I feel... dirty...
I wrote... fanfic. Gasp.
Yes, I know. Me, the big proponent of original writing.
But at least it's not slash fic. I just got this idea in my head and it wouldn't go away till I wrote it down. It's about Bootstrap Bill from Pirates of the Caribbean.
Thankfully, it's short.
Bootstraps
William Turner, senior had been the sole captive of his own morality for nigh unto a decade when the resonating sound first pulsed through the waves. His eyes, bloated with seawater, still opened and strained upward through the murky water for a glimpse--though in the darkness of the ocean depths, not a single stray ray of moonlight shone.
"Eight hundred and eighty two," Turner thought to himself, praying that he had not (somewhere during his long maddening imprisonment in Davy Jones’s Locker) lost count. "That’d be the last one- and it’s a thankful man I am for that."
If Barbosa was successful in his pursuit of this last accursed Aztec piece, then finally, long last, William would be free. Release from this watery hell, this unending battle to keep his sanity and his flesh from decaying- would be more than welcome. One thought had sustained him more than the counting of the pulses- like a bright beacon it shone in his mind, the traces of memories that the seawater soaking through his body could not ever erase. His lovely wife and young son filled him with hope- hope that redemption for his deeds was possible, that in the life after this, they would be together, and he would be forgiven.
A fish began to nibble at Turner’s leg- still secured to the cannon that weighted him down. He’d been secured by his bootstraps with sturdy chains to the heavy iron girth of the barrel- and those chains still bound him to it, here at the bottom of the sea he had loved so well. William stretched his arm to swat at the fish, not really putting all that much effort into it. If the little bugger were determined enough, it would be back. He’d lost a fair share to quite a few of the ocean’s creatures- and a cropping of barnacles was presently residing all along his boots. The very leather- a fine craftsmanship that was said would never wear out- was a vice-like grip that held to the chains, secured him to the cannon. Ironic, that.
William Turner, Senior recalled his days as a merchant sailor- before the ship he sailed upon was laid to ruin by the Black Pearl. He’d been a young man then- with a pregnant wife waiting for him at home. Determined to live, he’d crossed steel with Captain Jack Sparrow himself- and earned the chance to join the crew of the Pearl instead of being forced to walk the plank, or left to chance the ocean afloat on the ruins of the merchant ship. Turner hastily agreed- for any chance to go home again was well worth the price.
His work had begun with the lowest of jobs- swabbing the decks, and emptying the slops. "But don’t worry, Billy-boy," Jack had assured him, "You can pull yourself up by your bootstraps, savvy?" William took the advice to heart and worked hard, rising so quickly in esteem of the Captain and crew that he became known as Bootstrap Bill, for he had certainly pulled himself up from the most humble of beginnings. Bill visited home whenever he was able, and brought wondrous gifts for his wife and newly born son. Though he regretted that he’d been sailing when his wife gave birth, he had immense pride in the fact that she’d given the boy his name.
The spoils and adventure were high, and the losses low, until ill fortune besieged the Black Pearl. In pursuit of a fantastic treasure of Aztec gold said to have belonged to Cortez himself, greed began to seep into the hearts of the formerly loyal crew, hardening them against Captain Sparrow- against the Pearl herself. By far, the most adamant was Barbosa. He fanned the flames of dissent, whispering tales of how Jack Sparrow was not to be trusted to divide the treasure fairly- and hadn’t been doing his job proper. All it would take was a little change of power. No one dare spoke the word mutiny, for all aboard knew that mutineers were damned to the fires of hell. Bootstrap Bill would have no parts of such plans- he tried to reason with the men- but to no avail. He considered bringing the plan to the attention of Jack, but thoughts of his wife and young son stilled his tongue. Jack had no chance against an entire crew--and he though he regretted deeply what was about to occur, he couldn’t put his own future in jeopardy.
How sad the day had been when Jack Sparrow was abandoned on an uncharted island with nothing but a pistol and one shot. Barbosa commanded the ship now- and Bill tried his best to put thoughts of the mutiny behind him and concentrate on the treasure. With riches such as they would be acquiring- his wife and son would want for nothing. He could retire from the pirate’s life, and become an honest man, William Turner once again. Bill swore that were he given another chance- he would not sail away from his family again, no matter how the wanderlust overtook him. He’d farm, or fish, or take up a trade just to be near them. Unfortunately, he was never given that chance.
The terrible curse of the gold... the wild, betrayed expression on Sparrow’s face when they’d sailed away from the island, thoughts of his son growing up without a father.. all haunted him now. When Bill had learned of the curse that was upon them- he’d had a necklace fashioned from one of the gold pieces and shipped it off to his son for safekeeping. Barbosa had been furious when he found out about the deception- and had ordered Bootstrap Bill to be bound by his bootstraps to one of the cannons and thrown overboard. He’d been terrified then- struggled, and screamed and kicked, certain it would be the death of him. How wrong, how naive he had been, for a fate worse than death awaited.
