Hi. Consider this the obligatory introduction. Everyone knows that we
don't own any of these people. If the PTB decide to sue, we'll all be in
trouble. So, here goes. I wrote this a couple of years ago, but just now
got the courage to post it.
The book vaguely referred to is Imzadi by Peter David, and the Ray Bradbury story is "The Last Night of the World."
***********************************************************
Tick. Tick. Tick.
I stared at the knife lying on the bloody sheets of my bunk. The wet blade was dark in the bluish light from the aquatunnel. Tick. The watch I had bought on a whim last shore leave sat next to it, marking seconds marching away into the past.
I remembered a book I read years ago, so long I can't remember what it was called or what it was about, but in it was a grandfather clock. And a guy who had the clock in his office so that all day long he could listen to the clock tick tock the seconds away, marking the time passed since some tragedy.
Tick. Tick. At times I felt like that too. Maybe I can't specify an event, but it marks the time from a tragedy for me too. The tragedy of my life.
A lost childhood; the time when I should have been outside playing, making friends, being young, I instead spent inside, reading books, studying, programming the computer. At the time I hadn't minded, but now I regret it with all my heart. I yearned for a simple normal life, never mind the fact that everyone says nothing is truly normal or simple.
A normal life with normal parents who care. Parents that remember birthdays and celebrate holidays like Christmas or Thanksgiving. Parents who would speak to me, pay attention, not dump me on some boat in the middle of nowhere then forget that I'm there. Who would answer my e-mails and vidphone calls when I make them, not ignore me or even worse, answer then hang up after only a few seconds.
Sure the Captain tries, but he has the boat too, and Darwin. And who says he really cares about me? Only him, and only me. It's not as if no one's ever lied to me before, or me to myself. Mightn't he just be doing his job? Keeping the crew happy, keeping me happy so I'll keep Darwin talking, keep the boat from sinking? The thought had crossed my mind once or twice that my father might be paying him to be nice to me, but I had too much respect for him to believe that.
Tick. Tick.
I feel so safe when he hugs me, like nothing can harm me, that the world's all right. I've felt like that before. It's never been true. Everyone I turn to disappears when I need them, when I begin to trust them. I promised myself I'd never believe in anyone else. I can't let myself believe, or it'll be worse when I realize how much of a lie it is. It must be a lie. It always has been before.
Tick. Tick. I suddenly felt mad. Tick. Not ever a tock. Just the tick. Half of the sound counting the seconds of half a life. Stuck here beneath the ocean, never seeing sun, never having peers. Sure there is always the internex, but there's never any personal interaction. Being in a chat room going by a handle isn't the same as going to McDonalds and getting hamburgers, or hanging out at someone's house. All things I would never do.
Sure I had friends, but how good of friends? How many would truly miss me? And of those who would, how many would miss me for me and how many would miss the computer geek? I'd had friends like them in college, but haven't heard from them since I graduated.
Tick. A Bradbury story crossed my head. The people of the world knew the world would end. One by one, as night fell, they lay down to sleep knowing they would never wake up again. I felt that way; felt that my time was over, that my place in the world had ended. I'd drift off to my sleep of death.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Steady and monotonous, the watch kept ticking. It reminded me of something. Like water left dripping in a faucet. Marking the seconds of my life, marking the past, waiting for the future. But there was no future.
I reached out, turned it off, and drifted off into sleep.
The book vaguely referred to is Imzadi by Peter David, and the Ray Bradbury story is "The Last Night of the World."
***********************************************************
Tick. Tick. Tick.
I stared at the knife lying on the bloody sheets of my bunk. The wet blade was dark in the bluish light from the aquatunnel. Tick. The watch I had bought on a whim last shore leave sat next to it, marking seconds marching away into the past.
I remembered a book I read years ago, so long I can't remember what it was called or what it was about, but in it was a grandfather clock. And a guy who had the clock in his office so that all day long he could listen to the clock tick tock the seconds away, marking the time passed since some tragedy.
Tick. Tick. At times I felt like that too. Maybe I can't specify an event, but it marks the time from a tragedy for me too. The tragedy of my life.
A lost childhood; the time when I should have been outside playing, making friends, being young, I instead spent inside, reading books, studying, programming the computer. At the time I hadn't minded, but now I regret it with all my heart. I yearned for a simple normal life, never mind the fact that everyone says nothing is truly normal or simple.
A normal life with normal parents who care. Parents that remember birthdays and celebrate holidays like Christmas or Thanksgiving. Parents who would speak to me, pay attention, not dump me on some boat in the middle of nowhere then forget that I'm there. Who would answer my e-mails and vidphone calls when I make them, not ignore me or even worse, answer then hang up after only a few seconds.
Sure the Captain tries, but he has the boat too, and Darwin. And who says he really cares about me? Only him, and only me. It's not as if no one's ever lied to me before, or me to myself. Mightn't he just be doing his job? Keeping the crew happy, keeping me happy so I'll keep Darwin talking, keep the boat from sinking? The thought had crossed my mind once or twice that my father might be paying him to be nice to me, but I had too much respect for him to believe that.
Tick. Tick.
I feel so safe when he hugs me, like nothing can harm me, that the world's all right. I've felt like that before. It's never been true. Everyone I turn to disappears when I need them, when I begin to trust them. I promised myself I'd never believe in anyone else. I can't let myself believe, or it'll be worse when I realize how much of a lie it is. It must be a lie. It always has been before.
Tick. Tick. I suddenly felt mad. Tick. Not ever a tock. Just the tick. Half of the sound counting the seconds of half a life. Stuck here beneath the ocean, never seeing sun, never having peers. Sure there is always the internex, but there's never any personal interaction. Being in a chat room going by a handle isn't the same as going to McDonalds and getting hamburgers, or hanging out at someone's house. All things I would never do.
Sure I had friends, but how good of friends? How many would truly miss me? And of those who would, how many would miss me for me and how many would miss the computer geek? I'd had friends like them in college, but haven't heard from them since I graduated.
Tick. A Bradbury story crossed my head. The people of the world knew the world would end. One by one, as night fell, they lay down to sleep knowing they would never wake up again. I felt that way; felt that my time was over, that my place in the world had ended. I'd drift off to my sleep of death.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Steady and monotonous, the watch kept ticking. It reminded me of something. Like water left dripping in a faucet. Marking the seconds of my life, marking the past, waiting for the future. But there was no future.
I reached out, turned it off, and drifted off into sleep.