I've been so busy with my other projects, that I've been neglecting this story. I am sorry to those who have been waiting for an update, but most of all, I apologize to the great captain Becky for making him wait so long for his story to be told.

Disclaimer: Imma nots ownin Zelda!

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Log 2: It sorta creeps you out a little

You may be wondering how somebody as perfect as me would get into an accident. Well since I'm so wonderfully perfect, accidents rarely happen around me. Rarely. Even the most perfect of people, like me, get into accidents sometimes, but those accidents make perfect people, like me, even more perfect, if that's even possible. But personally, I blame Sparkles for what happened on that day.

Even though it happened hundreds of years ago, when I was fourteen. I still remember the last conversation I had with my father the day before the accident like it was yesterday. But of course it wasn't yesterday, I was just using an analogy to make my point clearer. I'm just pointing that out to those of you who are grammatically challenged. Like Link. His silence is only caused by his lack of grammar, or maybe because he lost his vocal cords. But that wouldn't explain how he screams like a little girl. Now that I think of it, why doesn't he talk? I guess the Spirit of Sparkles says everything for him, but still! Ah well, not my problem.

My problem is the event that happened that day. Now, I'm not going to give you some dramatic irony because that's not my style. I won't tell you the horrible scene where my father gets killed in advance, because I'm sure you can figure it out for yourselves. Which is why I'm not telling you that he dies.

My father and I were on the top of the deck, chatting about unnecessary things like the weather, girls, and life. You know, father/son stuff. He even gave me "the talk" for the twenty-third time. I guess he was just wondering if I've ever gotten…never mind. Younger audiences shouldn't know about that stuff.

That was when we had our final moments together, and to spare the boring details from the reader, I'll just skip the parts about girls and move on to the most important question my father ever asked me. It was even more important than "the talk."

I guess I'll tell you the conversation now.

…

Okay, now I'll tell you.

"So, Becky," I winced at the pet nickname my father called me, "What do ya wanna be when ya grow up?"

"Well, um," I didn't know how to respond to that. Now don't laugh, but I actually wanted to be a ballet dancer at the time. I told you not to laugh! There's nothing wrong with pursuing the fine art of dancing, it took a lot of skill! But of course, my father didn't want to hear that, so I told him what he wanted to hear. "I want to be a great pirate captain like you, dad!"

He laughed, like I expected him to, since he asked this question before. "Of course ya do Becky! Follow me." He led me down to the treasure hold, where all the treasure was, obviously. I won't go into detail on how fabulous the treasure was, and how shiny it is. Everyone knows how shiny treasure is anyway.

The point is, my father never usually took me to the treasure hold, he usually took me to a window to see what was in the treasure hold. Now very perceptive readers might wonder why the question he asked me was so important, since he's asked me that question already. Actually, that was the question that led to my question that led to his question that changed my life, not to be confused with the question about the question about the other question I was asked but never told you because of the younger audiences.

The second question I asked after the first question that led to the third question was plain and simple. Unless you looked at it at a philosophical point of view, which made the question more complicated than it actually was. "Dad," I asked, "Why do we need so much treasure?"

"Why does anyone need treasure, son?" My father answered.

I miscalculated. I meant the question that led to my question that led to his answer that was more of a question, which required me to rephrase my question to get the answer that led to a series of other questions that caused the question that changed my life.

I think.

"I meant, why do we need to continue to find treasure even though we have enough to last for a lifetime?"

"Well, I guess part of it comes from the thrill of finding a new treasure," he said, "It's fun to discover things nobody else has before."

"But why do we need to steal from other pirate crews?"

"Well, the other pirates aren't very nice, they usually steal from little old ladies who live with their two grandchildren. We only steal from the bad pirates, and we even give the treasure we get back to the original owners, and sometimes the poor."

"So we're like Robin Hood?" I asked.

"Clichéd analogy," he responded, "But yes. That's one way of putting it."

"So why do you need to find the Fountain of Youth?"

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew it wasn't the right thing to say.

Father grimaced. "It's…complicated. You might not understand."

"I can understand!" I protested.

"I'm sure you can," Father said, "But it's getting late. I'll tell you in the morning." He made a motion to move.

"Wait!" I cried, "If you leave now, I won't be able to sleep!"

"Why's that?" Father asked, amused.

"Because I'll keep thinking of why you're so obsessed with the Fountain!"

Again, I said the wrong thing.

Father frowned, and he sighed. "You see, Linebeck." I winced at my real name. He never usually used my real name unless he was mad at me or somewhat depressed. "When I met you're mother, I was actually trying to steal a map from her."

"I thought you said you met at a bar!"

"We did. I tried to steal from her in a bar. Anyways, we sort of fought a little, a very furious fight. We yelled, we punched, we tripped over our own feet." He laughed at the memory. "But somehow we wound up in a position that was a little inappropriate for someone your age, and our lips somehow got entangled on each other, and somehow our tounges-"

"Stop!" I interrupted, "I don't want to hear about your make-out sessions with mom!"

Father grinned. "I guess a child wouldn't want to hear about his parents like that. Well, after the bar, we went her ship. I was fascinated that she was looking for the fountain like I did. It was love at first sight. One thing led to another, and we wound up having you six months later."

"That early?" I asked.

"Well, Becky, we were two hot-headed adults, what else were we going to do? Anyways, after we had you, we were going to settle down and give up out hunt for the Fountain. At least, until she died." A look of sadness swept upon his face. "After she died, I won't tell you how she died though, I wanted the Fountain more than anything."

"Why?" I asked.

"The legends say that the Fountain has extraordinary powers, that it can bestow eternal youth to the one who drinks it, and therefore bestow immortality. The legends also say that the Fountain's waters can revive a person whose spirit long passed away, if the body was bathed in the waters."

"But isn't mom's body in a graveyard?" I asked, confused.

"No," Father said quietly, "It isn't." He walked over to a golden box.

"What is it?"

"Before I show you…" Father hesitated, "I want to ask you that…if I die, will you continue the search for the fountain for me?"

Now that was the question that changed my life.

"Why?" I asked cautiously.

"Well, because, I want you to see her again." He removed the lid off the box.

And I discovered, to my horror, that the box wasn't a box…

It was a coffin.

And the body inside of the coffin…

Was the corpse of my mother, silently sleeping like she wasn't dead.

And that sort of thing creeps you out a little.

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Please review and tell me if this is funny or not! Please!