Two Head
Always, throughout our lives, we longed for independence of each other, to be known as two separate entities, to be addressed one after the other, not as "Bartholomew and Frederic."
Always, always Bartholomew and Frederic, never bothering to differentiate us, never bothering to ask us about our own successes and failures, always treating us as one whole. We may be twins, but we still are human.
Were.
It's...different, now. Two Head. The Twins. That's what we're called on this overgrown piece of floating kindling.
At least, when we were alive, we still had our names.
Even though people might have slurred them together, mixed up our identities and treated us as the same, we still had our names!
…Names that mean less to us each day. Names…that we aren't sure were really ours anymore. Still, the words Bartholomew and Frederic Kenworthy give us an illusion of calm, if only for a brief time. It may not be much, those words, and they may be losing their value, but we at least associate them with ourselves, with who we used to be.
Names are important on this ship, be they real or just monikers. Names here can mean the difference between Captain and deckhand. Names…titles…they're more vital than people realize.
If you had everything that was associated with you stripped away, what would be left? Just a husk, a shell. A nameless creature that was a bane to the world. A blight that needed to be eliminated for the sake of everyone else.
Everyone important.
The power of recognition is far more significant and valued than anyone takes it for; after all, who doesn't like to be praised, to be acknowledged and respected? For someone who never experienced anonymity to such a degree as us, it may not seem like much.
But they have no idea.
If, for even a fraction of a second, they understood what it felt like to be invisible, incorporeal...or at least mistaken or treated as another…perhaps they could commiserate, perhaps they'd be more sympathetic.
But who's they, anyway?
We're just labeling everyone we can, desperately and pitifully attempting to lessen the sting of obscurity.
It sounds like it could be so easy, so simple to just merge into the shadows, to escape, nameless and without burden. Perhaps…well, perhaps it is easy, for others. But not us.
That's not what we ever wanted. We had dreams and ambitions, distinct to both of us, but now that hope has faded until we can't even remember what we once so desired.
But we can't complain. No more than the rest of us. We've all lost something precious to us, whether it be dreams, people…or our own lives. We've all lost our identities, too.
Each and every one of us.
Still, what will our useless drivel accomplish, aside from making us slack off our duties? It's pointless, just depressing us more.
We shouldn't care about 'identities' or 'independence' anymore. It doesn't concern us now. The only thing that should matter to us is working on that sailcloth we're supposed to be stitching.
But still, it makes us think.
If you don't have your identity anymore, than what would you really be?
Probably something like us.