Word Count: 564
Pairing: Will Turner, Elizabeth Swann
Prompt: Halloween (sort of)
A/N: I don't feel like this is a traditional approach to a Halloween challenge, but I did enjoy writing this!

~o~

Death has come for me again…

The others are already lost. I heard their screams as I was cast into the night, cursing as they burned or drowned. An explosion roared; ears ringing as I fall into a world of silence. I am burnt by fire and stifled by the black, icy waters that drag me down. There is merciless darkness everywhere; even the flames tearing the ship cannot pierce it.

I spin and struggle, raising my head for air as my blood freezes. I know the sea will take me in the end.

The ship is gone now, and all the remains are burning fragments scattered like votive candles in the night. And I remain – the fragment of human life, drifting to its close. I am not afraid to die, but I am afraid to be alone. I fear the loneliness of that last journey down to the depths of the sea, where I will take my place among the dead. There will be no requiem for me; no resting place, only a troubled memory in the minds of a few old friends who believe that I died long ago at the hands of pirates.

There are faces all around me; the spectral images of those I love dance around my head; my father taking his leave of me, while those I have lost gaze at me in silence. A strange feeling envelopes me, I will die with so many lives to account for, and I felt that there was so much blood I have yet to spill, so many lives that will cry out in vengeance; a destiny yet to be fulfilled.

Death is so slow in coming that I find myself fighting. If I had desired death as I yearned for it once, I would not have run onto the deck when I knew the end was truly coming. I would not cling now to splintering driftwood, praying that it will hold me. The very motion of lifting my head to take a breath is an act of defiance.

I clench the medallion at my chest. I feel no pain, the chill takes away all sense, and I feel only the weariness of death as it reaches out to me. I have died so many times and I'm cold and weary. I cannot draw breath any longer.

In the gloom above my head, a single star shines and I call out to the Star of the Sea, but I cannot hear my own voice ringing out across the murderous water.

Perhaps this is death, then – cruel death, from which I can never awaken.

I cannot hold onto the driftwood any longer. My hands grow limp and numb with the cold, so that I cannot feel my own fingers as they uncurl.

"I am dying!"

"I'm watching over you, Will," says a voice she can hear, and to her surprise, it is her own. A lost soul. She heard that expression somewhere before and thought of him – lost, trapped. Perhaps, it's because she feels lost and trapped herself.

Shiny with sweat, Elizabeth lay curled on her side, every muscle drawn bowstring-tight. Pulses thrum rapidly in her neck as invisible hands gently brush her hair. Her eyes dart open and flutter back and forth. Frantically, she gasps for air and reaches for the medallion, but finds nothing – no one to watch over her.