(no subject)

Aug 05, 2006 22:24

He'd been right, as it turned out.

Once in past the rows and rows of knife-sharp teeth, the belly of Jones's terrible beastie had been soft and unprotected. Trapped there in the foul dark, with the last seconds of his life to be measured only by how long he could hold his breath, Jack Sparrow had set to with furious vengeance. He'd fought as hard as he could, slashing and slicing and stabbing in all directions, blind in the blackness and yet grimly determined all the same.

Unused to food that bit back, the kraken had given a horrible echoing cry and vomited him out before disappearing into the depths-- badly wounded, maybe even dying.

He doesn't know.

It doesn't matter.

What matters is that the kraken had let go of the Pearl as it fled, leaving her masts unsnapped and her hull intact. What matters is that he's still there with his ship, one hand tangled in a piece of rope and both of them entirely surrounded by the warm embrace of the sea.

At this depth, the sunlight filtering down through the water looks like a shining Spanish doubloon. As the Black Pearl slowly continues to sink, Jack watches the bright golden coin recede into the distance above, out of reach.
Previous post Next post
Up