I'm old.

Not a very imaginative or particularly attractive way to start something, I suppose. But I suppose it is the most appropriate starting sentence for me. Well, to return to the main point, I'm old. Older than your great great great great and so on grandfather, older than certain small patches of land, older than some species of animals, but still younger than the sea.

Ah, the sea.

Lady Calypso.

My Lady is a flighty creature, prone to fanciful imaginings and sudden tyrannical bursts of rage. She is fickle, cruel, flamboyant, and a highly unreasonable creature to boot. One thing I cannot understand is why men and women are so prone to falling head-over-heels in love with her. Humans. Slightly less hairy than the little monkies who swung among the treetops. I still find the monkies more pleasing to the eye.

Still, there is a point in loving her.

There were some points in Time, when my Lady deigned to call me up from the ocean and speak to me. I cannot remember clearly now. However, one thing that was still clear in my head was that those were nice days. Nice, peaceful, soothing days. Until my Lady flies into a rage and sends a massive tidal wave crashing over my head. I could change in those days. Fit my twisty, tentacled form into something small and compact and tiny. Well, at the very least, tinier than me.

I remember that my Lady did not speak to me for many, many years. For some small remark I made, I think. I cannot remember clearly now. It had been so long. Amnesia and old age, I suppose.

Those were bad, cruel years. Harsh and cold, ice everywhere, sharp winds cutting into my arms and my face every time I raised my head above the embrace of my Lady. I remember that I sunk down deep, deep, deep. Pulled myself together and dropped into a great black abyss. Buried myself as well as I could and went to sleep for a long, long time. It was dreamless, that sleep. Black and deep and gooey and cold. A black hole in my memory, literally.

I did not wake up of my own will, had I had been left to my own devices, I suspect that I would have slept till Time itself woke up from its sleep and murdered everybody in this world. My Lady had woken me, sifting away the sands and dropping heavy grey rocks on top of me. Finally, in a fit of pique, she had caused a tsunami. An underwater earthquake. Many little monkies had died. But I had awoken. And that was the main point.

She dragged me up, spoke to me in excited murmurs, kissed me and embraced me warmly, told me about this little monkey that she had taken a shine too. He was, interesting. Very interesting. I made appropriate noises when I had to, made some inane comments, and when she left, sunk back to my bed and returned to my blessed rest. When my Lady woke me up for the second time, it was to inform me that she had made this monkey a Captain. And not just any Captain, no no no. She had to make him better than all Captains.

In short, he was the Captain of the Various-People-Who-Died-At-Sea.

An unenviable task she set him, that is. To ferry people's souls to the world beyond. The foolish little boy accepted the post very happily, I think, he thought that my Lady really loved him!

Fool.

Love, is for little monkies who live too short lives.

For a creature, a thing, an elemental, a monster like my Lady, love, what is love?

Loving someone when you are an immortal who was there when They bound Time and forced it to sleep is unthinkable. They all go too fast. Silly monkies who sing about unrequited love and passion, love for other monkies and gods and immortals, they all do not understand what love is.

Do you not understand, my little monkies?

Things like my Lady do not love.

Mayhaps I cannot offer an opinion on this matter. As far as I know, most monkies who see me run screaming in the other direction. It certainly might sound hypocrital if a being like me was to offer opinions on the slightly thorny subject of love. You may refuse to listen to me on this matter and go on being in love with my Lady or whatever immortal or monkey you have find yourself mired in sticky, gooey love for.

And probably find yourself weeping to an empty room after they have so callously ignored your advances on them.

Weeping to yourself is better than creating soppy, sentimental love ballads and squalling them out to the cold night air. Honestly, the vocals. Horrendously off and disgustingly high-pitched. I can tolerate high-pitched screeches, but not if they come from men and crack halfway through the notes. Still, the vocals are still much more tolerable than the horrible prose they come up with.

Ugh. Some examples, I tell you. Monkies who twist and desecrate words to such an extent should be strung up and flayed alive.

I prefer what my little monkey did, though.

When my Lady abandoned him and danced off merrily into the waiting arms of another monkey, my little monkey carved his heart out and stuck it into a chest. Very efficient. No caterwauling to the poor Moon and Stars about lost love and all that, no torturing of Words, no irritating outlandish performances of love... Just a very sharp knife stuck through the chest to prevent him from ever loving another again.

Come to think of it, it is slightly outlandish.

But he is immortal after all... Or as long as my Lady sees fit.

When she removes his immortality, it would be an interesting sight to see what transpires.

However, she needs a cleaner to clear up those souls. So she might allow him to keep his title as the Captain of Various-Dead-People-Who-Died-At-Sea... Maybe, maybe. He is an alright person to talk to, though. Slightly quirky and possesses a sufficiently evil sense of humor when he feels like it. Swimming by that massive wooden thing she gave to him had became a favourite past time of mine.

I am old. Old, old, and going to be very much more older in a matter of milleniums or so. I hope I live that long. I suppose I would... The world would need something like me to keep the little stories alive. The mer-creatures had long died, the last had succumbed to a disease. The Fair Folk... Conniving little snots. Left the world when the monkies had proven themselves to be a lot more smarter than them.

The immortals have taken a backseat on matters important, Time is still very much asleep, thank the ... Universe. I suppose. Little stories and all that. Reminders of a time past. Monsters under your bed. Fairy dust and lucky charms. Curses and forests who move overnight. We all need reminders of the old times. I am old, and I will soon forget. Hell, I am already losing my memory.

Little monkies.

Never would have thought that we would bow down to them.

And... It is done. Please R&R. (hope the ending doesn't sound too... wavy-ish. . I have a terrible relationship with endings.)