The Greatest Adventures

Chapter 1 Old, Alone, Done For

It was an icy wasteland.

There was no leader for the lost boys anymore, who now spent their days wandering about in the woods, waiting for a boy who would never return. The Piccianies Indians hadn't been seen since Pan left, and the mermaids had disappeared underneath inky waters to hibernate elsewhere.

The only indication of life in the world was the ship called "The Jolly Roger," that had haunted the place since the beginning of time. And of course, whose leader was none other than the most fearsome sea captain that ever was. The only man that Long John had ever feared, in fact. Yes, tales of his bloodthirsty vengeance and his nightmarish glower still haunted the minds of all like an evil spirit.

But the truth was, this certain pirate was still a mere man. A very distraught one, at that.

He resided within the largest room of his ship, which looked as if a violent tempest had shredded through it the night before. And there had been, but not a literal kind. Almost every surface was littered with empty beer bottles and shards of broken glass. Furniture had been overturned. Books and been hurled out from the shelves. Clothes had been thrown about and shredded to tiny pieces. Walls and floors were scarred with old and new splinter wounds, adding to the quiet, still chaos.

In the midst of it all, the perpetrator rocked in and out of slumber like how the ship sloshed about on top of the frozen waves. Wild, matted curls sat upon the figure's head. He was slumped over the large desk, and he was still dressed in the same clothes from the past three days. His ragged breathing caused his torso to heave up and down, and even while unconscious the captain wore a nasty scowl on his face.

The reigning silence was interrupted by the faint creak of the bedroom's door, followed by an old head that peeped inside. He scanned the ransacked room before opening the door further and allowing his fat form to slip inside. He tip-toed over. For a man so stubby and old, he moved without a sound and was able to dart around broken bottles until he was in front of the desk.

Before Smee could wonder if the captain would get up today or not, a guttural growl stopped the old boatswain right in his tracks.

"Capt'n?"

"You worthless dog. Haven't I told you to never enter my quarters unless summoned?" He spat the slurred words out as if they were poison. The mess of hair shot up, revealing a snarling face with a pair of bloodshot eyes. Smee gulped but did not flinch or even blink. After all, this had been his everyday greeting.

For the past twenty years.

"Good morning Capt'n. Shall I get you some breakfast?" Despite knowing the answer was no, Smee still listened carefully for his response.

James Hook shut his eyes once more whilst groaning, and the look of bloody murder in his sharp features vanished as suddenly as it came. He brought up his good hand to clutch his forehead that created between the brows, before speaking up again in a more human voice.

"Smee. Fetch some tea. Now."

"And some toast and jelly, sir?" Hook snapped his head at Smee, his gaze burning a hole into the older man.

"Just shut that flapping mouth of yours and go!" After the poor old man scrambled backward and sprinted out the room, the sea captain sighed while sitting up straight.

A series of pops crackled down his spine, and he released another groan when soreness exploded all across his right side. He had slept with his leather contraption holding his hook all night long. His skin was splotched purple and red where the straps remained secured. An excruciating migraine pounded at his head, and numbness exploded down his limbs.