Entry 37

9 August 2041

There’s someone else on this boat. It wouldn’t work otherwise. Someone needs to take care of it. Always in shifts. We waited at the port for as long as we could before leaving. No one else showed up. So we simply ran on and crewed it ourselves. The only details I know about her are that she has pale skin and straight hair swishing past her waist like a dark waterfall. So we take shifts. We have to. This won’t work otherwise. It won’t work. And we need it to. We can’t have this boat sinking. Not now. Not when someone always needs to be asleep. Not when someone always needs to be awake for the ship.

I’ve always wanted to talk to her, but never seem to get the chance. I wonder what her voice sounds like. We rushed so quickly to get the boat started. It’s too large for two people. Sometimes we never even see each other. We just trust that the other stranger will do their job and when we wake up alive, we know. We know we’ve survived. For now.

10 August 2041

I saw his eyes today. They were blue. I don’t think he saw mine. I might have glanced away too quickly. He gave me a smile. It felt natural. Not forced. I smiled back as best as I could. I wanted to talk to him. But we have to continue the shifts. So it’s best not to get distracted with conversation. He seems to know that too. And we continued our tasks.

Even though I wanted to rush over and ruffle his short black hair. I want to be playful with someone again. Before I forget how to. I feel like I’ll forget how to.

I think he’s a little younger than me. Not by much though. If I’m twenty-five, he must be about twenty-three. I might be an inch taller than him too. Can’t really tell since I tend to slouch a bit when I walk. I can’t tell who’s paler either.

I’m sighing now. Not that anyone can tell. Not sure why I wrote that. These journals are the only thing we have to do before we go to sleep. There’s no TV, no radio, no video games, and no books. Just empty journals, probably for coordinates. We have no use for directions though. Not on this boat.

I want need to talk to someone. I don’t do well with loneliness. I hate it. I can’t tolerate this endless quiet. I find myself straining my ears just to hear if he burps somewhere. Just to hear anything. I don’t like it out here. It’s not a good ocean. It’s calm. But it’s not good. The waves should be against us. Crashing. But it’s always calm. Like our sleep.

11 August 2041

Her eyes might be green. I couldn’t properly tell with the sunlight glinting off them. What could her name be? Should I ask? Or would that ruin the mystery? Would that make things too personal? Would we become too distracted to keep the boat going? We’re already distracted. I know that. I can tell. I think she likes me. Even though she knows nothing about me. I like her too.

Actually, maybe we do know more about each other than I thought. We’re both determined and diligent. We’d have to be to keep this ship afloat. So those are two things we have in common already. Two things we need. What else can I tell? I have no idea if she’s shy or not. Who could tell with our responsibilities? No one could. There’s so much to take care of. So much that we can’t repair ourselves. That’s what needs maintenance. But we don’t have the time for each other. That singular fact is somewhat unbearable. Almost. It’s better than the alternative.

12 August 2041

He coughed today.

Not in front of me, but somewhere else on the ship. While working on something. Probably repairing a leak. Or an engine. Maybe a boiler. Or something innocuous like a coffee machine. His cough sounded scratchy. I think that means he has a deep voice. That would be nice to hear.

I’ll settle for the cough for now.

Ha. How dumb is that? Settling for a cough.

I’m worried about asking what his name is. What if I don’t like it? What if it’s annoying? That would bother me to be stuck on a boat with someone who has an annoying name. What if he doesn’t like mine? I don’t like mine. Not really. I guess it’s not so bad. But it doesn’t have meaning with heritage. That comes with not knowing your parents. And having someone make up a name for you.

Orphan problems.

Things that I need to talk about. How I don’t know who I am. In terms of where my parents came from. The origin of why they abandoned me.

13 August 2041

Only one thing truly matters to me. Killing the dream. Kill the dream. That’s what I need. I need to kill the dream. Some delusions need to die. Delusions aren’t helpful for me. They keep me in a daze. Routines are necessary for this boat, but dangerous for living. I could pretend life is mundane here. I really, really could. But I won’t. I refuse. It’s too dangerous to swim through delusions. You can get lost that way. And even though we don’t know where we are, we know enough of how we are. That’s more important for survival right now.

But a growing part of me wants to toss survival overboard just so I can hear her voice. Desperation isn’t healthy for us out here. Not when there’re so many vital systems that need upkeep. Thankfully, they don’t fail often. So much of our time is devoted to regulating, steering and…keeping watch. It’s hard to look at someone when your eyes always have to worry about the space below the horizon.

