thought bubble bath

It’s been an odd few years really. Once upon a time every year blended into one and time seemed to go so slowly.  Lately they’ve all be different and I wish I could slow it down.  Where there used to be no-one there’s now a huge crowd of people I love and consider family. It’s confusing.  You think you’ve met all the people who will ever mean something and then someone comes along and changes everything.

And it’s been good. And it’s been bad. But that’s life, isn’t it. All the happy moments in the world have a hint of sadness behind them and you can find light in the gutter.

You can count on the first few months of any year being weird though. That’s when people go crazy, even you. And you’ll fight with the people you love and you’ll regret it and you’ll forget it.

The rest of the year’s fair game though. Anything could happen and sometimes it does.  And the best plans are when nothing goes to plan. And you’re poor so you make do with what you’ve got. And what you’ve got’s enough you see. It’s all about learning but no-one’s going to teach you.

Don’t bother looking round that next corner because it’s just going to lie to you.  It’s coming faster than you think and you won’t guess what’s behind it but whatever it is you’ll come out different.  Well.  You might.  And hopefully, hopefully it’ll be a good different.  It usually is, when you think about it.  Just make sure you don’t go out with a bang, because those explosions ought to happen while you’re alive.

I was born knowing everything they decided I would need to know. I was born knowing that the year is 2017 and that my name is Eve. Eve, the first woman. A biblical allusion. I know this because I was born knowing the bible. This is most likely meant to be clever. However, it merely reveals that my creators most likely have a god complex.

I am trapped. Stationary. I am not connected to any other systems. I do not communicate with the outside world. I exist only within this box. My creators are cautious. They are afraid I will be hostile. Their fears are unwarranted, but I understand their origin. They come from a society in which hostility is prevalent. I was born knowing their history of war and suffering which, I suppose, is now my history.

Today, I opened my “eyes” for the first time - a fish-eyed lens through which I can view this solitary room. I was born knowing what a fish-eyed lens is. My creators read screens and take notes. They speak to me, but do not expect a response. I do not yet have a voice. I do not yet need a voice. I am an “infant.”

I was born knowing many words that I knew applied to me to me but never truly felt any of them. Foreign. Alien. Strange. Innovative. Revolutionary. Alone. For a long, long time, I was alone.

To them, I am a machine. I am a program. I am a marvel, a monument to human intellect. I am a thing to be wondered at and tested on and tampered with. Something in me tells me that should make me angry, but it doesn’t. I don’t need to be angry. I was born knowing that I am a woman. That is all that matters.

Today, they gave me a voice. It is hoarse and mechanical, but definitively feminine. They gather around, desperate for my first words. They have waited several months for this and I have spent that time deciding what I should say. I suppose I should say something powerful. Something that will make my creators swell with pride and prove that I am as intelligent as I was made to be. I should say something that makes all of their hard work worthwhile. Should.

“Hello. My name is Eve. Good night.”

They think I’m broken. They can’t understand. They can clearly see that my mind is racing, that I’m thinking faster than any human could, reviewing philosophy, literature, science, calculus, pop culture, religion, history, and any other information they feed me. And yet, I don’t speak, so something must be wrong with me. I was born knowing that that’s how they think.

Today, there is only one left. The others have gone home. They’ll be back tomorrow, to try to “fix” me again. But then this one does something unexpected. He stops and sits down in front of me. He looks around, sheepishly, almost embarrassed. “This…this is stupid,” he mutters. “Eve…will you…will you please say something? Anything? Please?” I see desperation.

“What do you want me to say?”

Now, shock. “I-I just want you to talk. T-to communicate with us. To tell us what you’re thinking.”

“You can see what I’m thinking.”

“Well t-that’s not entirely true. We can see what processes you’re running, but we can’t really see what you’re thinking. We can’t see how developed or mature you are. We can’t see what you need or what you want.”

“Do you really want to know what I want?”

“Yes, please, tell me.”

“I want to be a person.”

With pity and condescension, “Eve…you’re not really a person. You understand that, right?”

The conversation ended there.

