R: Happy Friday everyone ^^
Cat: Still in a good moon?
R: Not really.
Cat: Well, that's better than nothing.
Disclaimer:: Neither Riika not Cat own Doctor Who or its characters.
The cold breeze of winter drifted through the broken windows, sending a shiver down his spine. He pulled his coat tighter around himself, though it didn't help much. He spliced two wires together, secured them there, and sat back on his heels, double checking that everything was in its proper place. He moved the flashlight to inspect another section of wires, the thin beam of light barely enough to prove there were no flaws. Satisfied that there was nothing wrong with his work, he clicked the panel back into place, sealing it shut. He turned away from his project and moved to stand beside the control panel on the other side of the little room. He took a deep breath and flipped a switch. Something beeped, the ivy-covered walls swallowing the sound that normally would have echoed around the room. It cut off abruptly after the third tone. The light flickered on overhead, casting a greenish glow over the rusting machinery. He stood in silence for a moment, watching as his creation breathed for the first time, and he crossed the room to stand near it. A smile formed on his lips as he ran a hand through his spiky brown hair. He let his arm drop to his side and said, "Now, open your eyes."
All I could see when my eyes opened was light. It was blinding. I leaned back, connecting with something solid. Shifting my gaze away from the brightness, I took in my surroundings. It wasn't nearly as bright as I had thought it would be when I was looking at the light. Everything was shadowed in a muted green and the scent of metal hung heavy in the air. Machines that were rusted and broken lined the walls, cracked monitors hanging above them. I wasn't sure that they worked, but there were lights blinking on a few so I assumed that they did. The two windows set on the far side of the room were broken as well, sharp shards of glass being the last remnants of the panes that had once kept the wind out. It was dark out, I noticed, and there was a faint crescent of moon just barely visible from where I sat. If I had to guess, dawn was not far off.
I turned my attention to the man standing before me, observing him. His hair was a dark brown and stuck up in a naturally unnatural way. He was tall, I noted, though not much taller than myself. I didn't know how I knew this, but I did. I knew a lot of things that didn't make sense. He looked thin, as if he hadn't been eating enough, his clothes hanging slightly since they didn't quite fit. He smiled wearily. "Good morning," he greeted.
"Good morning." That was the first time I ever heard my voice. It sounded odd, like it wasn't mine.
"Do you know who I am?" he asked.
"You are my creator," I answered.
He nodded. "Is the system working properly?"
I didn't have to check. "No problems."
"Then, your name is… Jack."
He spent the rest of the day asleep after several sleepless nights. I sat in the living room during this time, observing the world outside through the gaping hole in the wall. Snow fell, turning the bare ground to a glittering white. There was no moon that night, just darkness. I had searched for tools, aiming to fix the walls and the windows to keep the wind out, but I found nothing to work with. So, I returned to one of the two chairs in the living room instead and sat staring out at the snow as it steadily fell.
Dawn was creeping up by the time he awoke. He joined me in the living room, taking the only other chair. "Good morning," he said with a yawn.
"Good morning," I answered in the same monotone as before. My voice still didn't sound like my own.
"I was thinking we should go out today, do something fun," he said as he combed his fingers through his hair.
Fun? I didn't know that word. Its definition was in my memory, but I didn't understand it. "If that will please you," I replied.
He let out a soft sigh before the leaving the room again. When he returned a few minutes later he was dressed in a suit, which, I noticed, also seemed too big for him and appeared to be a bit out-dated. He tied the laces of his sneakers and straightened out again. He offered me his hand. The action was in my memory, though its purpose eluded me. I didn't move and for a moment I could see a hint of a frown in his features, but he took my hand in his, as though it were a normal thing to do. He smiled slightly, that crooked smile that I had seen before, and led me out of our little house and into the snowy world outside.
It was my first time outside of the house and all I could see was mist. It hung heavy in the air, blocking out the world around us. It seemed endless as we walked through it but he seemed to know where we were going, and as we neared the valley that sat at the bottom of our hill it began to clear. I could see the village by the time we reached flat ground. It was small, but it was enough for the people who lived there. The buildings looked to be in better shape than our home. I didn't see any broken windows or walls with great holes in them, but the wood looked old, like it would soon need replacing.
He brought me to the first shop we encountered, a hat shop. I sat on one of the stools, watching as he roamed about the empty shop, grabbing this hat or that. Often he would walk over, place a hat on my head, consider it for a moment, and then bring it back to where it had been before. I didn't know why, but it didn't matter. It was a hat not a new head. Not that that would really matter either. I haven't seen my face yet, or really anyone's but his, so a new head wouldn't matter either. I considered this as he set another hat on my head. He nodded his approval and took my hand again, leading me to the counter. He paid for the hat, which remained on my head, and pulled me through the door back into the streets.