14 August 2041

I was in a bad mood while having to fix some loose bolts in the boiler room. But I smiled when I found a cute little drawing scratched into the metal. He probably did that. It looked fresh. There were some shavings on the floor. He kicked them under the boiler rather than sweeping them up. Heh. Lazy.

Anyway, it was an etching of some tiny creature with a round face, simple oval body and arms and legs to match the curving high horns. The feet were like little clogs. And the round hands had three tiny triangular fingers. Heh. And the face. It was a devious expression of downcast eyes and eyebrows, but with a smile full of fangs. No nose. I like it better that way. Noses seem to limit something’s inherent cuteness.

I added my own drawing next to his. With her right hand reaching out to him. Mine was only a stick figure. But that’s the best I can do with an old flathead screwdriver. I gave her five fingers though. And hair like vines. I added little teardrop leaves on each strand. Heh. I gave her a thin tail too.

Just because.

15 August 2041

I woke up to a brilliant orange sunset. I actually got so excited that I ran outside and tightly gripped the front railing. It changed the water to look different. Obscuring any unseemly patterns. Things we don’t want to see. I wanted to share this with her. But I couldn’t risk waking her. She needs her sleep. She needs to sleep. She’ll have to enjoy a different one, on a different day. Without me.

I didn’t stay at the helm. I just stood there at the bow and enjoyed the scenery. The clouds mostly. Not much else around. But it was enough for me. Painting their undersides auburn like a woman who decided she didn’t like her hair dye halfway through. I wonder if she colors hers black. Probably not. The strands that I’ve found lying around aren’t different at the roots. They’re all the same. It would be weird if I collected enough loose hairs from her to make a wig. Heh. That’s weird though. I’m not that bored yet.

16 August 2041

I enjoyed the warm sun on my face. Felt a little stronger coming through the glass of our cockpit, but it was nice either way. I found myself wiping my hands along the wheel as if trying to feel where he gripped it. Almost like I was trying to see if it was still warm from him. It wasn’t. I was just desperate for it to be. I need some warmth in my life. From a person. From him. I think we’d be able to get along. He seems nice. I wonder if he’s as strange as I am. Heh. Gotta work up to that though. If we ever get to meet.

I sigh heavily now. Because I…hmmm…how do I write this? Because I don’t like how little time we have to write in these journals. It helps us go to sleep, which is necessary I know, but I…we don’t have enough…anything.

I’m tired of eating sick fish. I’m tired of the canned food. I’m tired of going to bed alone. I want someone next to me. We sleep for as long as we can, but I’m so tired of everything.

I feel like we’re not who we’re supposed to be.

17 August 2041

During a thunder storm, I stood at the helm and pretended the lightning bolts striking the sea were a series of climbing cords being thrown down from the sky. I wanted one of them to hit our boat and freeze. So we could run up the lightning. Or cling on at least. To be pulled up into the sky. Living on a cloud, thundering or not, would be preferable to this task. I do appreciate the novelty to our situation though. Not many people get to experience something like what we have. Never meeting even though we have the same routine in the same spots. It’s like we’re ghosts of each other.

I’m tired of not being able to interact with her. I know we always have to keep the shifts running smoothly, one awake, one asleep, but I’ve decided. I’m going to leave her a present.

18 August 2041

When I returned to my cabin, I found his journal outside my door. Duh. I should have thought of that. I want to think of something now. I write on his next clean page, “Let’s start a new book together.” I don’t want to say anything more. I want to see how he’ll respond. Give him the first step. Hopefully, he’ll write something flirty. It’s been too long since I’ve had any fun. I want to be engaged with life again. I need to be. I was never meant for isolation. Even if we only ever get longer moments with each other through these journals, that’ll be enough. That’ll be enough.

19 August 2041

Heh. I found my journal on top of hers and a fresh one. I read through yours. You’re kind of adorable. Okay. Let’s talk for the first time. We’ll make a new book together.

“Hi. My name is Emit. I’m twenty-three. How old are you? I’ve wanted to talk to you for a while now. But…the task had to come first. I know you understand. You’ve put in as much work as me. Need to keep the ship afloat. I don’t know if it had a name. Why don’t you give it one?”

