Savvy?

So, in honor of Pirates of the Caribbean 3: At World's End DVD release, and also resulting from the monotony that is Mrs. Washburn's 6th hour class, I've decided to write a pirate-themed short. It's my first time so don't expect anything great.
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(From the Captain's Log found at the wreckage of the merchant ship, the Muerte.)

27 Sept.

I found myself pacing the deck of Muerte once again last night. Or, rather, early this morning. My dreams--well, I speak in this case of one particular reoccurring dream--have awoken me once again and I was unable to fall back into a peaceful slumber. The dream is always the same: I am a portrait of my younger self on the shores of Costa Verde. As I walk the beach, the waves playfully brush against my ankles; almost as if to beckon me towards the sea. I continue to walk with seemingly no destination in mind when I strange sight catches my eye. A single black sail rises from the horizon and with it an entire ship begins the take form. As it draws nearer, I can't help but to notice the waves begin to darken to--well, to put it quite simply, the color of blood. The sky is black despite the daytime hour. Bewildered, I stand there on the shore waiting for the ship to make buff. It draws nearer and I begin to notice one more strange thing about this monstrous ship: It lacks a man at the helm. There is no crew. This is a demon ship from the pits of Hell risen to claim my soul in payment for my transgressions! I begin to think. Before the ship can reach the shore, however, I awake in a cold sweat with my heart racing. For three nights, I have pulled on my boots and climbed to the deck in order to clear my mind of such dark thoughts. It doesn't seem to help much.

John Archer,

Captain

30 Sept

The men are beginning to notice my lack of sleep. It affects my better judgement. Just this morning my first mate, Young Masbrow, pulled me aside while the rest for the crew ate their dinner. "Captain Archer," he said to me, "I've known you since I was boy. We've seen many things together..."

It had been hours since my last meal and I was beginning to feel fatigued. My patience was short. "Out with it, boy." I spat.

"Sir," he went on, "the men are becoming concerned about your health. Mostly your mental health. They asked that I talk to you about this. So tell me," he looked into my eyes and I in his, "what troubles you?"

He was right. The men had a right to know. But I couldn't tell him. I couldn't let my crew know of their captain's weakness. This, too, will pass. I'm sure of it.

John Archer,

Captain

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Sorry about the length. I got lost in my own wirting and forgot where I was going.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.