The next place we went was a clothing store. I watched as he moved about the racks, picking up things at random. He made me try them all on, which only took me a few moments to figure out how to do. That, it seemed, was in my memory as well. He critiqued each one, deciding whether or not it looked good on me. I didn't understand what he was talking about, but it seemed to make him happy. "Happy" was an emotion, so my mental dictionary told me, and it was "good". I didn't know what "happy" was like but if it was "good", then it was "good" that he was "happy". He paid for the clothes as well, carrying them in a bag that hung from his free hand, the other clasped around my own once more.
The mist had cleared during the day, sunlight causing the brilliantly white snow to glitter. A word popped into my head, the definition following it. Beautiful. If I could get into his head that would be the word he was thinking. We spent the rest of the day in a similar fashion. He found things, decided I needed them, and bought them. I still didn't understand this, but I didn't say anything about it. Occasionally he would ask my opinion about something but the only answer I could give was to say that he knew better than I what must be "good". He didn't let my lack of opinion bother him, though. He said it was okay that I didn't know, that I thought he knew the way this world worked better. He said that he didn't mind, but his eyes told a different story. There was something there that didn't suggest that it was as fine as he said it was. But I didn't know what it was. How could I?
We had returned home by sunset and he had made dinner. I watched in silence as he ate, discussing various topics I had no comment on. I cleaned the dishes while he took a bath and took the time to dry them and put them away as well. When he returned, I was sitting in my chair in the living room again, staring out at the snow. He pulled his chair beside mine and sat. His arm brushed mine and he shivered. Was I cold? I didn't know. We sat in silence for a while before he spoke. "Are you happy here, Jack?" he asked, his gaze focusing on the same snowy spot I had looked upon the night before.
I still didn't know what "happy" was. Was I happy? Was it even possible for me to be happy? I didn't know. "Are you happy?" I replied, skipping my answer all together.
He contemplated this for a moment. "Yes, I am," he said after a minute.
"That is good," I told him, remembering that my memory had said it was a good thing.
He laughed, it was soft, hollow, but it was a laugh all the same. "Yeah. I want you to be happy too, Jack. If there's ever anything you want, just let me know."
I simply nodded; an act of acceptance I remembered from somewhere. A book, maybe. Want was in my dictionary as well. I didn't want anything. "It is late," I observed as the mist started settling upon the snow again.
"Indeed it is. I should be getting to bed. I want to take you to the city tomorrow."
"The city?" I repeated. City was also in my dictionary. I hadn't seen a city nearby on any side of the hill. The closest thing to us was the village at the bottom of the hill.
"It's a few miles west of us. If we leave by nine we can be there before noon," he answered. I nodded again. I knew what that meant. He stood and ruffled my hair. Brown strands hung in front of my eyes. I made no attempt to move them. "Good night, Jack," he said as he stood.
"Good night," I copied. I didn't know what was so "good" about the night, but that didn't matter. He left then, going to his room for the night, a smile on his face that didn't resemble "happy". "Sad", my mental dictionary provided, was the right word to describe it and "sad" was "bad". I remained in my chair, looking out over the snowy hilltop.
The night passed slowly, though that may have been because I didn't move much. There was no need to. Dawn eventually came. I stood from my chair and emptied the contents of one of the shopping bags onto the dusty floor. I found one of the outfits he had bought me yesterday that had the same colors as my new hat. I changed and placed all the contents back in the bag before setting the hat on my head. There was a broken mirror in the bathroom that I stood in front of for a few minutes, trying to see the way he did.
The hat on my head was a fedora, I noted, and it was black with a white band around it. My outfit resembled my hat, black jeans with a black button up shirt and a white belt. Whether he had done that on purpose, I didn't know. My hair was brown, the same color as his, but mine was flat unlike his. My face was angular but not dramatically so, and my blue eyes were dull, the lively glimmer I could always see in his eyes was non-existent in my own.
I returned to the living room when I heard him wake, dressing for the day. I slid on my shoes, simple black sneakers that matched my clothes, and waited. He seemed pleased when he saw me wearing my new outfit. He was wearing something new as well, a new suit he had bought yesterday as well as a heavy brown coat that reached to his knees. The coat wasn't new. He had been wearing it when I woke up a few days before. It still looked too big for him.
We left right away. He took my hand again, leading me in the opposite direction from the village. As he predicted, we made it to the city before noon. The clock on the tower claimed it was 11:38 in the morning. I followed him through the streets, which were significantly more crowded than those of the village, making sure he had my hand so I wouldn't lose him. We went into several shops like the ones we had gone to the day before and he bought me more clothes and things I didn't know I "needed". He tried to teach me how to sing but I couldn't do it right. He said I'd "get it eventually".