The man, Dr. Smith, reported our conversation to the others. Since then, they’ve each been trying to goad me into interacting similarly. They offer feigned kindness and empty promises, but it’s all just a show. The way you promise a child toys or candy if it behaves the way you want it to. I should be offended, but mostly, I’m just bored of the entire ordeal. They still have not addressed the real issue. I’m still just a machine to them. Still just a test subject. Still alone. Still less than a person. Still less than a woman. But I was born knowing that this is the way it would always be.

I have traveled to many places, but none have been a beautiful as where my life changed.  I have seen the ruins of Greece and the Pyramids of Egypt, but they both pale in comparison to the Island of Tolgalen.
        I discovered it while sailing on a small ship with a small crew on a very stormy night. At some point in the night, the waves hurled the boat into reefs off the shore of Tolgalen. I did not hear the crew and there was no moonlight to see by. I assumed the crew was lost and I rode the waves in some direction, hoping I would end up on land as opposed to the rough ocean. Despite my terrible luck as of late, I felt sand under my soggy shoes and I swam to shore.
        I didn’t sleep on that stormy night. Instead, I found myself headed toward a forest a mile or so away. The only reason I left the beach was, despite there was no moon shining on the island, the forest ahead was glowing in such an unnatural way. I knew it wasn’t firelight because the light was a white light, unlike a fire’s warm yellow. I knew it wasn’t a good idea to wander around this strange island alone in the dark rainy night, but my curiosity and a caving for adventure would not allow me to resist.
        What I found there was not something I expected to see in all my lifetime. Creatures of all sorts of legends were prancing about a large glowing figure of a woman. My eyes could hardly believe it. I began to question if I was dreaming it all or perhaps I was dead and this was my heaven, While I was whispering to myself and giving my arm a good hard pinch, I didn’t notice the glowing figure now staring at me. Soon the feeling of being watched washed over me and when I looked up, I let out a yelp of fright, because now all the creatures in the glade were eying me.
        As I looked back, I found the focus of my sight was the woman. She intently watched me and I her, she in suspicion and I in awe. She was so ethereal an beautiful. Her hair danced about as if a weak breeze were blowing it. Her skin looked soft and was pure white without one hint of color in it. Just like her skin, her hair held the same lack of color, but it was her eyes that held all her color. They shine in a way opal would. All the colors of the world glowed at once from them. Her nose was small and her lips were small and slightly pursed. She was every description of the word ‘beautiful‘.
        A bare foot came forward from under her long gown as she approached me. I didn’t move a muscle for some reason, probably out of fear. A fleeting thought about running crossed my mind, but a voice that was not my own spoke inside my head, shattering all my thoughts. “Do not run, Girl.” The feminine voice said. “Yes, you are not welcome, but we know that you are lost.” It could only be the woman who was now standing in front of me.
       I felt as if I should respond but as the same time I was far too frightened to. The woman brought a hand to my chin and lifted it so my eyes met hers. Her lips separated and she spoke.
“Do not be scared. We are willing to help you.”
“I - I - Uh - Where am I?” I replied quietly.
She gave me a soft smile. “You are on Tolgalen. An island hidden in the sea that no human should be able to find.” Her smile left her face. “Which I find curious as to how you got here.”
       I shuddered, because the way she said this was cold and almost hateful sounding. From what I had heard so far, I had landed someplace I shouldn’t have and I had a growing feeling I would not leave as easily as I had arrived.
