Categories > Movies > Pirates of the Caribbean > Stranger Than Fiction
One Foot in Front of The Other
2 reviewsNorrington: You were actually telling the truth! Jack: I do that quite often yet no one believes me. If you watch the movies, you'll observe that Jack does tell the truth 99% of the time. What ...
2Original
The better part of a week passed before he was able to move without biting his lip to keep from screaming, another two days before he could even think about standing up. The girl, Anamaria, came and visited at least twice a day, sometimes stopping only to leave food and water, other times staying and visiting for a hour or more. Her family worked on a sugar plantation on one of the greater key isles and she'd stumbled across him while gathering turtle eggs. She would take him there, she promised, as soon as he could stand. However, making good on her promise proved unusually difficult.
"Stand UP!" she barked, jabbing her head into his chest. Jack gasped, the light blow magnified on his raw and peeling skin.
"I'm /trying/," he grunted in return, doing his best to straighten and keep his footing at the same time. He'd managed to get to his feet and stagger out of the cave with Anamaria's help, but the soft sand provided less sure footing than the solid rock of the cavern floor. However, he reflected as he fell for the fifth time in ten feet into the warm dust, it was a lot softer. Grumbling curses under his breath, he sat up and gingerly rubbed the spot where his elbow had connected with harder-packed sand.
"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were drunk.*"
Accepting her offered hand, Jack allowed her to help him to his feet. He had to drape himself over her narrow shoulders for an awkward moment before his balance returned. Well, it returned in part. Leaving one hand on her shoulder he stood for a moment before making a second attempt. He got about five steps before pitching headlong into the sand again.
"Bugger."
This was proving far more difficult than it had any right to be. He KNEW how to walk, dammit. He'd been doing it for the last twenty-odd years, after all. His body, however, did not seem to want to cooperate.
"When you stopped thinkin' about it was when you went down." Anamaria had plunked down beside him, tucking her brown legs beneath her. "You can't go on instinct any more, the sun's burned it out of your limbs. Think about it. Memorize it. And then you'll be able to walk without thinkin'."
Jack turned his head to face her, eyebrow raised. "And how would you know all this, Missy?"
She shrugged. "There's little shade in the cane plantations. At least one person gets sunstroke every season. They live, but they stagger afterwards, some less than others."
Well, that was somewhat encouraging. Somewhat. At least he could still move. It didn't matter if he didn't glide by like the dandies in Port Royal, he was only a sailor after all. If he could just get his arms and legs and fingers to cooperate, that would be enough.
"All right then, Love. Once more from the beginning." Taking his lifted arm, she helped him up.
Left, right, left, right, watch the rock, left, right, incoming surf, left, right... It was distracting to have to think his way through every step, but it did make a difference. Walking on flat ground had become as tricky as balancing on a tightrope and Jack had to keep both arms out to maintain his balance. Reaching the appointed spot- a palm tree at the far end of the beach- Jack paused, turned, and began the return trip.
"How do I look?" he called, raising his hands. In doing so he stumbled and nearly fell face-first into the warm sand but caught himself, the tips of his fingers only brushing the loose earth. Straightening, he tossed back his head, squared his shoulders, and continued as if nothing had happened. Anamaria was only barley containing her smirk.
"Like a drunken strumpet."
Jack came to a halt in front of her. "Is it really that bad?"
"Yes."
"Oh. Well then." Her remark was not helping his already maimed ego. Deciding to make the best of it, he stooped and grabbed a stray bit of sea grass and tucked it behind his ear as if it were a red-bloomed rose. "Just fuss me up with a parasol and panniers and I'll be all set."
Batting his eyelashes dramatically, Jack tripped down towards the surf, hands out and pinkies raised, invisible skirts held aloft in one hand, and imaginary parasol in the other. Unable to contain herself, Anamaria's snerk exploded into full-blown laughter. Turning, Jack grinned and attempted an awkward curtsey which landed him on his behind in the muddy surf. This only made Anamaria laugh harder, turning her own steps clumsy as she went down to the water's edge to help him up. Jack, having already made it to his hands and knees, took her offered hand but instead of allowing her to haul him up, pulled back. Unprepared for the sudden shift of weight, she tumbled forward into his lap, both of them sprawling in the surf. For no real reason Jack would ever be able to remember, he pulled her close and kissed her. She didn't shove him away for the whole thirty seconds their lips touched, but when they broke apart she whacked him full across the face. Jack couldn't repress the yipe of pain brought by the flat of her open palm connecting with his still-tender skin.
"Serves ye right!" she huffed, cheeks flushed, though whether from anger or some more romantic emotion, Jack was unsure. He blushed himself, further reddening his already overly-pink skin.
"My apologies, Love..." he muttered, suddenly feeling very foolish. Anamaria shook her head as if reflecting on the misbehavior of a headstrong child.
"Ass," she quipped, putting her hand to the surf this time and sending a spray of salt water into his face. Jack squinted at the light dousing, accepting his punishment, grateful to note that she'd been smiling as she said it.