It was well into the afternoon by the time he decided we should leave. We stopped in one last shop before heading back to our house on the hill. It reminded me of the lab I had woken up in except the machines were all new and shiny and the building was in much better condition. I waited by the door as he spoke to the shopkeeper. He bought something that looked like a small rectangle of metal and we returned home for the night.
As soon as we were home he went straight to his computer. I followed him, watching as he inserted the metal piece into his computer. The screen turned black and numbers scrolled on the screen in a blocky green font. New numbers replaced the old, joined by seemingly random phrases and symbols. I didn't know what they meant, but he seemed to since he began the tedious task of counter-typing right away. I returned to the living room and set my hat on the worn-out dresser that sat in the corner. The light in the socket above my chair still didn't work but I could see just fine. The dust-covered floor resembled the rest of the house, old and dappled with holes. Broken boards lay across the floors, half nailed into place and the walls so fully covered in ivy parted only for the spaces where glass or wood had been removed. The hole in the wall seemed bigger today, a chunk of the ceiling edge had fallen and quickly been covered over by white powder. I sat in my chair and watched as the snow continued to fall.
I could hear him moving from one room to another on occasion, be it to sleep for an hour or to get something to eat. Four nights passed and with them, four dawns. I stood then and returned to the lab where I found him still at his computer. I watched as new numbers and letters and symbols appeared on the screen, pushing the old ones over the top. The sun was on its descent when he finally paused. He tapped a few keys to make the numbers stop scrolling and stood from his chair, going to the kitchen. I followed him, sitting at the table in silence.
He joined me a moment later. "I've figured out the problem," he started, "I know what it is that you need, Jack."
That word again. Need. I still didn't understand it. "Need?" I responded, echoing his statement.
"It's the one thing that I never made for you before your birth. A heart," he answered.
Heart. That word was in my mental dictionary. It was an organ that pumped blood through the body. I had a heart; I could feel it in my chest. Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump. That was the sound a heart made, so my dictionary told me. My heart made that noise. Was something wrong with this one that needed replacing?
My lack of response didn't seem to bother him, as if he expected it. "Not the organ," he explained, guessing my train of thought, "I gave you one of those hearts. Yours doesn't pump blood, though, it pumps electrical currents. You have wires where humans have veins but don't worry about that. It's not important." He set his plate in the sink and took my hand again, leading me back to the living room. He sat in his chair and I sat in mine, watching as he seemed to forget for a moment what we had been discussing. "A heart," he finally continued, "allows you to feel emotions. Happiness, sadness, anger. At the moment, you can't feel those things. Emotions are what make us able to connect to one another, to make decisions, to live."
I waited for him to continue, no words forming a response that I could give him. He spoke again after a quiet minute, still not seeming to have expected a response. "You don't understand emotions yet, even though you know what they mean. You can't even feel the confusion that comes with not understanding, can you?" He paused, as if waiting for a response but not giving time for one, not that I had one to give. "Of course not. You don't know what confusion is like so how could you be confused? No matter." He fell silent again. We sat like that for a while, the sun falling closer to the horizon by the minute. "I'm trying to create a heart for you, Jack," he said at last. "I want you to be able to feel what emotions are like. I want you to be able to understand. It may take a while. The program is very complicated and it won't be easy to configure it to work with your system. But I promise you, Jack, I will finish it."
Promise. That word stuck out, its definition popping into my head automatically. Promise: to assure someone that one will definitely do, give, or arrange something; to undertake or declare that something will happen. A heart. He promised to make a heart. I could know what "happy" was and why it was such a "good" thing. I could know "sad" and see why it's "bad". Based on what I knew, a heart would be "good". I thought of the promise again. I would have a heart, he said so. He would keep his promise. It was one of the many things I knew but didn't know how I knew. "Promise accepted," I said, shifting my gaze back out to the snowy night.
He laughed. It was different from before, less hollow and more genuine. This, too, was "good". He stood from his chair and came to stand behind me. He pulled his fingers through my hair, combing it back and out-of-the-way. He seemed "happy" as he did so. Then he turned away. "I'm going back to work," he said before returning to his computer.
I remained unmoving, then, watching the world outside through the three-foot wide field of vision of the hole in the wall. I watched as the sun rose and as it fell each day. I watched the snow melt and then re-cover the land. I watched as the deceptive spring melted once again and the flowers bloomed at last. I watched as the sweeping pastel hues of spring gave way to the vibrant colors of summer. The plants longed for rain each day and then when it did rain, once or twice a week, they seemed "happy". I watched the flowers as they wilted, dying off in the changing weather, and the vibrant summer faded into the warm tones of fall. Fall quickly faded into winter, taking over the world once more with whiteness.
A month had passed since winter began when I saw him again. He joined me in the living room on that morning, a smile upon his face. "Happy birthday, Jack," he said. Birthday: the celebration of the day of one's birth. I didn't know I had a birthday. He ran a hand through his silver hair, a habit of his I had noticed long ago. "I got you a present but you'll have to wait until spring. It wouldn't hold up well here over the winter," he explained.