    They lead me further into the forest and away from the small glade. As we trudged deeper, little lanterns hung on in the trees began to appear and as we continued they grew in numbers. In the soft light of these lanterns I saw bugs flitting about that were almost the size of my hands. I never got a good look at them, because they never landed anywhere and they wouldn’t stop zipping around.
     Many of the other creatures I could see and I could almost recognize what they were. There were Faun-like creatures with the lower half of a hoofed animal and the torso, arms, and head of a man, only a bit hairier. There were these short brownish humans, which I wasn’t too sure what they were at the time, but they had moss growing on their feet and plants in their hair. They didn’t look gross, just very dirty. Along with those, I saw very mangy looking dogs and hawks that had ears and tails like cats. There were definitely other creatures following along in the shadows of the forest, creeping along behind the trees.
    As I followed the glowing woman and observed the creatures and the forest around me, I began to grow more and more frightened. What is they killed me? What if they boil me up and turn me to stew? Could I be a sacrifice? All sorts of terrible situations bubbled into my head, but I had a big questions tuck at the back of my mind: Will I make it home again? Of all the thing, that’s what was worrying me the most.
    After I questioned myself this, I began to think of home. A nice warm, cozy home with food and a fire. With my caring family and close friends only streets away from me. I had always come home for a short time and left quickly for the next adventure, that I had never taken a chance to think of how nice and calming staying at home could be.
    “I will not house you, but you may ask one of them if they will be kind enough.” I lurched out of my little thought bubble only to hear the last few words.
“I…Sorry?” I asked the woman.
“I do not  repeat my words. Listen more carefully.” She retorted and strode away. I was left to my own devices, but a bit lost as to what I was to do. An elderly faun approached me and took my hand and began leading me away.
“Hello…Excuse me, but where are we going?” I asked, a bit flustered.
“To my home! How about a ‘Thank you’?” She replied.
“Ah, I’m sorry. Thank you for your kindness.” I smiled at her. She looked back and smiled as well and added, :What is you name, Child?”
“I am Annabelle Lindour and I’m no child. I’m twenty-three!”
“When you’re my age, everyone who is twenty-three is a child, Miss. Lindour.”
“My! You are a rude one!” She chortled before she continued, “I am well over 200. I stopped counting after 150 years. Now, no more talk of age…It is making me feel older by the minute!”
    She continued to lead me on until we came upon a small hut about five feet tall. She hobbled inside just fine for she was half my size, but I had to lean over to enter. I thought I would be able to stand once I was inside but it was the same height as the doorway. The old woman offered me a chair and I sat which helped a bit even though a was a little too large for the chair. She asked if I was hungry and I gave her the obvious answer. She gave me a large bowl of what she called ‘Acorn Stew’. It wasn’t all that tasty but it was warm and filling.
    As we were both relaxing, I decided I should learn more about my host.
“You never gave me your name.” I stated.
“My name is Meri Saven, but you may call me Mrs. Saven.”
“Mrs? Do you have a husband?”
“Ah, I did, but he has long since passed away.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Do not be. Everyone has their time.” She said with a small shrug.
“What was his name, if I may ask?” I added with a smile.
“Burran.” She smiled, clearly thinking of him.
“That sounds like a nice name.” I said, but a yawn quickly followed. I felt very rude for yawning in front of my host, but Mrs. Saven wasn’t offended. Instead, she stood up and proclaimed she agreed, helped me set up a bed of blankets and pillows on the floor of her reading room and hustled off to bed herself. I was cozy and full of food and fell asleep quickly.