(That’s a suggestion, not an accusation. It’s so strange speaking like this. The tones get lost. The subtleties drown.)

“I’ll defer to you for that. I’d like to see what you come up with. Also, what does your voice sound like? It feels like we’ve avoided talking so we don’t…get distracted.”

“I’m going to leave our journal near your door. Leave it by mine when you’re ready.”

20 August 2041

Here’s my first entry into our joint journal. Emit. That’s an okay name. I don’t really like it, but I don’t dislike it. (Heh. Sorry.)

I’m Traveline. A dumb name, I know. The caretakers at my orphanage gave it to me because they wanted me to travel one day.

Oh. And I’m two years older than you.

What’s your favorite color? Is that too juvenile to ask? I feel like it says a lot about someone no matter how old they are. Or maybe we should guess each other’s favorites? Eh. That would be more fun if we had phones. Or if we could talk in person. Gah! I hate that we can’t get the time to talk. We’re on the same damn boat. Sorry. I had a little freakout just then. I’m pissed that our timeframe is so tight. Anyway. I’m just going to tell you my favorite. It’s green. Like my eyes. I’ve always wanted to get married in a green dress. I feel like I’m rambling. But I also feel like that’s fine. I want this to feel fine. I want this to feel real. Like we’re just talking to each other. I’m glad one of us thought of this. I really needed this.

So names. I should give our vessel a cool one? Or maybe a silly one? I’m not sure. Maybe Harvey. Heh. Nah. Or…I don’t know. I kind of like it for what it means. But it doesn’t sound much like a boat’s title. Give me some time to think about that one.

Someone once described my name voice as metal nails filled with helium and stuck in my throat. I always thought that didn’t make sense. Maybe it wasn’t meant to. I think I sound like the field mouse with the deepest voice. Hah. Big fish so to speak. Big fish in a little field. Still hasn’t drowned in the grass. Still haven’t lost my breath in the sea.

21 August 2041

“Hi again. I missed you again today.”

“My favorite color is red. I sometimes dream of a bleeding tree, but it’s not scary. It brings me a lot of comfort. Unnervingly so sometimes.”

“That’s a strange description for your voice. Heh. Sounds like something I might say. I think mine sounds like I got a wolverine pawing around in my throat.”

“Do you have a favorite movie? I think mine is Mandy. It’s really trippy. A horror movie for horror movies.”

“Also, I don’t think your name is dumb. It’s odd, sure, but not stupid. Sounds like travel the line. And that could have any number of meanings.”

(Hmmm…I don’t like the way I formatted this. Makes it look like I’m talking to myself. I’m going to write longer paragraphs even though they might be a little compacted.)

22 August 2041

Awww. You missed me? Heh. I know what you mean, but it’s still nice to hear. (I caught a glimpse of you putting my our journal down. It was just your fingertips, but still. Saw you.)

I didn’t get to eat much today. Guh.

My favorite movie is Harvey. It’s about a Pooka. The rabbit that no one else can see. I’m a classic girl at heart. I didn’t expect your favorite to be a horror movie. I was hoping you’d be more of the romantic type.

Thanks about my name. I like the way you described it. I didn’t think about it like that before. You know, that’s weird how people will live their whole lives and not realize what other worlds words are hidden in their names.

23 August 2041

“Oh. So that’s why you wanted to name the boat Harvey. Heh. Are we riding a ghost rabbit? Also, Mandy is a romance. Technically. It’s weird. I saw your little drawing. I like it. She’s a fitting match for him. Hey. I don’t want this to sound too forward, but I’d like to hug you. I’m…I’m a person who needs affection. I don’t know if I look it, but I really, really do. Life feels worse without someone close to hug.

Anyway, I don’t want to bring down the crew’s morale. Heh. I saw some weird floating shells today. If you want, I can teleport some food to your stomach. It’s half-digested, but still, it’s from me. I don’t know if you mind that. I flirt weird. I hope you don’t mind.”

24 August 2041

Oh. That’s cool. I mean that Mandy has some romance in it. Ha. It’s weird that I’m writing as if I’m talking directly to you and you can understand what I’m referring to. Gotta get used to clarifying these things. Hah. Mandy would be a creepy name for the boat. But I don’t want that. I’m going to think of something else that fits our situation better.

I’m glad you like my stick figure. It’s not good art, but she’s all I could draw.