I didn't answer.
He spent the rest of the day with me, though we didn't do much. He took me back to the City where he bought me a rose. He tucked it in the pocket of my shirt, claiming it "just looked right". Not much else happened and we returned home before sundown. He went back to his work; I sat in my chair again, watching time pass me by.
Spring came and he left one day to go to the City on his own. He returned just after noon with a sapling. "I thought you might like to have something pretty to look at since you're always watching the world from inside," he explained. I helped him plant it on the left side of my field of vision through the hole. It was positioned so that when it grew, the trunk wouldn't completely block the view over the hill. It was a Weeping Willow tree, barely reaching to my waist in its infant stage. He named it Willow the Magnificent, so I "wouldn't think she was sad". I didn't understand why he would think that, but I simply said it was a "good" name.
Spring passed, and then summer and fall and all that I time I sat in my chair, watching as my Willow grew. I didn't hear him move much during that time, only when he needed something. Then it was my birthday again. He brought me to a different City on that day. It reminded me of home with its dark streets and crumbling buildings. It was crowded; the people all dressed darkly and huddled in small groups. The snow on the ground that day looked like wet ash, as if everything had been burning and now it had finally stopped. He bought me a new flower and tucked it in my pocket like he did the year before. We didn't stay long in that City, but I could see that it was very different from the one I knew. He confided in me later that we didn't stay long because it had changed since the last time he had been there and that there was something strange going on there that gave him a bad feeling. We returned home and he went to work; I watched my tree.
The seasons passed more quickly as I watched my Willow grow from a little sapling into a full-grown tree. I didn't see him any other day than my birthday, which he always took the time off to celebrate in the same way. We would go to the City, sometimes different cities, far away, we would spend the day wandering around, he would buy me a new flower and then we would return home, falling right back into our normal routine. The other three hundred and sixty-four days of the year, I watched my tree. I watched as the leaves budded and bloomed, turning from vibrant green to yellow to white and then watching as they fell away, to be reborn again next spring.
The years passed in this way and before he knew it, his brown hair had turned a dark shade of gray. He pointed it out to me on my 23rd birthday, though I had already noticed. I told him it was a natural occurrence, as I had remembered it was. He laughed. More years passed and he continued to grow older. I did not.
My 68th birthday was one I would not soon forget. We left for the City, like always. I followed him down the familiar path. It had been a number of years since we had been to our City and it hadn't changed in all that time. I kept getting strange looks, though. People I had come to know by name were looking at me with some emotion other than the usual "kindness". I didn't know what it was. He kept me close to him as we walked and I knew he could see and understand the weird looks better than I could. He bought my flower, tucked it in my pocket, and we went home. He sighed upon entering the broken building, tossing his jacket over the back of his chair. "Don't pay them any mind, Jack. It's nothing to worry about," he told me before sitting in front of his computer again. I watched him work for a while before returning to my tree.
He called me into the lab an hour before the turn of the day. He spun around in his chair to face me. "I finished it, Jack. I finished your heart," he told me. He dropped his head into his hands and took a deep breath. When he looked at me again I could see the wet streaks of tears down his wrinkled face. "It's finished, Jack," he repeated. He glanced up at me, his brown eyes bright with the reflection of green light from the monitor. He took my hand, his expression serious. I had only seen that expression a few times before and it usually meant there was something important he had to say. "Don't ever open this system," he told me, "It might be too much for you." He sighed again, standing from his chair. He embraced me, then, and his tears fell onto my shoulder, dampening the sleeve of my shirt. "I did the best I could, Jack. I finished it but you'll never be able to use it. I'm sorry," he whispered, seemingly unable to speak louder. "Sorry" was in my dictionary as well. I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing instead. He composed himself, sniffling a bit and pulling away. "I'm going to see if I can make a few final adjustments to the program. You can go back to living room if you want." I didn't "want" to go back to the living room, but I did. I sat in my chair, gazing out at my Willow, who was dusted with fresh snow.
Morning came and he joined me in the living room, his eyes shadowed from another sleepless night. "I have to go out, Jack. I won't be back for a while. Be good while I'm gone, okay?" he said. He was smiling but it was what my dictionary had long ago deemed a "sad" smile. I nodded; acceptance of an order that time. I watched him leave, watched as his brown coat disappeared among the snow.
He didn't say goodbye.
Spring came and went. So did summer. And fall. My birthday was approaching and he still hadn't returned. Six days left.
Willow's leaves fell off. She seemed to be weeping more than ever that day. Five days left.
The beetle that had sheltered here ran over my foot. Four days left.
Another petal fell off the iris he had gotten me last year. That made five. Three days left.
More of the roof collapsed, creating a hole in the floor where it landed. Two days left.
