Snippet #10
Jul. 16th, 2003 10:43 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gilascaveBootstrap Bill Turner
Near as he could figure, it took either a week, seventeen days, or eight months to walk to shore. It's difficult to track the passage of time when you can't see the sun or the moon.
Conversely, it had only taken a few minutes to figure out why he didn't drown.
After getting over the initial, second, and third shock of not being dead, Bootstrap un-tied his boots and started walking. He got turned around a few times -- either that or the ocean floor looks remarkably identical in places. But he'd finally climbed upwards out of the water and onto a beach.
He'd made himself a hut there, and spent the next several years remembering, and carving little wooden figurines. Horses were his favorite.
Five years into his remembrance, a port town appeared just south of him. He ignored it mostly, only occasionally wandering into town to listen to stories and find out that, indeed, the rum did no good. Among the stories, he heard tales of the Pearl, and said nothing. The port town grew larger, and the stories grew both more numerous and more outlandish.
One night, the curse vanished. The next morning he booked passage north to the Caribbean.
Near as he could figure, it took either a week, seventeen days, or eight months to walk to shore. It's difficult to track the passage of time when you can't see the sun or the moon.
Conversely, it had only taken a few minutes to figure out why he didn't drown.
After getting over the initial, second, and third shock of not being dead, Bootstrap un-tied his boots and started walking. He got turned around a few times -- either that or the ocean floor looks remarkably identical in places. But he'd finally climbed upwards out of the water and onto a beach.
He'd made himself a hut there, and spent the next several years remembering, and carving little wooden figurines. Horses were his favorite.
Five years into his remembrance, a port town appeared just south of him. He ignored it mostly, only occasionally wandering into town to listen to stories and find out that, indeed, the rum did no good. Among the stories, he heard tales of the Pearl, and said nothing. The port town grew larger, and the stories grew both more numerous and more outlandish.
One night, the curse vanished. The next morning he booked passage north to the Caribbean.