Justprompts- What are you afraid of?
What are you afraid of?
Nothing.
Everything.
Undead pirates, grand adventures, sushi, good men, bad men, chests, keys, and leaving. Betrayal and friendship and second chances.
James was afraid of himself.
The sea, crabs, and mistakes. Voodoo and chess and fine clothing.
James was afraid of memories.
Cannon fire and hurricanes and the name ‘Andy’ being screamed too loud into roaring wind and harsh seas, receiving no answer.
James was afraid of choices.
Drinking, friends, cold eyes and a colder smirk. Swords and maps and broken promises, and kept promises, too.
James was afraid of losing control.
Screaming, and bright, cruel steel, and victory. No survivors and no evidence.
James was afraid of what good he could do.
Salt, tar, the snap of a sail and all the memories rushing back, only to slip away again like the tide.
James was afraid of his past.
Blood, smoke, years and months and hours upon hours, and memories that only come back as smells and feelings and that heavy black smoke everywhere, in his eyes and lungs and clothes, and unbearable pain, no details but horror and screaming and that terrible feeling that yes, you are a coward, you’re only pretending not to be, and James Norrington is afraid of nothing.
Nothing.
Everything.
Undead pirates, grand adventures, sushi, good men, bad men, chests, keys, and leaving. Betrayal and friendship and second chances.
James was afraid of himself.
The sea, crabs, and mistakes. Voodoo and chess and fine clothing.
James was afraid of memories.
Cannon fire and hurricanes and the name ‘Andy’ being screamed too loud into roaring wind and harsh seas, receiving no answer.
James was afraid of choices.
Drinking, friends, cold eyes and a colder smirk. Swords and maps and broken promises, and kept promises, too.
James was afraid of losing control.
Screaming, and bright, cruel steel, and victory. No survivors and no evidence.
James was afraid of what good he could do.
Salt, tar, the snap of a sail and all the memories rushing back, only to slip away again like the tide.
James was afraid of his past.
Blood, smoke, years and months and hours upon hours, and memories that only come back as smells and feelings and that heavy black smoke everywhere, in his eyes and lungs and clothes, and unbearable pain, no details but horror and screaming and that terrible feeling that yes, you are a coward, you’re only pretending not to be, and James Norrington is afraid of nothing.