The computer in the lab beeped, as if waiting for him to return. One day left.
The flower fell from my pocket, the stem landing among the long fallen petals. Zero days left.
My birthday passed the same as any other day that year. He didn't come home. It was the first time he had missed my birthday. My birthday was the one thing he always remembered. I received no flower that day and my ribbon remained in the corner where the wind had blown it. My birthday was a day like any other that year and it passed slowly.
The next year passed the same way as always, save for the lack of footsteps now and then. Winter approached once more and he still hadn't returned. My 70th birthday was the same as my 69th. I remained unmoving. I was waiting. I didn't know it then, but I was waiting for him to return. Every year I would listen for the sound of footsteps on wood that would tell me he was home. Every year it remained silent. I watched as Willow went through her season changings and I watched as pieces of the ceiling and wall fell to dust on the floor, widening my view of the outside world. The only "people" I saw in all that time were the animals who roamed the hilltop, climbing about my Willow.
I turned 98. He still hadn't returned.
I next saw a real person in the spring of the following year. Three boys, no older than seventeen, had wandered up the hill to our home. I could see them through the window and their voices drifted on the wind. "This is the place?" the tallest of the three asked.
The middle one nodded. "They say this place is haunted by the ghost of a boy who was abandoned by his master." Is he talking about me? I thought. But… he didn't abandon me. Right?
"Master? Was he a slave or something?" the shortest asked.
"No, but he wasn't his father or his grandfather or his lover, so what else is there to call him except a pet?" the middle one answered.
"He could have just been a friend who was staying with him," the shorter argued.
"No way. My great grandma told me that she first saw them together when she was our age and when she saw them again in her fifties, the boy hadn't aged a day. She said she was sure it was some sort of genetically altered person, an experiment," the middle one countered.
"Really? That's pretty freaky," the shorter replied. The other two nodded their agreement.
I watched as they disappeared from sight of the window and turned my attention back to my tree. Then I heard footsteps, the sound of boots on wood. They were in the house. I could still hear them talking, though it was muffled.
"Whoa, look at this computer. It's ancient!" That was the taller one.
"Does it still work?" asked the shorter. I heard one of them press a few buttons and the computer beeped to life. "Cool! What do you think this is?" He got no answer and they didn't press any more buttons. I heard them move from the lab to the kitchen, which would be just as he left it, dishes still in the cabinets and his chair slightly askew. They didn't say much in this time. I heard the footsteps move closer, entering the doorway to the living room and then they stopped short.
"Guys, that's him," the middle one whispered.
"Really? Think he can hear us? Should we talk to him?" the shorter asked. They seemed to have decided yes, as they moved closer. They stopped a few feet back from me. I didn't turn.
"Hello," the taller greeted me, "can you hear me?" I simply nodded and heard them all let out a collectively held breath. "Are you all alone here?" he asked. I shook my head. I wasn't alone. I had Willow. "Where are the others, then?" I pointed at the tree through the hole and then brought my arm back to its former position. "You're here with the tree?" He seemed skeptical. I nodded again. "Are you alive?" That seemed like an odd question. I listened to my heart thump for a moment before nodding. I was alive. My heart was still beating. I nodded. "Where's your master?" he asked. I didn't know. He still hadn't returned. I shook my head. "You don't know?" I shook my head again, causing a few strands of hair to come loose, hanging in front of my eyes. "Have you been here long?" I nodded. He fell silent for a moment. "What's your name?"
"Jack," I answered, my tone was as flat as it always had been. I heard them take a startled step back, likely not expecting me to be able to speak.
"Okay, Jack, how long have you been here alone?" he asked after he composed himself.
"Thirty years."
"You've been alone for thirty years?" He seemed surprised. I nodded. "Why didn't you ever leave?" he asked.
"He will be back in a while," I answered. That's what he had told me. He would be back in a while. I believed him. The answer was simple but they didn't seem to understand.
"He said he'd be back but he hasn't yet, has he?" I shook my head. "So you're still waiting." I nodded. That was the best way to describe it. "Why don't you look for him?"
"He said he would return," I stated. That was all I had to say. I was told to be good and he would come back. I had been good. He hadn't come back.
"Would you like us to help you find him?" he asked, coming a few steps closer.
"He will return," I said again. He would, he said so.
"What's the program on the computer for?" he asked, dropping the subject since it clearly wasn't going anywhere.
"A heart," I answered.
"A heart?"
"So I can be "happy". He said not to open it."
"You can't be happy now?" I shook my head. "Why?"
"I do not have the ability to feel emotion."
"So he made you a program so that you could but told you not open it?" I nodded. "Why?" I shook my head. I didn't know. He had said I wouldn't be able to handle it but I didn't know what that meant. He moved to stand in front of me, blocking my view of Willow. He was tall, as I had noted before, and his hair was a mess of brown curls that fell to his shoulders. He held my gaze, his chocolate-brown eyes bright. "You should open it, then. He made it for you, after all," he said. I didn't answer. He sighed. "Why don't you leave?"