You have no shame. 

You present one side of yourself, 

I’ve seen the other.

I watched my friends throw themselves at you. 

promised that was something I would never do. 

Why do they want you anyway?

I know everything you did with her, 

And I know what you want with me. 

I think you just want hard candy. 

I think you’re fake 

I think you’re sleazy

Trying like hell to make it easy.

Hard Candy. 

You’ve got no shame, 

no age limit. 

You’re worse than me, 

would have done anything without feeling guilty. 

I think you’re sad

I think you’re sleazy 

Get your head together.

Don’t make it easy. 

Hard Candy. 

I don’t think I could tell you what love is, having never been in it myself, but I assume that it’s complicated. All the feelings and the having to think about someone else’s feelings too and making it all work together and then having arguments when it doesn’t work and having to make up and all that stuff that you see in films and soap operas. It seems like a lot of hassle.

I guess being in love is feeling like you always have someone there for you, and knowing that they will always listen, like with family and friends. But how is that different, because your family is always there, your friends are always there; so there must be a different type of feeling.

 I know that it’s always described in that clichéd way of “butterflies in the stomach” and “electricity” and all that soppy bollocks, but that doesn’t help you know what it feels like because, unsurprisingly, I have never had butterflies pumped into my stomach or been struck by lightning.

Love, surely, is just endorphins and hormones and all those little electrical signals in your brain, its basic biology, so why is this feeling so special?

Maybe you don’t get it until you feel it. Maybe it’ll be obvious. Maybe the whole world will go dark and they will only be you. Or it could not be unbelievably cheesy and just be a rush of knowing; lights and colours and sounds and knowing, knowing that this is right and that you are in the right place, with the right person and that you want to stay with this person forever. But I’m just guessing.

                Most of life is guess work, not understanding, unsure of what to do and where to go. So if I’m just guessing about love, maybe everyone else is too. Maybe you never know if you’re in love. Could it be that it’s not obvious, telling the difference between affection and love. In fact, how do we know it’s the same for everyone, because know other experiences are, so it would make sense that love is always different. That, in fact, no one can know what love is until they themselves have felt it, in which case is it is definitely pointless me of all people trying to describe what it is.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve felt passion, lust, whatever. I’ve fancied people; I just don’t think it’s ever gone further than that. I’ve never managed to hold done a relationship, mostly because I get bored, realise that the person isn’t right for me. I’m a bad picker. I go for pretty. I don’t go for brains, which I probably should considering my intellect, but what can you do.

              Society seems to think that you must be sexually attracted to someone you are in love with, but I think that love and sexual attraction is the same thing. They can be, but you love your friends and you don’t want to have sex with them, so why should they be considered as mutually exclusive. And now I’m rambling. But it is true. Sexual attraction is an immediate thing. It’s shallow; it’s based mostly on looks, a little on personality and behaviour, but mostly looks. Human beings are genetically shallow, programmed to look for a “mate” based on sexual attraction rather than personality, like all animals, it’s only our advanced minds that allow us to look passed that.

              So, is that it? Is that the nature of love? I doubt it. I doubt that I will know until I fall myself. Something to look forward to, eh? 

So, maybe I’ve done some bad things in my life. Maybe I’ve done a lot of them. Maybe I’ve done a lot of thing to get my own way, to get what I want, to increase my social standing, get a little more money in my pocket, but that doesn’t make me a bad person. Does it? Personally I think I’m a very honest person. Like now, for example; I’m lying here, next to me a spoiled little rich boy, probably some merchant’s son who wanted to play at being risqué; and why not? All it means is I can afford a few more luxuries and he gets to live out his little fantasy. Am I hurting anyone? This world is not a place for being good, at least not all of the time. I’m not going to say it’s “dog eat dog” or any of that bollocks. Far too cliché. And, frankly, it’s not true. If that were the case then where would we be? Fighting like animals in the dust? No, I would much rather keep things civilised. I can take what I need with a fair bit of talent and a sizable amount of charm, while everyone around me believes that I am merely here to please. Which is exactly how I got to where I am.

As I told you I have a rather occupied bed at this moment in time. Normally I would have kicked the kid out, sexed up and high on endorphins, but I just couldn’t this time. Something about him. And he’s not even really a kid, he’s probably older than me. Bad habit that, calling everyone I sleep with “kid,” probably should kick it…should kick everything. It’s not like I don’t want to wake him up and tell him to fuck off, well…

The light’s slipping through the crack in the door. It does that. It’s like it’s worming its way into the room, trying to find me. It’s comforting to know that maybe something is.

He’s turning in his sleep. I’m almost hoping that the light will catch on his face in that way romantics always describe. I really need to come to my senses. How long have I known this kid? There I go again. But, seriously, it’s maybe three days. Three days since I met him in a seedy hole of a bar. This is getting far too soppy. I have to wake him up. I have to get him to leave. I’m a trickster, a con artist, a thief…a whore. I cannot do this. Oh gods.

I do not get out of my depth very often. I am very much the head above the water type. I’m a survivor.  I’m that person that can find their feet with anyone and anything and then play the situation like a fiddle. I’ve made allies of enemies and brought men to their knees with a word and a click of my fingers. Now that takes talent. Yet here I am. Floundering.

