Pirates of the Caribbean Oneshots

Paint It Black

Soracha wondered why there was still colour in the world, why the sun continued to give heat and light to let things grow and live.

She stared at the sea, restless and almost green today, wishing it would turn the deeper blue of the winter months.

Through the open window, a birds cheerful singing floated and she was seized with the desire to permanently silence the infernal noise. Instead, she closed the window so she couldn't hear it.

The bird was happy, the sun was shining though not warm, the trees were green and flowers in bloom.
The world was beautiful, and she hated every bit of it.

The weight of her current emotional state was a heavy baggage, and she had nobody to help her carry it. She didn't want to burden anyone else with it.

Her demons danced and whispered, and the heaviness below her breastbone increased. She had failed in her relationship, hadn't been able to satisfy Torryn, and he'd beaten her.
She'd failed as a mother, and would never know her daughter. She had failed as a friend, not accompanying Edward to a tavern when he'd asked last night. She had failed as a doctor, loosing several patients on the last voyage.

Soracha had failed, and now she wished the world really was black, as that was how she was viewing it.

She didn't see the colours of the landscape outside, or the art decorating the walls. It, to her, was all painted black.

She wanted the sun painted black too, because then life on the earth would end, and it would be over at last.

Feeling trapped, she stepped outside. The cottage door was freshly painted an obnoxiously cheerful shade of red.
She wanted black paint, wanted the red door painted black.

Soracha raked her fingers through her hair, staring out to sea as she pondered death and what happened afterwards. Her family were dead, so whatever happened, they would be there and that was one thing she didn't have now.

"Would anyone even care?" she asked aloud. "Sahara can have the house, Edward's too preoccupied by being in love to be bothered, my parents are dead, so they won't care. There's loads of qualified doctors to take my place on the ship."

Her gaze flitted like a bird over the landscape in front of her, then she turned to look at the cottage behind her.

She wanted her knives, wanted to sever her ties to this irritatingly beautiful earth and see what lay beyond. Closing her eyes for a moment, she embraced the blackness brought by lowering her eyelids, because it blocked out colour.

Black, like the pit in her stomach where her demons danced, whispering their taunts.

Black, the colour of unconsciousness after the red of blood.

Black, the colour associated with death.

The colour she wanted her whole world painted.