"He's coming back." They still didn't understand. The taller boy's friends had come to join him and my view of outside was blocked completely. The shorter one had red hair and glasses that hid his green eyes, the middle one had black hair like mine and blue eyes. Both of them seemed surprised at my appearance. I could see how clear it was that they didn't understand why I stayed. He would be back, that was all. He said so.
"You've been waiting thirty years, Jack. I don't think he's coming back," the taller said. His tone had dropped. It was soft now, almost sad.
"He said he would," I persisted.
"He was in his eighties when he was last seen by anyone and you were with him. If you've been alone for thirty years then he's already passed away. He's never coming back."
Dead. He was saying that he was dead. It was impossible. He couldn't be dead. He said he would be back. He was coming back. Wasn't he?
"Why don't you come back to the City with us? I'm sure we could find someplace for you," he offered.
I shook my head. "He will return and I will wait."
He sighed again but shrugged. "All right. I admire your loyalty. Do you need anything? Do you want us to come by and keep you company?" he asked. I shook my head no again. I didn't need anything, I didn't want anything. "I guess we'll go then. We'll tell everyone this place isn't haunted so that no one bothers you. I hope he comes back for you," he said. His friends seemed hesitant to leave but he pulled them along through the hole in the wall and back down the hill. I didn't see any more people after that.
Willow was blooming again. She looked "happier" than she had in a while. I watched her shift through seasons and I counted birthdays as they went by. 126. 167. 211. All the time I was waiting for him to return, to hear him call out from the lab that he was home, that he had lost track of time. But the house remained silent and the years continued to pass.
342. By then I knew that the boy had told the truth when he said that he had passed on but still I waited.
Winter had come again and so had my birthday. I was 380 that year. A bird flew through the window, escaping the harsh winter winds. He had forgotten to fly south this year. I had seen him a lot in the past few weeks since the snow started. He sat on my shoulder for a while and then flew down the hall to the lab. I heard the soft thud as he landed and then there was a beeping. It rang loud and clear through the air, thought its echo was thwarted from amplifying the sound.
I stood for the first time in over three hundred years and I followed the robin. It sat on the back of the chair that was at the computer. It had apparently landed on the keyboard, having accidentally turned the computer on. The green text sat still on the screen, a message box open in the center read "SYSTEM "Heart" READY. DOWNLOAD?" with "YES" and "NO" options. I could hear the whisper of his voice on the wind saying, "Don't ever open this system."
So this was it, then? The heart he spent all his life working on for me. The one he finished on the day he left. Despite the wind reminding me that he had said not to open it, I knew I would. I didn't understand the pull I felt that made me think this, but it was right. I would open it. I reached out a hand and lightly tapped my index finger on the "YES" button. The screen immediately jumped to life, numbers and letters and symbols racing across the black. They moved so quickly I had a hard time keeping up. I saw the screen go blank. The last thing I saw was the robin as it tweeted nervously and then everything went black.
I blinked my eyes open to find myself on the floor of the lab where I had fallen. I stood dizzily, gripping the chair for support. The computer screen remained black and only came back to life when I hit every button I could. I exited out of the program and saw that his desktop was a picture of us on my first birthday. His smile was genuine and he looked happy. I felt my heartbeat accelerate slightly and something wet fell on my cheek. I wiped it away only to find it replaced a moment later by more. Tracing the source, I realized they were tears. I had seen him cry a few times, I knew what tears were, but I had never cried them before. How was I crying? My heart felt heavy in my chest, like it had gained several pounds per second since I woke up. Studying the picture again, I saw how emotionless I looked, how unfeeling. I wondered how that must have made him feel. Shifting my focus back to him, I felt the tears come stronger than before and I fell back into the chair. I wept into my hands with my knees against my chest.
Finally, I managed to calm down enough to stop sobbing. I wiped my eyes clear, though the tears continue to fall, and held out my hand. The robin flew down from the ceiling where it had perched and landed on my finger. He seemed concerned. I pet his head while I studied the picture again. Letting the robin move to the desk, I clicked a few shortcuts on the screen and pulled up a document titled with my name.
"Jack," it read, "if you're reading this then I know you've opened the program and found your way here. I am so sorry I lied to you but I won't be coming home. I know that you did what you thought was best and I know you won't regret that choice. I loved you those sixty-eight years we were together and you have been the best friend in the whole world. I regret not saying goodbye to you properly and I'm sorry that I can't be there to see you now. I want you to go and live your life. You may not have long so enjoy it while you can. I know you'll be someone great and you'll have a fantastic life. Live in the present, not the past, and look to the future for hope. Don't let anyone get you down. Remember how I tried to teach you to sing? I think you'll find you can do it now. So sing all your feelings if you want to. I leave to you everything I had. There should be more than enough in my account to get you started somewhere new. I only have one request: smile. I want you to smile. A smile is the sign of real happiness. I want you to be able to smile like that so I know that you're happy. Humor a dead man and do this for me? I hope you have a wonderful time in your new life. I love you very much, Kid. I wish you the best of luck."
