Disclaimer: If you recognize anyone, they're not mine, sadly. But Sarah, Robert, Kristie, Jonathan and anyone else you haven't seen before were my idea! Mine, I tell you! MINE! Muahahaha! :D Without further ado...
Thursday, the 19th of September
Aboard the Black Pearl
My mother gave me this little book for my birthday yesterday. She told me that when she was about my age, she started to keep a diary, and she thought I would enjoy it. She told me I should write down everything, the good and the bad, so I can give my diary to my daughter when I'm all grown up. I told her I shall do my very best, and I find the idea rather exciting, but I admit I am a bit apprehensive. I am still quite young, and my writing is far from perfect. But I shall try.
To start out, I think I should introduce myself. My name is Sarah Anne Turner, eleven years old, daughter of Will and Elizabeth Turner. My mother and father are pirates, but they are the most wonderful and loving parents a child could ask for. Sadly, I have only known my own father for twenty-one months. For ten long years, he was cursed, bound to sail as the captain of the Flying Dutchman, carrying the spirits of those who died at sea to the underworld. However, because my mother remained faithful to him, he is now free to remain with his family.
Although I spent nine years and three months of my life with only my mother, I now find it difficult to imagine life without my father. Until relatively recently, I never know how it was to have a complete family. My greatest fear is that one of my parents might be taken from me again. I am not entirely sure I could carry on if I were to lose either of them.
Aside from my parents, my dearest friend is Kristianna Sparrow, Uncle Jack's daughter, whom I call Kristie. She is just two weeks younger than I, and I have spent many hours with her, imagining we're bold, brave pirates. Oftentimes I wonder what sort of things go through her mind, for surely we are two drastically different individuals. All the same, I love her as I would a sister, and each night when I pray I thank God for my wonderful friend. She has a twin brother, named Robert. He's friendly enough, but sometimes he acts odd around me. He stutters sometimes when I'm around, and he hardly ever looks me in the eye. To be quite honest, it irritates me. I dislike it when people are uncomfortable in my presence. She also has a two-year-old brother named Jonathan, whom we often must help look after.
Although my parents insist that I spend at least a good portion of my childhood in Port Royal, I absolutely love the sea. Mother says I get that from Father. She says I get my looks from him too, my dark brown curls and eyes the color of coffee. I suppose she's right. It seems that she's always right.
As I write these words, I am sitting on an old crate out on deck. Abigail Norrington, a wealthy girl from Port Royale, was once on the same trip with me aboard the Dauntless. I was at first quite excited at the thought. I anticipated playing with her as I play with Kristie. But much to my dismay, she spent practically the entire journey in her cabin! I simply can't understand why anyone would want to lock themselves in a stuffy room when they could be out on the deck with the sun shining down and the wind in your face. To me, that feeling is absolute bliss.
I can't think of anything more that needs to be written at the moment. I shall write again soon.
She closed the book slowly, being careful to keep the soft pages straight. She pressed the cork into her small bottle of ink and laid the white quill pen atop the diary. Her diary. The idea of recording her thoughts made her feel older, more mature. A satisfied grin spread across her face as she looked down on the light brown leather cover bearing the word "Diary" across the top. She gently tucked the book into he small satchel resting against the side of the crate, along with her writing tools. She stood and wandered to the weather-worn railing. She rested her slender arms atop the wood beam and stood on tiptoe to lean out over the rail. Her eyes closed dreamily while a salty ocean breeze gently caressed her face and lifted her dark locks from her shoulders. She looked back over her shoulder. The Pearl's crew were scattered about the ship, some working busily, others simply enjoying the day.
The pirates never seemed unhappy to her. They were cheerful as they went about their work, whistling and singing to themselves. She simply didn't understand why people were so prejudiced against them. In Port Royal, her peers often cast her distasteful glances as she passed by, murmuring amongst themselves. At a very young age, Sarah learned to keep her chin up and ignore the repulsed glares and nasty comments directed towards herself and her family. But here on the Pearl, she found freedom and acceptance. No wonder pirates chose the path they did.
Saturday, the 21st of September
I am worried about Mum. She has been acting strange as of late, and I don't know what to make of it. She seemed to be feeling queer on Thursday and Friday morning, and I decided it was probably just a bout of sea-sickness. But that's not like my mother. The feel of the rolling waves and the rocking ship are normal for her, and I've never seen her fazed by it before. Then when she felt ill again this morning, I really began to feel uneasy. Father has been acting different around her, too. He is so very gentle with her, even more so than usual. In all my eleven years, I have never seen Mum seasick.
Much to my dismay, none of the crew seem to be the least bit concerned for her! They act as though this is nothing new; as if all is well. Father does not seem unhappy at all, and if he thought something were wrong with Mum, I'm certain he would be quite unable to sleep at night. I have observed Mum and Anamaria sharing meaningful smiles from time to time, as Mum and I did in the days leading up to Father's return. The very worst of it is, no one has told me anything at all! I believe I shall discuss this with Kristianna.