Sinking down, he had panicked, and taken deep breaths of seawater into his lungs. He screamed, and breathed the water -- in and out, in and out-- and much to his surprise, he did not die. Surprise turned to horror as he realized the full extent of the curse.
William no longer had any concept of time- the passage of such belonged to the world above the waves. Had he been down there a year, or a century- he could not have said. There was only the terrible sameness of salt and water and ocean life-- and the thoughts that would not let him be. When the first pulse had come pounding through the water, he knew-- could feel the gold calling him in every fiber of his waterlogged being. He tried in vain to drag the cannon along behind him, wanting desperately to join the hunt of the damned, but he could only wait for the feeling to subside. As the pieces passed, he’d grown used to the feeling-- and now, the last coin had been located.
Bill wondered, once, if the Aztecs had been a particularly vengeful people, or if it was the ravages of Cortez that had brought them to such ends. Certainly, this was the worse curse of which a man could conceive. He had suffered beyond the point of all reason-- tortures he had not even begun to imagine could exist in his life before the gold. He stretched out his hands into the murky waters, wanting to touch anything to remind himself that he still could. As always, they contacted the cannon- now corroding, and barnacle encrusted.
The thought of Sparrow’s face, that day the Pearl left him on the island, filled his mind again. He remembered what Jack had once told him. "The Pearl is more than just a ship, she’s freedom." Barbosa and the crew, Bill included, had taken that freedom away from Jack-- and now they paid for it, every moment of every day. "I’m sorry!" he shouted, the water swallowing his words and turning them into a stream of helpless bubbles. He sighed deeply, and just then, an amazing thing happened. Though the water flooded into his mouth, and nose, as it always did at such times- he could feel the burning in his lungs. Amazed, he took another breath, and it too, burned with an unbelievable pressure. After all this time, long last, William Turner was drowning. He opened his bloated eyes and saw visions floating before him-- the smiling face of Jack Sparrow- alive, well and forgiving. His son stood beside the Captain, proud and strong. Bootstrap Bill knew now that he could die in peace. He took one last deep breath, felt the coldness of the sea as if it were his wife’s tender embrace, and closed his eyes to rest.
Yes, I know. Me, the big proponent of original writing.
But at least it's not slash fic. I just got this idea in my head and it wouldn't go away till I wrote it down. It's about Bootstrap Bill from Pirates of the Caribbean.
Thankfully, it's short.
Bootstraps
William Turner, senior had been the sole captive of his own morality for nigh unto a decade when the resonating sound first pulsed through the waves. His eyes, bloated with seawater, still opened and strained upward through the murky water for a glimpse--though in the darkness of the ocean depths, not a single stray ray of moonlight shone.
"Eight hundred and eighty two," Turner thought to himself, praying that he had not (somewhere during his long maddening imprisonment in Davy Jones’s Locker) lost count. "That’d be the last one- and it’s a thankful man I am for that."
If Barbosa was successful in his pursuit of this last accursed Aztec piece, then finally, long last, William would be free. Release from this watery hell, this unending battle to keep his sanity and his flesh from decaying- would be more than welcome. One thought had sustained him more than the counting of the pulses- like a bright beacon it shone in his mind, the traces of memories that the seawater soaking through his body could not ever erase. His lovely wife and young son filled him with hope- hope that redemption for his deeds was possible, that in the life after this, they would be together, and he would be forgiven.
A fish began to nibble at Turner’s leg- still secured to the cannon that weighted him down. He’d been secured by his bootstraps with sturdy chains to the heavy iron girth of the barrel- and those chains still bound him to it, here at the bottom of the sea he had loved so well. William stretched his arm to swat at the fish, not really putting all that much effort into it. If the little bugger were determined enough, it would be back. He’d lost a fair share to quite a few of the ocean’s creatures- and a cropping of barnacles was presently residing all along his boots. The very leather- a fine craftsmanship that was said would never wear out- was a vice-like grip that held to the chains, secured him to the cannon. Ironic, that.
William Turner, Senior recalled his days as a merchant sailor- before the ship he sailed upon was laid to ruin by the Black Pearl. He’d been a young man then- with a pregnant wife waiting for him at home. Determined to live, he’d crossed steel with Captain Jack Sparrow himself- and earned the chance to join the crew of the Pearl instead of being forced to walk the plank, or left to chance the ocean afloat on the ruins of the merchant ship. Turner hastily agreed- for any chance to go home again was well worth the price.