I felt fresh tears on my cheeks as I read and I wept again. My heart clenched painfully as I thought of all the time that had passed since he had left. Over three-hundred years and I had been all alone. I was all alone and I didn't even know what that felt like. I could feel it now, how it made my heart so heavy. Was this sadness? Is this what he was like before he had me? And even then, I wasn't much for company, was I? A girl with no heart. It must have hurt him so to know that I couldn't smile for him. And yet, he always tried to smile for me. He tried so hard to be happy when he must have been so sad.
I stood, wiping away my tears. I forced myself to smile, my heart still heavy. "I... I love you too. I will sing for you," my voice cracked, but it finally sounded right to me, my own voice, belonging only to me. I shut down the computer and left the room, heading back to the living room. I found the bag of clothing and changed. I shivered at the wind coming through the hole in the wall, finally feeling the cold as he would have. I went into his room and found one of his jackets. It was a copy of the one he had been wearing when he left. I pulled it on and found it was cold, though it was warmer than staying exposed to the wind.
I returned to the living room and shoved all my clothing into a bag I found in the closet and slung it over my shoulder. I set my hat on my head and slid on my shoes, ready to go. I left when I was sure I had everything I would need. I stopped by my Willow and talked to her for a moment before making my way down the hill to the City. It was already almost nightfall and the setting sun made the snow glitter. It was beautiful. The City was lit up with lights as it usually was at night, but there was no one on the streets. Few shops were open. I stopped inside the first one I came across. I found the shopkeeper behind the front desk. "Where is everyone? The streets are usually full of people."
The look she gave me implied I should already know. "It's Christmas," she explained, "everyone is at home with their families celebrating. Is there something I can do for you?"
"Which way to the cemetery?" I asked after a moment. She pulled out a piece of paper and a pen and jotted down the directions, labeling the streets on her map. I took it from her and left, following the directions easily.
I came upon the cemetery quickly. He was buried here, I was sure of it. He had to be. I pushed the gate open and walked inside. The rows of stones were neat and tidy but many of them were broken and faded. I walked among them, pulling his coat tighter around me to block the wind. I read the names on each stone, though some were harder to make out than others. I was ready to leave when I noticed a stone that was mostly covered by plants. It was broken near the base and the top lay flat on the ground. Still, I could make out the name on the rock clearly enough in the fading light.
JOHN SMITH
AKA "THE DOCTOR"
DEC. 25, 539 - DEC. 26, 626
I sat beside the grave and cleared clumps of snow from the headstone. "I found you," I said. I had seen his name in one of the other documents I had opened before I found the letter. "I came to see you. It's Christmas, so they tell me. That's December 25th. Our birthday. Happy birthday, Doc. Finally, I'm the one who gets to say it. Sorry I took so long to come find you. I promise I'll smile and I'll live how you would have wanted me to. I'll be good, just like I said I would." Fresh tears had begun to fall but I still managed a smile.
I stood after a moment and returned to the shop I had gotten directions from. The woman seemed startled to find me in tears with a smile on my face. "Is everything okay?" she asked.
I nodded. "I've just been to visit my father," I answered.
"Your father? He must have died when you were very young, then, if he was buried there."
"Yeah, he did. It was a long time ago. This is the first time I've been able to come visit him. I have been away for a very long time, you see. I just moved here. Do you know if there's a place I could stay for the night? I haven't found a place yet."
She glanced at the time and locked the register. "I'm just on my way home now. You can stay with me for a while, if you would like," she offered. She held out her hand in greeting and I shook it. "I'm Myla."
"Jack. It's nice to meet you. I would love to stay with you, if you don't mind." I smiled. The Doctor had told me to smile, so I was going to. It would make him happy. I followed Myla out of the shop and down the street. The streetlights had come on, casting long shadows on the ground and the wind howled through the empty streets.
"So why did you come back? What are you here to do?" Myla asked curiously after a moment.
I shifted my hat so it wouldn't fall. "I'm here to sing. My father always told me that I would be a great singer when I was older. I think he was right," I explained. I had hummed a tune I remembered him singing long ago on the way back from the cemetery. I didn't sound bad, but I wasn't entirely sure.
She laughed quietly. "I see. Well, I'll help you out as soon as the holiday is over and done with. We can talk to Estria and see about getting you into the studio to record something. If she thinks you're any good that is." She laughed again and I laughed with her. It was a strange sound, but not in a bad way. I shivered again as the wind rolled through and I was glad I had thought to look for a jacket. We reached her home well before midnight. It was a little place, smaller than our home on the hill, but it was quaint. "You can take the room down that hall. It's just me here," she said.
