disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to the characters or concepts from Pirates of the Carribean.
distribution: please ask first.
note: a drabble.
The iron shackles should have bit into his wrists, should have ripped and tore at his flesh. But the jeering and cursing of the crew was real enough, stung deep into Bill’s heart. At least, into whatever was left of one. He stood at the end of the plank, staring back at the assortment of people gathered on the deck, sunlight gleaming on knives and the beads on the ends of the braids of the huge black man.
“You shouldn’t be saying such nasty things about yer crew, Bootstrap Bill.” Barbossa’s voice carried across the water, his beard falling over a deep red velvet coat.
Closing his eyes, he remembered. Remembered how Barbossa had stolen the ship from Captain Sparrow, how they’d left Sparrow on an island and gone on to take the treasure. How the gold in the carved stone box had gleamed, beckoning them in a way that he couldn’t describe. Remembered the way they’d gradually discovered that things had changed.
They’d been cursed.
“We did wrong, Barbossa. ‘Tis the truth.” He looked at the man who’d gotten them into this. Would things have been different under Captain Sparrow? Too late now to ever know…
Growling in fury, Barbossa lifted up the end of the plank, dropping Bill into the ocean’s depths. The salty water closed over him, the iron dragging him downwards.
end PotC - Bill drabble.