She set down the diary and glanced up. At the bow of the boat her mother stood talking with Anamaria Sparrow, Kristie's mother. Sarah's eyes scanned the deck, searching for her father. If she guessed correctly, he would be trying to glance over and check on her mother without Jack noticing. She spotted him high in the rigging of the ship, repairing a torn sail. Sure enough, he made sure no one was watching, then glanced around said sail to catch a glimpse of his wife. When he saw her at the bow, he smiled to himself. She was feeling fine.
Sarah closed her eyes as she recalled the day he had come home at last. She had been just nine years old at the time. She and her mother had risen as soon as the first rays of light peeked over the horizon. Neither had been able to sleep the night before. Even into the first hours of the morning, she could hear her mother tossing and turning. Sarah herself, only nine years old at the time, had been a bundle of nerves in the weeks leading up to that day.
That evening, the sun sank agonizingly slow. Mother and daughter stood together at the sandy shore, eyes fixed intently on the shimmering blue waves. After what seemed like an eternity, the legendary ship appeared in a flash of brilliant green, and Sarah's heart skipped a beat. There, leaning precariously out from the ship, was the figure of a man whom she assumed to be her father. As the Dutchman came closer, he apparently could wait no longer, and he leaped nimbly from the ship, diving gracefully into the water below. She had never seen a human being swim as fast as her father swam to shore that evening.
The moment Will's feet reached the mucky sand of the shallows, he and Elizabeth ran towards each other with every ounce of strength they had. Before Will even reached the warm, dry sand, his wife met him in the knee-deep water. From where she stood, only about fifty paces from the gentle tide, Sarah could hardly tell where her mother ended and her father began, so tangled in an embrace were they. She could hear both crying and laughing from both of them for several long moments, before Will leaned down and covered Elizabeth's smiling mouth with his own.
Sarah had seen Uncle Jack and Anamaria kiss before, although no one but Kristie knew what she had observed. It had seemed a bit odd to her at the time. She remembered thinking to herself that people enjoyed some rather unusual pastimes. In the months leading up to Will's homecoming, she had often wondered what the big day would be like. She had imagined that her parents would do something similar to what Jack and Ana had. However, the couple's long-awaited reunion was quite different from what she had pictured.
Oh, he kissed her, she had certainly been correct about that- approximately a hundred times, Sarah thought to herself. It was as though they were making up for all the kisses fate had denied them. Once, she had seen a man on the streets of London who, Kristie told her, probably had not eaten in several days. That sight had broken her heart, and she had wanted desperately to help him somehow. She had been deeply upset when she could do nothing to help him but give him a few coins to buy bread. Looking at her parents, she was reminded of that homeless man. It was plain to see that they were both starving- not from lack of food, from lack of love. Sarah felt a deep sorrow when she realized just how lonely they had been; denied of even the simple joy of being held. Their young daughter began to question whether or not they even required oxygen.
It was as if they were each afraid that if they loosened their hold on the other, they would wake up from some wonderful, yet cruel, dream. Sarah had lingered a little ways back, unsure of what to do next. After what seemed like forever to Sarah and like nowhere near enough time to her mother, Elizabeth managed to pull back a little ways, and Sarah could finally see her father's face.
At first, she had been taken aback at just how great the resemblance was between her father and herself. They had the same unruly dark curls, the same deep brown eyes, and as she would later learn, the same sense of humor and similar facial expressions. She wondered if one day she might become a pirate herself, roaming the ocean with a buccaneer crew...
Her musings were interrupted by her mother's voice calling her name. "Sarah, this is your father."
Will Turner's eyes had welled up with tears when he saw the girl at the water's edge. He turned to his wife, motioning back and forth between himself and Elizabeth, then to Sarah, seemingly incapable of coherent speech. Elizabeth smiled softly and nodded, tears beginning to form in her own eyes. As he turned to face her, Sarah somewhat timidly took a step towards her father. Tentatively, he reached out for a hug, a hopeful expression on his face. Then, after nearly a decade of only knowing her father through stories, she threw herself into her father's arms.
Now she had known him for a year and nine months. In the time since his homecoming, Sarah had observed a change in her mother. For years now it had seemed to Sarah that, no matter what she said or how she acted, there was a sadness that hung over Elizabeth like a fog. Now that loneliness was gone from her eyes and replaced by vibrant happiness that reverberated throughout her very being. While some children would feel left out in a situation such as this, the girl had been overjoyed to see her mother so blissfully happy.
But much to her dismay, it seemed trouble had interrupted their family's happy ending. Elizabeth was sick. Although common sense told her it was nothing to fuss over; that it would pass as quickly as it had come, still Sarah worried. For less than two years she had had a complete family, and, as she had written, her deepest fear was that one of the happy trio would be torn from the other two. Therefore, no matter how trivial her worries may seem to others, she had a habit of viewing every hindrance, every challenge, as a threat. And who could blame her?