Categories > Movies > Pirates of the Caribbean

Talking with Davey

by Ariel_Tempest 5 reviews

What does one do when one's an undead pirate sitting on the bottom of the ocean? Note: The first time I saw the movie, I missheard exactly what it was they'd strapped to Bootstrap's bootstraps.....

Category: Pirates of the Caribbean - Rating: PG - Genres: Angst - Characters: Bootstrap Bill - Warnings: [!!] - Published: 2005-05-15 - Updated: 2005-05-16 - 436 words - Complete

I don't know where the devil they dropped me, but it was dark. Dark with high, jagged stone walls. A trench of some sort, it would appear, the only light coming from little swimming things that come and go and sometimes try to take a nip out of anything just standing there.

I should know, they certainly nipped me enough times.

Damn Barbossa. Of all the things he could've used, why chains? I suppose they'll rust through eventually, if the others don't find m'boy before then. Get that gold back.


That's what y' get for being a treacherous bastard. A life in Hell, lookin' for a way out. I wonder how long it took me t' climb out a' that trench. Time runs different down here, no such thing as days or months or years. Just a long stretch of hand over hand on the jagged stone, occasionally getting nipped or pinched by somethin' that was there before y'er hand was. I think at least two of those somethin's was an eel. Damn sharp teeth.

I suppose I should be happy for y' Jack, wherever you are. Much as I couldn't stand t' see y' dumped on that island, y'er throat as good as cut by the people y' should've been able to trust, it's better than this. The island may be hot, but Hell is wet.

That's one thing all the religious nuts and the hoity toity Priests a' the crown got wrong. Wonder what they'd do if y' told 'em that. Forget your lake of fire, Hell is a dark, wet pit with little bities in it.

I have t' wonder though, now that I'm up in the sort a' twilight ring of Hell, why I was ever 'fraid of sharks. Lost count a' how many been past, tryin' to take a nibble. Just hit 'em on the nose, they run off like puppy dogs or the King's Navy when y'ev put their fancy guns out a' commission.

Lost count a' the sharks.

Couldn't start t' count the days.

The years.

I never appreciated time enough when I had it. Now all there is, wet, sharks, dim grey and dimmer grey, and the vague hope of salvation. Better of than Barbossa, lookin' for a lad whose name he doesn't know, whose face he's ne're seen, who he don't even know's a lad.


I've clawed my way up from the ring of Hell they dropped me in t' the next one up. It's up to Barbossa, Will, and the God I never believed in t' get me the rest a' the way.

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