I don't want to open my eyes…I don't want to see…ever again…
He opened his eyes and bolted up to a sitting position. He swallowed a pitiful cry. This wasn't the island. The contents of his cabin stared back at him expectantly.
"What…what is this?" he finally choked out, his rough, intimidating voice now wavering with shock. Everything was just the way it had been before…He fingered his eyebrow, surprised to feel no sign of blood. Even his eye wasn't swollen. Taking in a deep breath, he stood up, suddenly aware of the gentle rocking of the ship he shouldn't be on. He looked behind him to see the bed he had been sleeping on, its covers turned back to accommodate his sleeping body. Brows furrowed, eyes glistening with puzzlement, he wandered around the cabin he had been living in for the past five years, now seeming unfamiliar to him. He could almost feel his girl scowling at him for his foreignness on her.
As he wandered around the room, his touched various items. He could still feel the polished wood of the small desk, the soft feather of the quill he often used, the leather like covers of the books on their shelves. But they didn't feel like they were his.
The sound of the door opening and slamming against the wall interrupted his investigation. He turned around quickly, in the middle of an action to pull out one of his books. Through his black tangled hair mixed with chinking beads, he saw a tall, burly man in the doorway.
"What are you doing in here?" he roared at Jack. He took a few steps forward and slammed the door behind him with ferocity of one who meant to kill. "You think I want to see you?"
Jack tried to think of something to say but his mouth had gone dry.
"I thought you'd be that way," the man replied to his silence. "Didn't expect me to find out what you'd done, did ye? Well, now I'm here and I know." As the men stepped out of the shadow, Jack stifled a gasp. Long brown hair was tied behind the man's head in a ponytail, several loose strands falling into his face. He wore the typical clothing of a tradesman or a fisherman. Behind the waving strands of hair, Jack saw the skull. The man had no flesh over his face, no muscle or tendon.
"What a disgrace you are!" the skull yelled at him. "You were meant to be better than this, you damn sea rat!" The man began to stride forward, his hands raised into fists. Jack took a step backward just as the room lurched dangerously and the lights went out.
Jack awoke once more with sand everywhere. He lifted his head, groaning from not being used to sleeping on dry sand. His eyes wandered over the trees, the rocks, and finally the sea.
"It would be much easier to sleep if I'd stop having dreams…" he grumbled to himself. The remnants of his last dream had already sifted away, leaving him with nothing but the remembrance of having one.
"I'm not a bloody fortune teller," he argued to no one. "Can't a man sleep in peace?" He stood up, wiping the sand off of his dirty garments. He heaved a sigh, the full blast of being marooned on this pitiful island washing over him once again. He bit back several curses, knowing that they wouldn't do him any good besides making him angrier. Angry pirates were a usual thing, but he couldn't work with that right now. He glared out to the ocean, the ghost of his Pearlstill waiting for him to swim out to her. Pulling a stray dreadlock out of his face, he turned from the sea and began to walk down the coast. The sea sang to him, beckoned him. The ground felt so unstable, trying to make him trip. Staring at his path as he walked, Jack could feel his desire for the sea magnifying, the further he veered inland.
To be continued.