Why was he Jack Sparrow? Why Sparrow, some thought. Why such a small, plain bird for such an unavoidably obtrusive man? Yet they all agreed on one thing: He was nothing more than a pain in their sides, to be dealt with as such pains were. Death was nothing to these men, but some thing, some indefinable thing stayed their hands time and again.

Sparrow… So plain yet so richly meaningful. A carrier of deaths to the afterlife, a plain bird with a beautiful song… fierce and determined when cornered. Smart, cunning. Everything Jack was, embodied in his name.

A jack of all trades, he seemed some times. One who could fool any into his stupid schemes and silly games. Yet who but Jack prevailed in his ultimate goals? Captain, the death of the treacherous first mate… The strange ending to the stranger saga of his choosing a new Captain King…

Who but Jack? Daft like Jack they would say. Yet who more cunning and manipulative than the unseeming bird in their midst?

Jack was flamboyant in actions yet reserved in emotions and truth. Always speaking, yet never sharing truths.

He was a man indefinable, even with his name, his face, a man who would live on, even in death as the Captain Jack Sparrow.

Would he fly into eternity, rolling with the punches life dealt to him? Would he survive the constant blow after blow to his heart?

Those who cared to think on it dreaded the day when Jack no longer cared about the schemes, the plots and life as they knew it. Pirating was dangerous, yet it was the only way they could think of Jack Sparrow. As someone beyond morals, who continued to live by them, twisted as it may seem.

Sparrow… brown and small, fierce and proud. Leader and follower, a common symbol of death and remembrance…

Jack would never truly die so long as he was remembered for his strange deeds and stranger motives.

Sparrow, they thought, was just a guise to fool the unsuspecting to his snares, to keep them close and enemies closer.

Who but Jack could keep from being demolished in this age?

Jack…