A/N: Le sigh. This epic has finally come to an end. I'll miss them all so dearly! :( Nothing better than being surrounded by Jacks!

Just wanted to thank Nytd, once again. She is an absolutely wonderful beta and great guidance through my Jack mania.

Enjoy this, mates!

Day 35

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In six days he had eaten every last peanut, leaving none of anyone but himself. His gravitation toward selfishness was an inevitable and undeniable force, a spiteful vice that did not deserve forgiveness from others. His inner discourse had entirely taken over his behavior, making him focus the perceptions of his environment and experiences instead of his environment and experiences themselves.

He was self-defeated, and constantly faced with a new decision where there were several options involved. Which path would be the correct one, which option would best serve his purpose and which choice appeared most suitable were some of the key questions on which he used to base his decision.

Man, by nature, has always been interested in maximization of his profits whether professional, personal or monetary to say the least, but no man would deliberately want to take a risk that is bound to go awry. In almost every case, man carefully studies the situation and then chooses the best option available to him, but that was not the case. Jack had fallen, unable to distinguish between choices that are determined by desire and those that are merely influenced by it.

Early that day, he had caught one of his many deckhands with a stolen peanut from his daily ration; he shot the man in cold blood, without a moment's hesitation, blowing the smoke from the barrel of his pistol as if he were blowing away another unless soul from his presence. No matter, he retrieved what was rightfully his, accounting for his stolen ration.

"My peanut," he affirmed, strolling on to confront his next victim. Little did he know that the utter regret of his actions would come swiftly, only moments after his encounter with Mr. Sparrow.

"Mr. Sparrow."

"Aye, Captain?"

"What say you about the condition of this tack line?"

"It be proper to my eye, sir."

"Proper? It is neither proper nor suitable, sir, it is neither acceptable nor adequate. It is in obvious fact, an abomination."

"Beggin' your pardon, sir, but perhaps if you gave a man another chance," he remarked, attempting to mend his mistake.

At that moment, the flower of egocentricity came into full bloom, allowing him to only think of himself, forgetting the rights and well-being of others. Neglecting or, worse still, exploiting others, ultimately cost him greater than he could have ever imagined.

"Shall I?" he inquired, feeling the blade of his cutlass suddenly come to life, slicing through the innards of Mr. Sparrow. "That sort of thinking got us into this mess."

From that moment on, he would have no friends, nor followers - only cowardly onlookers, who would secretly rejoice as soon as tragedy befell him, instead of being concerned for his well-being.

In the end, he washed his hands of them all, including his own conflicting scruples, in need of a change of scenery, to say the least, plunging back down to the desolate white abyss he had originated from.

He fell flat on the familiar patch of ground, springing to his feet to check the wind, quickly forgetting that there was no bloody wind in the first place. He was confident that he alone could find a method of escape, looking toward a lone piece rope for guidance, thinking that he could move the Pearl by his passion to set her free.

He pulled as hard as he could, the rough edges of the rope burning his palms as his grip began to slip from perspiration, but despite all of his painstaking effort, the Pearl chose to not budge from her final resting place. It was apparent that the large black vessel was in no mood to move itself.

"S'not working out well for you is it, mate?"

"Might I offer a morsel of advice?"

"Oh, bloody hell. What is it now?" he inquired in frustration.

"You've really got to lean into it, mate. Just stick your arse out and heave!"

"What? You're really expecting to move that thing just from sticking out your arse?"

"Gentleman, I believe that's enough talk about my backside, if you please."

"Why? I think it's worth mentioning."

"Bloody hell…" he groaned, placing a hand on his forehead.

"If I may interject for just a moment, gents…"

"Unless you've got something useful to say, I'd suggest that you shut it as well!" he exclaimed, tugging at the rope once more.

"I can let you both have at it, if you will."

Jack shifted his eyes, dropping the rope to his feet as he stared up longingly at his majestic Pearl.

"Seems like such an awful waste, if you ask me."

"Let's have it then," he sighed in defeat.

"That's what I thought," the voice confirmed, letting Jack ponder for a moment in silence.

"Rocks."

"Rocks?" he reiterated, crinkling his nose.

"Aye, rocks. Apparently, they've taken a liking to us."

The voice prompted Jack to turn his attention to the ground, scanning the area beside his feet to find a rather flat, yet circular object near his boot. He was clearly disturbed by its presence, but warmed by its familiarity.

"Aye, so you made it out alive didn't you?" he stated.

They stood together in a moment of silence, eying one another intently.

"What have I told you, mate? Go on now, shoo!" he finally stated, flicking his fingers at the small object, expecting it move along about its business.

"You know this isn't really helping," he stated knowingly, narrowing his brow as he turned his back to the inanimate object, attempting to ignore it.

Curiosity was indeed a strong and relentless force. Turning quickly, Jack picked the rock up delicately with his fingers, weighing it in his palm before bringing it close to his face.

"Rock," he said, bringing the geode to his lips, examining it with his wet tongue, grimacing at the distasteful flavor. "We have met before, haven't we?"

"Let me offer you, a more useful piece of advice, Jackie. Let him who lives without sin…"

"Cast the first stone," he finished, letting a small chuckle escape from his devilish smirk.

"I think that he who is without sin, is the keyword, mate."

"Oh, bloody hell! Will you both just shut it?" he yelled, utterly frustrated with his own scruples, throwing the rock as far as he could manage, watching it bounce away in the distance, blending into the coarse and disdainful surroundings of Davy Jones' Locker.

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Rocks. Aye, rocks had indeed become his only ally – an ally that sought to unify with that part of him that knew what was right and steer him away from wrong. They were steadfast by his side and resolute in their purpose; the rocks sought to set him free, illustrating the great passion he possessed for freedom. It was a passion that could move the unmovable and obtain the unobtainable.

By the end of that very same day, Jack Sparrow was rescued from torment by the men, who he thought, had long forgotten him. He had settled himself with the idea of his stories living on with his absence, but rejoiced inwardly at the thought of living to tell more of his infamous tales, for old time's sake.

Of all the inhabitants of Davy Jones' Locker, none but Jack knew that Hell was indeed cruel and unusual, and that the secret function of purgatory was to make the goodness of the heavens an effective reality.

Two days later, he found himself clenched within the proverbial jaws of death yet again. Standing between the horrid grim reaper and Lucifer himself on a desolate spit of land amidst a war of worlds, finding himself stiffen, holding his breath at the reaper's query.

"Do you fear death?"

He adjusted his hat firmly atop his head. "You have no idea."


A/N 2: Keep a look out for my next short fic "Scarlett's Letters." Coming soon!