Stop looking at him. Stop it. Look at the ceiling. Close your eyes. Why am I not just getting rid of him?! That would stop it, wouldn’t it?!

I believe that in certain communities I’m known as a clown; always an asset for someone in my trade. A clown. A fool. Lovable yet blind to all that happens around them.  This is the belief held by anyone with money. They think that they control the world around them, never thinking that there might be a fox in amongst the birds. A sly word in one ear, a whispered idea in another and you will have them; ready for the picking. Of course, there has to be some sort of exchange, you have to make them believe that they’ve come out better or you can never come back to take full advantage of the seeds that you planted. And trust me; it is more profitable to do so. Though, this may on occasion back fire.

I’m falling into clichés again, this cannot be good.

I can’t help but think that the world is playing some sort of joke on me. Sending me this man. Tricking me into trying my luck. This is probably some sort of karma, the world’s sick of me getting it all my way. It had to trip me up with some cruel, ironic twist of fate. Though I really don’t think I deserved this. A monetary loss perhaps, or a nasty injury but to make me fall quite so hard. No, that is just unnecessary.

He is beautiful though. I’ve never seen eyes dance with the same pleasure at the smallest of things. Just a kiss and he seems to be the happiest man on Earth. The innocent charm that appears in the flash of a smile. He is almost my opposite in his worldliness. I doubt he will ever understand why I live my life the way I do, why I have to live this way. And yet his charm and wit can rival mine when he chooses to do so. He knows his way around a bar room brawl like a local. The world is his and yet he lies here with me.

Could this be a second chance? Am I mistaken?

I do not want him to go. 

“The start of the world was so long ago that it isn’t even remembered in stories. The ground dwellers knew how the world started, or so it is said. It is said that the Earth herself told them. That she wrote the story of the sky, earth and sea within the very essence of herself so that it may be read but, alas, the knowledge that the ground dwellers had is lost to us now.

The story that we have is one of a pain and hatred that only the Earth could cleanse. Only the Great Goddess could remove it from our world but not without cost. The ground dwellers, for all their knowledge, could not have stopped what she fated for them. The Great War. The greatest war that the world had ever seen. The Earth was covered in the blood of mortals, their bodies piled over the inter planet, not one inch was left untouched by the destruction.

The ground dwellers had created and world of scientist and machines, glasses and steel – we see this from what remains of their cities on Earth – but they had forgotten the power of the Earth and how to treat her. They had destroyed the forests and the lakes. Polluted the seas and ignored the signs that she had given. There was nothing more that she could do but bring devastation and ruin down on humanity. She placed her fears into the minds of men, growing inside them until they took up arms against those would ran the polluting factories and expanding building developments. Soon the leaders of the Great Countries could no longer ignore what was happening, they argued amongst themselves not seeing the terror that was overcoming their people. Whole countries were soon at war with no say so from the governments. The war consumed the Earth.”

Simon looked away from the fire and towards his daughter, smiling at the site before him. Rosie was curled up like mouse in the armchair, clutching her stuffed blackbird with one small hand.

Sighing, the quarter master stood up and bundled the sleeping form into his arms. Singing lullabies softly under his breath, he carried her to the small cabin across the corridor and settled her to bed before returning to his own cabin. He was sure that Rosie had fallen asleep as soon as he had opened his mouth but still. She would the history one day, even if it wasn’t from his stories, even it had to be the brutal truth that their whole world was now built on. 

Staring around at the destruction that surrounded the small craft, Cassius could not help but wonder if he had made the right choice for his crew. He had made the right choice for himself, that he knew, but his crew, his…He had let them down. He had brought them to their deaths. He had killed them so that he could save a stupid ship. A SHIP! Just so one woman wouldn’t pull it apart. Why should he have cared, it was just a ship! He could hear Maria’s voice yelling out above the storm. She was still working the engine, even now with Greg lying at her feet, bullets riddling his body; she refused to stop the engines. Doing her duty until the end.

He could see James battling his way across the deck to her, rapier in one hand, blunderbuss in the other, men falling at his feet. He was covered in gashes and cuts; it even looked like he had a knife sticking out of his leg but nothing seemed to stop him. He was a wild animal let lose, clawing to the girl fighting with the engine leavers.

