As William Turner's thick boots walked across the stone floor, dust swirled angrily and then settled, clearly upset by this lack of compassion. Sitting down on a straight-backed chair, Will lifted a foot on his knee and yanked off the boot, switching and giving the other equal treatment. The boots fell to the floor with two distinct thuds, muted slightly by the groan of their owner
Will gently fingered a perfect crimson and orange hibiscus. One hand clenched at his side but the other held the flower with a certain gentleness one wouldn't expect from a work hardened blacksmith. It was dusk and the sunlight's dying rays sliced across the still smithy, illuminated one half of the blacksmith on the chair. Will held the flower in the golden light, allowing himself a soft smile as the beautiful light merely emphasized the flawlessness of the flower.
Elizabeth…
He could barely identify the hoarse whisper that escaped from his lips as his own. Was it really only this morning that he plucked the beautiful flower from its hiding spot? It was nestled amongst many of its own kind, but none as beautiful as the one he discovered.
It was April sixteenth. The air held the sweetness of spring but the promise of summer. The day also marked the birth of Elizabeth Swann, sixteen years earlier. Her coming out ball was that night, tonight. He had been invited, though he believed it was more from a general arm twisting by Elizabeth than from any good will from the Governor.
But Will had learned a long time ago never to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Unable to afford a sweeping entrance, he had walked; unable to dress himself in rich clothing, he had merely washed his hair and tried to find his cleanest Sunday gathering clothes; and unable to secure a beautiful gemstone for Elizabeth, he had picked the most perfect flower he could find.
But all was for naught.
Because he had walked to the Governor's mansion, his heart full of naïve hope for a dance or two and his heart next to bursting. The flower had a white silk ribbon tied along its stem, in a nearly perfect bow that had taken Will a good forty five minutes to accomplish.
He was ushered in, holding a collective breath with the rest of Port Royal's male population as Elizabeth graced the stairs. His heart had leapt in his throat, making breathing seem like a thing of the past. She absolutely breathtaking.
The blacksmith kept his eye on the town's starlet, watching as she was claimed for dance after dance. She kept a sparkle in her eyes as she bestowed favor on each man in turn, all save one. Will Turner kept to the shadows, wondering if it was supposed to hurt this much internally.
The evening sped by in a blur of lights and sounds and colors; candles, laughter and sparkle. Will's eyes never once left the girl. He sent a younger servant boy scurrying with one dark glare when the boy happened to make a crude remark. He stood watching, quietly, ready to defend her should she need it.
But she didn't. After she had begged off from yet another hopeful dance partner, Elizabeth had ducked off onto the balcony, perhaps hoping to remain unseen.
Will followed her, if just to say hello and then leave her to her peace if she so desired it. He had just reached the door, could feel the cool night on his perspiring neck when a dark shape loomed in front of him and crossed the door before him.
Captain Norrington reached Elizabeth's side and quickly monopolized her conversation. Releasing a tense sigh, Will retreated back into shadow. Bypassing the door with a certain set to his jaw, Will left the manor by the back entrance. He returned to the empty town, the hibiscus still held as softly as a caress in his hand.
Will was startled out of his reverie by the sudden revelation that the sun had gone down some time ago. He was sitting in darkness, still holding the beautiful flower in its imaginary light. For the first time that night, he released the flower from his grip and let it fall to the dusty ground.
And as the black dust settled on the waxy petals, William Turner's foolish hope died alongside the scarlet hibiscus.
This little vignette is a partial result of major burnout from my lack of progress with the other story I'm writing and some good old melancholy. It was partially inspired by the song "Let That be Enough" by Switchfoot, this stanza especially:
Let me know that You hear me
Let me know Your touch
Let me know that You love me
Let that be enough
It's my birthday tomorrow
No one here could now
I was born this Thursday
22 years ago