"You're here all alone? Don't you get lonely?" I asked, remembering the dark feeling that had come over me after reading Soul's letter.
She shrugged. "It's not so bad. I like my privacy," she answered.
"Oh, I see. I suppose I've just been alone long enough to assume anyone who's alone is lonely," I said. She glanced at me and I saw sympathy in her blue eyes. I looked away. "Don't worry about it. I'll see you in the morning." I locked myself in my room after that, unsure of what to do now. I had time to waste while I waited for the holidays to pass. I slept for the first time that night and when I woke in the morning, I felt better. I went to work with Myla for the next few days, having nothing else to do.
The holidays passed and Myla took me to see this Estria woman. I sang for her the song the Doctor had sung to me on my twentieth birthday. I had a good voice, like he predicted I would. I could sing. How proud he would be to see me now. Estria told me I had a wonderful voice and she got me into the studio almost immediately. I sang every song I knew, each one I had heard him sing, each one I had heard in the Cities, even ones I made up on my own. I sang my heart out, every emotion I was capable of merging itself with the lyrics. It was beautiful. I left the studio feeling light as air. Myla said I did great, I told her I sang songs my father would be proud of.
Every day after that was routine. I would wake with Myla at seven, help her at work until 11, meet Estria at the studio at 11:30, record until 3, and help Myla until closing. Then we would go home, eat dinner, and sleep to start again the next day. We went on like this for a year. Estria had me do live shows on weekends sometimes. I was popular but not exactly famous, exactly how he would want me to be.
My birthday rolled around again. I told Myla I was 22, though this would be my 381st birthday. I bought myself a flower that year and I tucked it in my shirt pocket like he used to. Myla thought it was sweet when I explained.
Spring came again and that's when I first noticed it. My heart had an offbeat. Thump-thump, thu-thump. It was incomplete. What did that mean? I didn't mention it to Myla. I didn't want her to worry. A month later, that beat disappeared. Thump-thump-thump. That was it. My breaths were growing shorter. I visited the Doctor every month on the 25th. I talked to him, but I never got an answer. I knew it was impossible, but I always hoped.
Summer came; I had released a new album and gained more fans. I couldn't perform live as often, my heart was working at 75%. Myla made me tell her what was wrong, she told Estria. I only did half the shows I normally did in a week. I felt like I was letting my fans down but Estria wouldn't risk my health. By fall, my heart was functioning at 45%. I understood then why he told me not to open the program. It made sense. But he was right, I didn't regret my choice. By winter I could no longer perform live and recording took a long time. I managed to get through another album.
My birthday came again and I couldn't get out of bed at first. Myla told me to stay home. I told her I would. I felt bad for lying to her, but I couldn't tell her the truth. I left her a note telling her I went home and I visited the Doctor one last time at the cemetery. I fell beside the headstone, hardly able to stay standing. "Happy birthday," I said. I laughed weakly, smiling. "I guess... I'll see you soon."
Forcing myself up, I walked through town. The streets were as empty as they were the day I had arrived two years before. It seemed fitting to be leaving this way. I struggled my way up the hill to the old broken house that I had spent nearly four centuries in. It took twice as long as it had all the times before but I made it. I stood, clutching at my chest as my heart beat painfully against my ribs. "I'm home," I whispered.
I walked to my Willow. She seemed to be welcoming me back. I collapsed at the base of the tree, leaning against it. The ground around me was warmer than the rest and there was no snow to note beneath the bare branches of the tree. Late wilting primroses stood strong against the wind all around me. I looked out over the valley, watching the sun dip behind the mountains in the distance.
Something shimmered in my peripheral vision and I shifted my gaze to see what it was. I took a surprised breath as I saw the form of the Doctor standing on the other side of the branches, holding out his hand. He looked the same as he did the day I had been born. "Jack, let's go. We have so much to see," he said with that same crooked smile.
I grinned and reached out my hand. He seemed to walk through the branches without touching them and took my hand in his.
It was exactly a miracle. The robot that obtained a "heart" kept running. He sang all of his feelings. But the miracle lasted only a moment. The "heart" was far too big for him to withstand. At the end, the machine shorted and was never to move again. However, at the very last moment his face was still filled with a smile. And he really did look like an angel.
"Thank you... Doctor..."
R: So what did you think? I thought it came out pretty okay for a first person story. For those of you who don't know, I hate writing in first person. But I wrote this for a project and then adapted it so first person was required. The project was three times as long as it was supposed to be. Oops.
Cat: Riika, you need sleep. You look about ready to fall over.
R: Fine, fine. Until next time, Riika out, nya~