His work had begun with the lowest of jobs- swabbing the decks, and emptying the slops. "But don’t worry, Billy-boy," Jack had assured him, "You can pull yourself up by your bootstraps, savvy?" William took the advice to heart and worked hard, rising so quickly in esteem of the Captain and crew that he became known as Bootstrap Bill, for he had certainly pulled himself up from the most humble of beginnings. Bill visited home whenever he was able, and brought wondrous gifts for his wife and newly born son. Though he regretted that he’d been sailing when his wife gave birth, he had immense pride in the fact that she’d given the boy his name.
The spoils and adventure were high, and the losses low, until ill fortune besieged the Black Pearl. In pursuit of a fantastic treasure of Aztec gold said to have belonged to Cortez himself, greed began to seep into the hearts of the formerly loyal crew, hardening them against Captain Sparrow- against the Pearl herself. By far, the most adamant was Barbosa. He fanned the flames of dissent, whispering tales of how Jack Sparrow was not to be trusted to divide the treasure fairly- and hadn’t been doing his job proper. All it would take was a little change of power. No one dare spoke the word mutiny, for all aboard knew that mutineers were damned to the fires of hell. Bootstrap Bill would have no parts of such plans- he tried to reason with the men- but to no avail. He considered bringing the plan to the attention of Jack, but thoughts of his wife and young son stilled his tongue. Jack had no chance against an entire crew--and he though he regretted deeply what was about to occur, he couldn’t put his own future in jeopardy.
How sad the day had been when Jack Sparrow was abandoned on an uncharted island with nothing but a pistol and one shot. Barbosa commanded the ship now- and Bill tried his best to put thoughts of the mutiny behind him and concentrate on the treasure. With riches such as they would be acquiring- his wife and son would want for nothing. He could retire from the pirate’s life, and become an honest man, William Turner once again. Bill swore that were he given another chance- he would not sail away from his family again, no matter how the wanderlust overtook him. He’d farm, or fish, or take up a trade just to be near them. Unfortunately, he was never given that chance.
The terrible curse of the gold... the wild, betrayed expression on Sparrow’s face when they’d sailed away from the island, thoughts of his son growing up without a father.. all haunted him now. When Bill had learned of the curse that was upon them- he’d had a necklace fashioned from one of the gold pieces and shipped it off to his son for safekeeping. Barbosa had been furious when he found out about the deception- and had ordered Bootstrap Bill to be bound by his bootstraps to one of the cannons and thrown overboard. He’d been terrified then- struggled, and screamed and kicked, certain it would be the death of him. How wrong, how naive he had been, for a fate worse than death awaited.
Sinking down, he had panicked, and taken deep breaths of seawater into his lungs. He screamed, and breathed the water -- in and out, in and out-- and much to his surprise, he did not die. Surprise turned to horror as he realized the full extent of the curse.
William no longer had any concept of time- the passage of such belonged to the world above the waves. Had he been down there a year, or a century- he could not have said. There was only the terrible sameness of salt and water and ocean life-- and the thoughts that would not let him be. When the first pulse had come pounding through the water, he knew-- could feel the gold calling him in every fiber of his waterlogged being. He tried in vain to drag the cannon along behind him, wanting desperately to join the hunt of the damned, but he could only wait for the feeling to subside. As the pieces passed, he’d grown used to the feeling-- and now, the last coin had been located.
Bill wondered, once, if the Aztecs had been a particularly vengeful people, or if it was the ravages of Cortez that had brought them to such ends. Certainly, this was the worse curse of which a man could conceive. He had suffered beyond the point of all reason-- tortures he had not even begun to imagine could exist in his life before the gold. He stretched out his hands into the murky waters, wanting to touch anything to remind himself that he still could. As always, they contacted the cannon- now corroding, and barnacle encrusted.
The thought of Sparrow’s face, that day the Pearl left him on the island, filled his mind again. He remembered what Jack had once told him. "The Pearl is more than just a ship, she’s freedom." Barbosa and the crew, Bill included, had taken that freedom away from Jack-- and now they paid for it, every moment of every day. "I’m sorry!" he shouted, the water swallowing his words and turning them into a stream of helpless bubbles. He sighed deeply, and just then, an amazing thing happened. Though the water flooded into his mouth, and nose, as it always did at such times- he could feel the burning in his lungs. Amazed, he took another breath, and it too, burned with an unbelievable pressure. After all this time, long last, William Turner was drowning. He opened his bloated eyes and saw visions floating before him-- the smiling face of Jack Sparrow- alive, well and forgiving. His son stood beside the Captain, proud and strong. Bootstrap Bill knew now that he could die in peace. He took one last deep breath, felt the coldness of the sea as if it were his wife’s tender embrace, and closed his eyes to rest.