoticed, a little way from the group, he cleared his throat.
"And what seems to be goin' on 'ere?" He asked in a loud voice.
Most of the crew jumped and turned to face him. They looked scared, no, petrified. Jack was about to question them, but the feathered hat, being, spoke up.
"Nothing that concerns you, Jack." Said an eerily familiar voice.
The man stepped forward, removing his hat.
Barbossa.
That name echoed in Jack's head, ringing like a dozen cathedral bells.
"You're meant to be dead!" Exclaimed Jack, for once lost for words.
"So are you." Replied Barbossa, pulling out a gun and, to everyone's horror, shot Jack.
Jack fell to the deck, blood pouring from the wound.
"And now you are." He finished.
#END FLASHBACK#
Now, Jack lay on a beach, some where in the Caribbean, rocks digging into his chest, bullet wound in his shoulder, starving hungry, thirsty as hell and was fighting to keep his eyes open When he had woken up, after being shot, he had realised that he was on the same island again. Briefly he wondered how he had gotten here, but had dismissed the thought, not wanting to remember.
So, what do you guys think? Good, Okay, Crappie? Please feel free to tell me! A craftsman is all ways pleased to hear his work is appreciated . . . .unless it wasn't appreciated and totally hated! But hey!
Please review and tell mwa what you think! Savvy?
Remember: REVIEWS + KIND WORDS MORE CHAPPIES MORE JACK!