I’ll take the food. : ) That sounds fun in a weird way. So hungry.

I could really use a hug too. I’ll take one through the journal since we can’t do it physically. Or as many as you wanna give. (And I really don’t mind weird flirting. : ) ) (That’s not a double smile. It’s the other part of the parenthesis, but you can probably figure that out so I don’t know why I’m writing all this.)

Oooh. One last question before I curl up in bed. If you could meet any famous person, who would you pick? I’d probably go for Jimmy Stewart. Because of Harvey. That man seemed to have an impossible whimsy in his eyes. I’d like to have that in mine. Goodnight for now.

Oh. No. One more question. What does your room look like? And what color blanket do you have?

25 August 2041

“My room is a boring rectangle. You already know where it is. On the starboard side. Like yours. The inside is a peeling sky-blue. I moved my bed against the far wall so I can jam my feet against the left one. I have an old floral blanket. White with pink and yellow flowers. It has a nice weight. Heavy, but not too much. I usually write with my back to the wall. Either one. Or sometimes against the bedframe. What about yours? Your room I mean. Do you have a favorite food? (I don’t like that phrasing. Most people have one.) What’s your favorite food? I like shish kabobs with red wine. Sometimes I dip them in the glass. I never really had the desire to meet anyone famous. But when I was watching an episode of Doctor Who, I thought about what I’d say if someone asked me something like that. It would probably be interesting to meet civil rights leaders. They’d have some stories to tell. But it’s done now. I can’t find them anymore. I can only find myself.”

26 August 2041

That’s kind of sad. You can find me too, you know.

Tsk. You have a sky-blue room? Mine’s a dismal faded white. Don’t like it. Trade me. ; )

My bed is against the right wall. I write my journal on it. My bed I mean. Sometimes on the wall though.

My blanket is…not as fluffy as I would like. It’s an old white one that has a tiny hole at the bottom. Every morning, I realize it lost a few more feathers. Probably from me rolling around. I know how to sew, but I don’t have anything for that. The blanket. Hah. Not me rolling. Or maybe that would help too. Hmmm.

I like burgers with avocado and red onion. I’m simple like that. : ) Damn. Now I’m missing burgs. : (

27 August 2041

“Heh. True. I could find you. If we weren’t on this boat. If we didn’t have to maintain the sea. What’s your favorite animal? Actually, let’s make it more interesting. What animal would you want to be if you could reincarnate? I’d pick crocodile or shark. Also, I made a needle out of an old strip of metal from the wall. It’s right there in the middle of your new page. I hope it didn’t fall out and get lost. It took me a while to sharpen and bend it right. You can use some extra thread from the blanket to seal the hold hole. I’d make you a burger if we had any ground meat, but…you know. Anyway, maybe I’ll try to make a snack and leave it outside your door. Do you have a favorite show? Something you can binge-watch no matter what?”

28 August 2041

Awww. Thanks. I lost a bunch of feathers, but I won’t lose any more now.

Ha. Both your animals are predators. And aquatic. Hmmm. I’d probably be a predator too, but a furry kind. Like a wolf or a bat.

Hey. Here’s a random thought. Have you ever held a pen with holes in the cap up to a cat’s nose? When they sniff it, it makes a little whistling song sound like wind through trees. Or as if they’re playing a flute. (So I guess my type typo works after all.)

Oh. And the shish kabob was nice. (For what it was. Ha. Sorry. The vegetables were kind of soggy, but I know that’s not your fault. You’re just working with what you have. And we don’t have much. So I appreciate the effort either way. It’s been a long time since someone cooked for me.)

I think my favorite show might be Disenchantment. I wanna be gross like Bean, but don’t have it in me. Not usually. ; ) What’s yours? You didn’t say.

29 August 2041

“I think my favorite show might be…the Mighty Boosh. The weirder the better and that comedy is as weird as it gets. Sigh. I wish we had a working phone here. I wanna hear your voice. It’s fun talking with you through these journals, but it’s not the same as hearing. I want to just lay down next to you in a dark room so we can talk and fall asleep at the same time for once. It’s been so long since I’ve looked into someone’s eyes. You don’t realize how commonplace that is until you can’t anymore. Too many people take that for granted. They feel it’s awkward or rude to stare. They’re worried they’ll get into fights over eye contact. But they’re missing out. We’re missing out.”

