Prompt: It's just an illusion
“I’m sorry, James.” That was Elizabeth, always Elizabeth, always apologizing brokenly- or sometimes, with this fierce look in her eyes. Sometimes, she shot me like she was mourning. Others, she stared me in the eye as if she was daring me to argue, as if it had to be done and she hardly meant the words she said. In any case, she shot me.
“You poor, stupid bastard.” Andrew Gillette, one of my best friends. Glaring at me and spitting the words out as if they burned his tongue, the way he always spoke when he was angry. “You killed me, and you don’t even know why.” I stopped arguing, once I realized it didn’t matter. I had dreamt him up, this illusion, and I could not convince myself.
The boy never said anything. I never knew why. His eyes were so cold and ruthless, when he stabbed me with my own sword. He spoke, once, quietly. “Pirate.”
Sparrow would catch me, then, as I fell from Turner’s blow. He would pat me, almost consolingly. He never spoke to me; only to Turner. “And this is what you thought of?” He would ask, before he slit my throat mercifully. I always wondered why he didn’t accuse, why he wasn’t angered by my betrayal. Perhaps I was to be pitied, like some dumb dog that bites the hand feeding it. Perhaps he knew I hated myself for it, anyway.
And it would go on, crewmembers and friends, Beckett and Mercer, all taunting me and running me through.
All of them paled, though, in comparison to Theo. God, Theo.
I always knew when Theo came. Even if my back was turned. It was the sobbing that gave it away. Soft, muffled, choking sobs, those of a man trying to cry quietly and failing. He would look at me, those puppyish eyes hurt and grieving, and ask “Why?” I never found an answer. “Why, James? Why didn’t we run? Why didn’t we fight? Why couldn’t we stop it? Why did I kill children?” I would shake my head, knowing all too well the answer, but unable to speak. He would grow angry. “Why? I died, James, and I don’t know why! Why did you let him walk all over you? Why didn’t you fight back? You had nothing to lose! No family! No little sisters depending on you!”
I would choke out two words, ever-changing the reason. “My mother--“ I would say. “My brother--“, “My nephew--“
“Bollocks to your nephew!” He said, and shot me.