One night they called me for supper,

but I never got up,

I stayed right there,

In my chair...

I never wanted children. I had always kept that in mind since I started pirating. Children would of been too distracting and too difficult to raise, especially because of the fact that I have such a horrible temper. Children, in my point of view, were just a waste of time. But I always kept a vow to myself that if I ended up having a child one day, I'd somehow get into its life. So, when this girl called Ella I remembered sleeping with came towards me, stating that she was carrying my baby, I took her in. I never break any promises to myself.

Jackie was born during a huge typhoon as I was bringing his mother to Madagascar, where she and the baby would live. Holding him as a screaming, tiny bundle in my arms, I remembered stroking his fine dark hair, never forgetting the touch of how soft and fragile it was. To my surprise, he actually quite adorable; he had my eyes. I dropped them off at Madagascar and continued my pirating, stopping by once and a while to see how both of them were doing.

The pain of raising such a helpless little human being never seemed to affect his mother as it did me. Physically and mentally, I was exhausted every time I visited them. I kept thinking to myself, Oh God, what had I gotten myself into? Why did I spend such a wasteful night, sleeping with a girl, only to throw away a piece of my life?

Now, you may think I had been cruel. And I absolutely agree; I never wanted children in the first place. But Jackie was not a burden to me. Nor a disappointment. Nor a mistake. I loved my Jackie...He was just an extremely fussy baby, always whipping in and out of my sight, breaking things and such. I soon became irritated and snappy, and you imagine how I could of felt when Ella came up to me yet again and told me we she was expecting our second baby-Pissed off.

So, as you may assume, I turned to what most men in my predicament do-I drank. I drank whatever I could get my hands on; rum, whiskey, ale, everything. It never seemed to be a big problem for Jackie and the rest until I woke up after a night of drinking and noticed Jackie had a nasty scratch of his face. He said that I had done it when I was tipsy, but I denied it. But, honestly, I did not remember what had happened when I was drunk.

Then, when Abigail was born, I completely shunned myself from them for almost three years. I wasn't ready for the responsibility for caring for two children, let alone one. I just gave that precious baby girl a cold look, suggested a name, and sailed off to sea the next morning. My drinking slowly and steadily got worse. Even though I was miles and miles away from them, my body craved for the feel of the sharp burn in my throat whenever I drank. Then, just as my crew began having second thoughts about me being the captain, horrible news came; Jackie, seven by now, was coughing up blood, a sign of consumption.

Though I already had enough troubles with my addiction, I hurried to Madagascar to be by Jackie's bedside. By the time I arrived, he was bed-ridden, paralyzed and delirious with pain and fever. I stayed there for months, everyday, taking care of him and watching over him. Abigail, who was just only three at the time, was ordered to stay away from Jackie until his health improved. Even though he was slowly getting better day by day, my drinking problems were out of control. My young son was going through a living hell before me, and I felt guilty about avoiding him and his little sister. For once in my life, I felt powerless.

After six months, Jackie was strong enough to go outside again. I held him by his hands as he shakily made his way to the beach and played with Abigail. He had no friends his age; most of them abandoned him when he fell ill. His little sister was his only friend now. Though he looked sad, he looked at me and smiled, signaling that he was happy. I just glared back at him, my heading pounding after another night of drinking. His smile faded as he turned his head away, clearly hurt.

Then, as if two birds were hit with one stone, consumption hit our family again; this time, Ella and Abigail were the unlucky victims. Jackie, fully recovered, knew that I was unfit to take care of them. He took care of them all by himself, bathing them, washing their clothes and bed sheets and dosing them with medicine and making them food. When he'd had a little time left, he take care of me; he'd clean up all the messes I made when I was drunk and covering me up in a quilt as I laid, passed-out, in the middle of the floor. It was stressful work on his tiny, aching person, but it was paying off nether less. Ella was regaining her strength everyday, yet for Abigail-sweet, little innocent Abigail- it seemed as though nothing could relieve her fever-stricken, blood-soaked body. In weeks, she had died. I would never Jackie's screams when he had found her lifeless body in her bed: "MY ABBY'S DEAD! MY ABBY'S DEAD! MY ABBY'S DEAD!"

The funeral was the next day. Anyone who was close enough to us came. Ella, who was still quite ill, was absent from the ceremony. Jackie's only source of comfort came from Captain Chevalle, who held his hand as I read from the Bible. I tried my hardest to only keep my eyes on the verses, for I heard an occasional sniff coming towards him. From the corner of my eye, I saw that his face was magenta. I was glad he wasn't making quite a scene for once, but that all ended as one of my crew members and I picked up Abigail's coffin to put in the ditch we had dug earlier that day. He went to hysterics, sobbing aloud and trying to loosen himself from Chevalle's grip. I let one of my crew members take over burying as I grabbed him and took him back to the house. He was screaming at the top of his lungs and kicking his thin legs as I dragged him up the stairs and threw him into his room. I closed the door and locked it as he started to punch it from the other side, still screaming loudly.

"NO! NO! I WANT TO SEE HER ONE LAST TIME! I'M NOT READY!" he bawled, his voice muffled against the door.

"YOU SHOULD OF PREPARED YOURSELF WHEN SHE WAS DYING IN THE FIRST PLACE, BOY!" I yelled over his screams. "YOU KNEW YOU WERE FAILING!"

And just like that, I left him alone as he cried and cried and cried into the night.

A year later, Jackie had caught consumption again, only this time, Ella and I were greatly afraid for his life . He was having nightmares, where'd he wake up sitting up in his bed, holding his hands over his ears, screaming and shaking his head from side to side. He finally recovered when he was eleven, scarred and traumatized by not only his illness, but by me as well. A few years afterward, he ran away. That was when I really realized how dangerous my drinking had become and felt ashamed by it. I now only drink a bottle of rum or grog now and then, but not enough to get me tipsy. Now that I know that I may lose him for good this time, I find it harder and harder to not get drunk to dull my 'pain'.

I'm not ready.

A/N: The lyrics reflect for how Teague neglect Jack when he needed him most, which tests have shown that neglecting a child scars them for life. Thanks for reading, and Happy Halloween!