30 August 2041

I love Boosh! What’s your favorite episode? I might have to go classic and say Old Greg for mine. It’s how I found out about the show.

And I’d like to cuddle and hear your voice too. ; ) : ( : ) (Heh. I put all three because I was feeling all of them at once.) If we had a tape recorder even, that could be something. But all we have are these journals before dreams.

Do you remember your dreams? I don’t mean usually (I usually remember them), but I mean out here. On the ocean. Do you remember?

31 August 2041

“That’s kind of how most people found out about it. I’m not sure if I have a favorite episode, but the one line I always think about is: ‘Where’s my frog?’ ‘You smoked it.’ ‘Oh, yeah.’ That always makes me smile. Oh. Maybe the eel episode. Or the one with the fox. I feel like those were the most memorable for me. Or the one with the sandpaper guy.

I usually remember most of my dreams. Especially the ones with someone watching. It’s a little unnerving. But not as much as you might think. I had one where I was standing inside a bloody house with the outline of a man waiting outside. Uncertain. Composed of static almost, but not. More than static. As if life itself was demanding to obscure him.”

1 September 2041

Emit? I don’t want to do this anymore. I need to be in front of you. I…can’t deal with distance. Can we meet??? I need to meet. I can’t remember how long we’ve been here. Can you? It doesn’t feel all that long and yet it does. All at once.

I’m…scared. Of those dreams. Mine I mean. I keep planting body parts and waiting for them to grow. But they never do. They never grow and I’m stuck there struggling to make these limbs thrive. I feel so defeated just being alive.

I’m sorry. I don’t mean to rip the mood down. I love our flirty conversations. I need them. But I also need company in person. I need you here. Not wherever you are.

I sometimes feel like a half-feral dog.

Someone the world wanted to euthanize.

I refused.

I don’t want to sleep anymore.

I don’t want to shift anymore.

Come find me. I’ll be waiting at the bow.

Together 2041

“You’re finally here.”

“Finally here.”

“Let’s make good on that hug.”

“Yes.”

“Mmmm. That’s nice. So many days spent in no one’s arms.”

“Should we look into the water?”

“To see his face?”

“No one’s asleep on the water anymore. No more pacifying dreams. He’s going to rise soon anyway. Might as well glimpse him while we can.”

“Are you afraid?”

“A little.”

“I am. I don’t want to look. But I will if you do.”

“We don’t have much time. The shift would have ended by now.”

“Okay. Let’s look together.”

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

“Whoa.”

“How do you even describe something like that?”

“It’s like a giant…face, right?”

“I guess. Kind of looks like an armless octopus with a teardrop-shaped head. With the wider part for a chin.”

“And a lot of eyes. A least a hundred from here.”

“Maybe a thousand.”

“How could something become so massive?”

“Wonder what he eats.”

“If he eats.”

“You know his name, right?”

“Yeah. Durdugamet.”

“What do you think he is?”

“Don’t know. Maybe a teardrop that grew too big after someone flushed it down the drain.”

“Piff. He’s not a mutant goldfish.”

“Or is he?”

“Heh. Stop.”

“Could be. We might never know. We don’t even know what happens when he wakes.”

“People were just so afraid that they…couldn’t bare it.”

“Eh. We kept him asleep for as long as we could.”

“Yeah. As long as we needed to.”

“Every shift must end.”

“Every shift must end.”

“Do you think he took away most of the people?”

“Honestly?”

“Yeah.”

“No. I think they took themselves away. Hmmm. Wouldn’t that be sad?”

“What?”

“So many gone or missing and the giant sleeping face gets blamed.”

“Oh. Ha. That’s silly.”

“Yeah. It is.”

“Hugs.”

“Yes. Hugs.”

“You smell briny.”

“Heh. You smell skunky.”

“Yeah. No proper showers for a long time.”

“We don’t have much left.”

“Not nearly enough.”

“So what should we name the boat?”

“Oh. Heheheheh. I never decided.”

“Well, now’s your last chance.”

“Hah. What about Last Chance?”

“Nah.”

“Oooh. Let’s call it Ocean’s End.”

“The end?”

“For now.”

“Heh. For now?”

“Yeah. For now.”

As we stand here, hand in hand, with something below our surface, we wait as it rises, content with whatever happens next. Whether we sleep or wake.

Submitted August 10, 2019 at 07:49PM by spawnoftyphon https://ift.tt/2YC5ZlL