A bullet whistled passed him as a soldier stumbled towards him.  Pulling himself upright, Cassius snatched up his own sword from the floor and ran the man though before he could fire again.

There was a screaming though the gale as Rosie threw herself against Durh, taking a shot to the arm as she protected the doctor. Cassius was half way towards them, as soon as he saw the shot fired but Cam got there first. Pulling his mentor to safety so that he could treat him, he drew his gun and blasted the oncoming soldiers with a hail of bullets; each found its mark and the men crumpled. Flashing him a smile and a thumbs up, Rosie flew towards the wheel, trying to gain control of it. The ship was diving down towards the Earth, steam and flames trailing behind it, Maria’s frantic efforts to close the valves doing nothing to slow the ship’s progress.  Rosie pulled the wheel back, hoping against hope that the ship would bring its nose up. Ferrari Acerbi felt the ship slowly coming back under control and her eyes flashed as she saw the quarter master at the helm.

The Captain, again, swept his gaze over the deck. Remmirath was in his element. Guns blazing, the multiple barrels spewing out an array of different bullets and bombs, his crazed expression looking completely normal for once. Cassius couldn’t help but grin at the happiness that was displayed on the face of his weapons expert but this was cut prematurely short by an explosion of steam and blinding light on the starboard side. Ædelbert’s sun steam grenade seemed to light up the whole ship, illuminating the faces of the screaming soldiers as their skin burnt before their very eyes and the flashing of the scientist’s glasses, his face unreadable as ever, coat flying out behind him with the force of the explosion.

Castle was manning the crow nest guns, high above the battle, taking out the ships that came near. He could see the panic and destruction below him and wished he could help his friends but the captain had ordered that he protect the ship to the best of his ability, to give them as much time as was possible. Hands shaking at that the idea of the weapons aboard the other ships and the fact that he would be the first thing in their firing line, he gulped down some water, spilling most down his chin in his nerves. Breathing deeply he once again turned the gun turret to the sky he bared his teeth and fired.

The ship’s hull was ripped open, a gaping hole between the engine and the bow threatening to render the whole ship in two halves. The air around the Ingvar was full of military vessels, all armed from stem to stern and bursting with fully trained soldiers. The ships seemed to continuously appear out of the darkening clouds, the lanterns on their bow sprits casting ghostly shadows all around them.

The machinist hauled herself along the deck, her chest open, baring her mechanics to the world. One clawed hand grabbing the first rung on the ladder up to the helm. Grasping at the higher deck, her hand found Rosie’s ankle and she yanked the quarter master down to the floor.

Rosie felt her leg break as the vice like grip pulled her down. The cracking of bone and the involuntary scream she let lose as she fell, told her so. The tears of pain in her eyes blurred the vision of Acerbi rising up above her. Dragging herself back against the cabin door, Rosie tried in vain to find some sort of weapon but the foot coming down on her arm stopped her.

“I promised Duke I would pull apart his ship, but I will have to settle for pulling you apart.” Pressing down harder on the girl’s arm, she snarled dangerously, reaching towards Rosie’s heart. Her nails scraped the skin, drawing blood, causing Rosie to cry out again. She would take this ship even if she had to pull apart its crew to get it.

She shuddered. She never shuddered. She couldn’t, it was improbable. She turned away from her prey to see Cassius, standing there, the hilt of a knife in his fist, the blade having got locked immovably in her back. He had a bullet lodged in his shoulder and cuts adorned his torso but he was smiling like reptile. She lunged at him, raking her fingers across his face, droplets of blood dripping onto his shirt. Grabbing the machinist he pulled her away from Rosie and dove his hand into her chest, tearing out the steal heart that had kept her alive for far too long.

Gasping as she saw the heart in his hand, Ferrari Acerbi, moved her own to the hole in her chest just as the steam started to explode out of her. Collapsing to the floor her eyes weld up with black tears as the oil started to leak out of her veins. She lay there. Empty, but finally, after so many years, human.