Fic: Shards of Crusty Glass -Part One
Title: Shards of Crusty Glass
Author:meowbooks
Rating: PG
Words:745
Characters: The Jar of Dirt, Jack, Tia Dalma, The Compass
Disclaimer: Part 1 of 4 Ah, no I don't own PotC.
Summary:This is an idea that I've had since DMC so no AWE spoilers are to be found here. The story of the Jar of Dirt! This is turning out a bit longer than expected...
x-posted:
potc_fic,
pirategasm
Shards of Crusty Glass: Part One
I knew dust and spice jars, feathers and scales, leaves and earthy pots, the dim flicker of near burnt candles and stray slivers of sunlight, the croaks of creatures and swash of water I never saw. My world was a crowded shelf, sitting between dragonfly wings and crocodile teeth, blocked from view by swamp water jars. I remember the low voice of the dark eyed mystical one who would speak to us. She told us what we were, how important we would be to those that braved the swamps and up river run. We were meant for magic long lost like the age I come from.
I can’t be certain of how long I sat waiting, watching other things being whisked away form their cozy corners of the shack. I had no way of measuring time and eventually I convinced myself that I would never see anything, but that place. I told my dusty glass self that I was fortunate to be where I was. Other jars held fruit or jelly or boring things. I held magic and earth.
The day came like all the others, the same view from the shelf, the same air, the same old hope abandoned.
“Where are you my, darling?” the voice I knew so well called out. I dully wondered who would be taken. She shifted pouches, trinkets, jars, and wooden boxes. She pushed aside the swamp water jar and her eyes widened. She smiled, pulled me out, cradled me in one arm and thrust me into unknown hands. I couldn’t believe it.
I knew they must be the people flies used to brag about seeing to me. People. I had only known one, had thought there was one kind, but there they stood. A one eyed man, another with straggly hair on his head, one with grey hair, one with brown, another with what I now know were two goatees. Their skin was so pale. I had thought they were all the earthy color that she was.
I was going somewhere. I didn’t even know what somewhere was! All I knew was that it would be different. The unknown hands that held me, this was the pirate she had told me about the one who had crossed the sea devil and soul stealer Davy Jones. Captain Jack Sparrow.
He held me protectively as he sauntered out of her shack, down the rungs of the ladder and into a rowboat. I trembled in excitement, looking around, taking everything in. The world was so large! I could see the frogs that croaked, fireflies flickered overhead, water moved beneath the rowboat, trees gnarled and straight stood tall, mosquitoes landed on me trying to see if I had blood instead of dirt, flesh instead of glass.
The rowboat left the shadows of the swamp giving way to the sun and sea. The sun was a hot white eye that glared at me, bright and blinding to a jar who had known little light before, the sea an endless monster rocking the rowboat trying to knock us into it’s gaping mouth, wide and bottomless. Jack gripped me tighter and I was grateful someone shared my fear.
We reached a ship black as charcoal. I was unsettled as he climbed up the side of the ship, one arm around me, the other on the rungs, nothing but air between the blue monster’s mouth and me. I relaxed when a solid wooden deck blocked the cursed thing from me. The rocking wasn’t as bad now and I was no longer shocked by the sun’s light.
Above me the canvas sails unfurled calling to the wind speaking in rustles and straining threads, the ship told me its name in creaks, and the tarred ropes were silent and hard at work. I felt unworthy, they had a place, a purpose, they worked together, knew each other so well. What was I, but a jar? What good was holding magic if I couldn’t do anything with it?
You’ll find your purpose in due time, you can be sure of that. It was the compass that hung from his belt. When? I asked. A compass can only point you in the right direction it can’t bring you to the destination. Sorry, dear.
Jack walked into his cabin, closing the door behind him and locking it tight. He sank into a chair at his desk, set me on it and looked at me doubtfully. “Welcome aboard, jar of dirt.”
Shards of Crusty Glass: Part Two