justprompts: ferris wheel image
Life sped too fast now, and Jack quite thoroughly hated it. Everything was more difficult in this newer, faster, ever-changing world, and it was becoming impossible to keep up. Much of his time, what of it was free, he spent much as he'd done as a boy.
Probably had done as a boy. Almost certainly had done as a boy, at least twice over, learning letters and charts and sums and other things that pirate whelps weren't quite meant to be learning. He assumed this, true, based on a well-hidden dedication to hard work and his love of books, of things that he shouldn't have known then but certainly hadn't picked up since. Reading (Christian) scripture in Hebrew and Latin, the proper method for shrinking a head, these skills didn't fade. For Jack, words rarely did.
Images, faces, were gone. One could drill names into the very soul, but to bury a face there was almost impossible. Not for this long. He'd had a mother, and her head sat if safety in a glass display, far away but without risk. He couldn't quite recall if she was kind; just names.
Hector, a hateful name but also fond; a friend, once. Nothing could make Jack forget what treachery felt like, and the name Hector held the taste of it to the core.
Bootstrap, Bill, Will; two, three, so many people blurring into one heap of thought and reminder. All the sorts of love; philia, eros, agapē, also mistrust and dismayed laughter. Disbelief predominant.
There was a George, somewhere. Somewhen. A very important Mary of some sort as well. Others. He could try, but there were still too many. It hurt, and inevitably some fell to the swirl and twist of the centuries.
Teddy and Andy stayed, desperately clutched close to his soul, for James' sake alone. He'd met the men, possibly, positively. They were red and brown and young laughter and hope and despair, stories repeated to himself so much he dreamt of them. But they were Jamie's, Jamie's and unforgettable. To do so, for some reason, would be unforgivable.
He forgave himself other names, other memories; crew after crew blurred in his mind. Soldiers, as well, became an unknown, unremembered mass; an old language blending to youthful eagerness, to fear and blood unwillingly shed. Diner staff, officials, grand leaders of countries, homeless men befriended in alleyways, they all merged like so many over-warmed gummy bears into a colorful, nubbly wad.
He forgave himself, had to, and prayed to a less certain, less crabby God for forgiveness as well. But in the end, standing at the helm of his ship, eyes closed and Pearl soothing through his mind, he wondered if they forgave him too.
Probably had done as a boy. Almost certainly had done as a boy, at least twice over, learning letters and charts and sums and other things that pirate whelps weren't quite meant to be learning. He assumed this, true, based on a well-hidden dedication to hard work and his love of books, of things that he shouldn't have known then but certainly hadn't picked up since. Reading (Christian) scripture in Hebrew and Latin, the proper method for shrinking a head, these skills didn't fade. For Jack, words rarely did.
Images, faces, were gone. One could drill names into the very soul, but to bury a face there was almost impossible. Not for this long. He'd had a mother, and her head sat if safety in a glass display, far away but without risk. He couldn't quite recall if she was kind; just names.
Hector, a hateful name but also fond; a friend, once. Nothing could make Jack forget what treachery felt like, and the name Hector held the taste of it to the core.
Bootstrap, Bill, Will; two, three, so many people blurring into one heap of thought and reminder. All the sorts of love; philia, eros, agapē, also mistrust and dismayed laughter. Disbelief predominant.
There was a George, somewhere. Somewhen. A very important Mary of some sort as well. Others. He could try, but there were still too many. It hurt, and inevitably some fell to the swirl and twist of the centuries.
Teddy and Andy stayed, desperately clutched close to his soul, for James' sake alone. He'd met the men, possibly, positively. They were red and brown and young laughter and hope and despair, stories repeated to himself so much he dreamt of them. But they were Jamie's, Jamie's and unforgettable. To do so, for some reason, would be unforgivable.
He forgave himself other names, other memories; crew after crew blurred in his mind. Soldiers, as well, became an unknown, unremembered mass; an old language blending to youthful eagerness, to fear and blood unwillingly shed. Diner staff, officials, grand leaders of countries, homeless men befriended in alleyways, they all merged like so many over-warmed gummy bears into a colorful, nubbly wad.
He forgave himself, had to, and prayed to a less certain, less crabby God for forgiveness as well. But in the end, standing at the helm of his ship, eyes closed and Pearl soothing through his mind, he wondered if they forgave him too.