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Chapter 1: The Arrival.
The sunlight throws us down into abandon as we plummet rapidly into the depths of the ocean. An estranged darkness shrouds the bathysphere windows like spilled ink. We advance farther and farther into the depths of the unknown. To Rapture. Our journey is still and quiet, I say not a word to Father.
For future reference my name is Emile Myers, 17 years old, daughter of Dr. Myers. I dropped out of school quite some time ago as Father lost his job, in the depression. I like the rain, graham crackers, and particle physics. My hair is chestnut brown, I have dark green eyes, and a short slim body. Father always says I ought to maintain a strong identity wherever I go, but I can't help but think if I'm finding it in the right places. Where is the mirror and where should I find it? A question I ask myself nearly every day.
"Were almost here kiddo," says Father looking out the window, "Can't you smell the freedom, can't you smell the success darling?" He chuckles to himself and lights a cigarette.
Among the colossal buildings strung with neon lights, the little beds of swaying sea weed, and the sheer magnificence of the city, Yes, I think to myself, yes I can smell it.
The people scream in terror, the plunge of a sharpened knife, no time to say thank you, we gotta run, can't you see.
"Look, Emile, we've had a tough time up at the surface," says my Father dusting off his fedora. "I've lost my job because of that fucking depression, tough shit. Mother ran away and we've been living off dimes and nickels for as long as I can remember." I look at him not saying a word.
"I want to make it up to you Emile, I want to be the Father I'd always wanted to be for you," he whispered through a heavy sigh. He scratches at his stubbly chin.
"I know," I say tapping the brass floors of the Bathysphere with my worn leather shoes. "I know."
He bought me a car on my 16th birthday, even though we didn't have the money, I later found out he had stolen it. He brought me a Madeleine Vionnet ball gown for my first date, I later found out he had stolen it from a prostitute. His intentions were good; the ends always justified the means. I 'm not so sure now.
"Father, do you think what you did was wrong?" I ask quietly after quiet some time. "Hurting all those people up there? To get into here?" Father turns around to look at me.
Wipe off the blood with the clear stream of a flask. Clean ourselves off. "A little gin will rid us of this deed."
"Darling of course not," he smiles. "A little immediate suffering isn't so bad for all those people. They don't like us. But they would if they got to know us, right?"
I sigh, and pace around the room.
"Kiddo, just think of it as just taking their acts of kindness, if you learn one thing in this lifetime. No one is going to give you anything in this world. Ya just gotta take it. Simple as that. Those who don't succeed in life are just a bunch of goddamn lazy bums anyways." He opens another carton of cigarettes.
True, true, I think. We have to take, take, take; it's all we've been doing ever. But what about other people? What about victims of circumstance. The people who can't help themselves. What about them? How do we find the mirror? How do we find it?
A severed hand falls limp on the ground. The invisible hand ain't too invisible.
Father walks up to me and kisses me on the forehead.
"I love you kiddo, you're my girl," says my father stroking my long heavy brown curls. "My beautiful special little girl." I smile and rest my head against his shoulder feeling his hard shoulder dig into my neck.
"I love you too Father." I whisper.
Suddenly our Bathysphere rises a storm of swirling bubbles clouds the window. My heart quickens in excitement. Small streams of warm incandescent light pour through the window: the true light I think. We finally rise to the surface, looking about our surroundings in wonder. The door opens. We walk out.
"Welcome to Rapture," bellows the bathysphere operator. "Enjoy your stay." We thank him and step on the smoothed white tiles. The hum and bustle of people exhilarates us. Advertisements for products we've never dream to hear us, beautiful women bearing their film star beauty, men clad in white lab coats carrying research papers, and the light, the goddamn beautiful light.
"We're gonna build ourselves beautiful lives here. I just know it," speaks Father.
Yes, I think, yes. There is hope. A future.
A life, a new life watered in blood.
Et tu brute?
Yes, there is hope.