Author's Note: I've been busy working, and I felt that maybe a nice little series of sepia memories and moments would help keep us all interested for a while. By the way, as a disclaimer, Cowboy Bebop definitely does not belong to me. Now, on with the show.
A Disjointed Haze
I don't know where it began, but there are a few colors that I simply can't look at anymore. Primarily the color blue, everything else just tumbles onto the list based upon various reasons. Maybe if it's worth the time and some reminiscent switch turns on, I'll divulge my conscious color carefulness during a smoke.
Probably a balmy afternoon on the deck… definitely during a smoke…
In the meantime, I wouldn't spend much time wondering about it. Don't ponder it at all. I was messed up since I came to be born into this new world of gadgets, recklessness and good old guns. It's a shame that even guns where new to me. I know that now. I know that detail for sure.
I know details, those precious details of my life, now because I've finally awoken to what I was arisen to. Like a free bird, I now can have the leisure to hold on to my past or simply move on. No strings attached. It's actually quite simple. Everything to do with my past is dead, except Jet, Ed, Ein, some nameless acquaintances, a few ghosts, oh…and me.
Can the Bebop be considered alive?
If it is, than it has swallowed me. It has swallowed all my facetious sorrows that I carried for the first three and a half years and accepted me. Like an adoptive home. Today marks the day that I am six. Six years after being risen from my cold submerged vessel of stimulated life machines.
And it's been three years.
It's been three years since I learned that I was still a child that was lost.
The Romani.
I was lost, but now I am not. In a generation where no one can be claimed, I was finally claimed. The transition of my most wanted memories into just another fact stored in my mind's treasure chest was quite smooth. I made a new one for the past three years everyday on this fishing ship turned galactic sailboat. I became someone that I accepted.
I don't need to attract attention with my taxi-yellow vinyl; I simply turn eyes 'cause I am Faye –mother fucking- Valentine.
And I am six years old now.
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