*Ataxia - Greek for "disconnected" or "uncoordinated". It's no longer a long-term medical condition. Basically, it's a fancy word for becoming dizzy and unable to walk a straight line or get your extremities to obey. It's a side-effect of sensory impairment that today is most commonly caused by either drugs or alcohol. However, it can also be caused by dehydration and heatstroke. If the heatstroke is severe enough, brain damage can occur, thereby permanently affecting the victim's coordination. Another mark of severe sunburn is permanently blackened skin- particularly the delicate tissue around the eyes.
"Stand UP!" she barked, jabbing her head into his chest. Jack gasped, the light blow magnified on his raw and peeling skin.
"I'm /trying/," he grunted in return, doing his best to straighten and keep his footing at the same time. He'd managed to get to his feet and stagger out of the cave with Anamaria's help, but the soft sand provided less sure footing than the solid rock of the cavern floor. However, he reflected as he fell for the fifth time in ten feet into the warm dust, it was a lot softer. Grumbling curses under his breath, he sat up and gingerly rubbed the spot where his elbow had connected with harder-packed sand.
"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were drunk.*"
Accepting her offered hand, Jack allowed her to help him to his feet. He had to drape himself over her narrow shoulders for an awkward moment before his balance returned. Well, it returned in part. Leaving one hand on her shoulder he stood for a moment before making a second attempt. He got about five steps before pitching headlong into the sand again.
"Bugger."
This was proving far more difficult than it had any right to be. He KNEW how to walk, dammit. He'd been doing it for the last twenty-odd years, after all. His body, however, did not seem to want to cooperate.
"When you stopped thinkin' about it was when you went down." Anamaria had plunked down beside him, tucking her brown legs beneath her. "You can't go on instinct any more, the sun's burned it out of your limbs. Think about it. Memorize it. And then you'll be able to walk without thinkin'."
Jack turned his head to face her, eyebrow raised. "And how would you know all this, Missy?"
She shrugged. "There's little shade in the cane plantations. At least one person gets sunstroke every season. They live, but they stagger afterwards, some less than others."
Well, that was somewhat encouraging. Somewhat. At least he could still move. It didn't matter if he didn't glide by like the dandies in Port Royal, he was only a sailor after all. If he could just get his arms and legs and fingers to cooperate, that would be enough.
"All right then, Love. Once more from the beginning." Taking his lifted arm, she helped him up.
Left, right, left, right, watch the rock, left, right, incoming surf, left, right... It was distracting to have to think his way through every step, but it did make a difference. Walking on flat ground had become as tricky as balancing on a tightrope and Jack had to keep both arms out to maintain his balance. Reaching the appointed spot- a palm tree at the far end of the beach- Jack paused, turned, and began the return trip.
"How do I look?" he called, raising his hands. In doing so he stumbled and nearly fell face-first into the warm sand but caught himself, the tips of his fingers only brushing the loose earth. Straightening, he tossed back his head, squared his shoulders, and continued as if nothing had happened. Anamaria was only barley containing her smirk.
"Like a drunken strumpet."
Jack came to a halt in front of her. "Is it really that bad?"
"Yes."
"Oh. Well then." Her remark was not helping his already maimed ego. Deciding to make the best of it, he stooped and grabbed a stray bit of sea grass and tucked it behind his ear as if it were a red-bloomed rose. "Just fuss me up with a parasol and panniers and I'll be all set."
Batting his eyelashes dramatically, Jack tripped down towards the surf, hands out and pinkies raised, invisible skirts held aloft in one hand, and imaginary parasol in the other. Unable to contain herself, Anamaria's snerk exploded into full-blown laughter. Turning, Jack grinned and attempted an awkward curtsey which landed him on his behind in the muddy surf. This only made Anamaria laugh harder, turning her own steps clumsy as she went down to the water's edge to help him up. Jack, having already made it to his hands and knees, took her offered hand but instead of allowing her to haul him up, pulled back. Unprepared for the sudden shift of weight, she tumbled forward into his lap, both of them sprawling in the surf. For no real reason Jack would ever be able to remember, he pulled her close and kissed her. She didn't shove him away for the whole thirty seconds their lips touched, but when they broke apart she whacked him full across the face. Jack couldn't repress the yipe of pain brought by the flat of her open palm connecting with his still-tender skin.
"Serves ye right!" she huffed, cheeks flushed, though whether from anger or some more romantic emotion, Jack was unsure. He blushed himself, further reddening his already overly-pink skin.
"My apologies, Love..." he muttered, suddenly feeling very foolish. Anamaria shook her head as if reflecting on the misbehavior of a headstrong child.
"Ass," she quipped, putting her hand to the surf this time and sending a spray of salt water into his face. Jack squinted at the light dousing, accepting his punishment, grateful to note that she'd been smiling as she said it.
*Ataxia - Greek for "disconnected" or "uncoordinated". It's no longer a long-term medical condition. Basically, it's a fancy word for becoming dizzy and unable to walk a straight line or get your extremities to obey. It's a side-effect of sensory impairment that today is most commonly caused by either drugs or alcohol. However, it can also be caused by dehydration and heatstroke. If the heatstroke is severe enough, brain damage can occur, thereby permanently affecting the victim's coordination. Another mark of severe sunburn is permanently blackened skin- particularly the delicate tissue around the eyes.
Sign up to rate and review this story