Jack paced the three steps along the center of the dinghy, grunted, turned on his heel, and paced the three steps back down the nonexistent deck. Just why was it he always seemed to end up in a dinghy with no crew, no rum, and especially no ship?  Was he just unlucky or was there some higher power that didn't like him?

Reasons and explanations aside, Captain Jack Sparrow found himself yet again all by his onesy, separated from his beloved Black Pearl, and with a serious lack of rum.

Once at the bow of the ship, Jack stood musing, feet apart, hands on hips. Slowly the pirate let out a deep breath and let his head fall back exposing his deeply tanned neck. Jack let his eye slide close as the sun warmed his skin.

A seagull shrieked overhead, momentarily blocking out the sun. Jack opened his eyes slightly to look up at the black and white bird only to have to close them again quickly as the bird's excrement splattered across his face. The pirate only sighed again and let his shoulders sag. It was one of those days.

With one grimy hand, Jack wiped the offending mess from his face and flicked it into the blue water. He squinted against the sun, looking for any sign of land. Nothing close by.

With another groan Jack fell straight back, landed on a pile of ropes, and appeared to settle in for a nap.