It’s that time of year again. It’s a time when forgotten bulbs burst forth from neglected soil and hope filled trees push out encouraging little leaves. It’s a time when the days become longer, warmer and inviting. People break open the closets, replacing the thick coats and wool sweaters with shorts and light t-shirts. And it’s a time when my family realizes just how dull it is to be home and begins planning exciting adventures elsewhere.

That’s right, I’m going on vacation. Actually, by the time you are reading this, I have already started. My family unit is wounding its way along the great Canadian roads through untamed wilderness and soaring mountains lured on with the promise of fresh lobster and ancient history. This leaves me with a bit of a quandary since I will be unable to truly update the blog in my absence. However, the power of technology and Derek’s own programming where-to-all has created a system that lets me post from the future. Well… the past really. So here is the first of my vacation snippets.

This is actually a short that I wrote for a small competition online. It was a weekly or monthly competition that gave the candidates a theme or two and a limited time to write whatever possessed them within the word count. I don’t remember the word count, but I do remember the theme: ‘derelict.’ The bonus objective was ‘anonymous.’ What I created came about after one night’s work. Not a great deal of effort pumped into it which probably explains why I lost. However, the open format and lack of real rewards did give my a chance to write something a bit more experimental. I would wholly recommend any would-be writers to participate in these sorts of things. It gives you an amazing opportunity to try things that you may never have before and can really pull from you a piece that is surprising because of the constraints. My initial idea was to try and explore what derelict truly meant. My initial reaction was to think of a ship, beached upon a shore with rust creeping up its long hull and eating into its dark innards. But I began to wonder, ‘Can a person be derelict?’ And what followed from there is what you will find below.

For a Piece of Night

1.

What use does the sky have for stars?

 

She holds them to herself, jealously guarding them as if disaster would fall should one slip away. The tighter she clings, the easier it is for the smallest and dimmest to spill through. Does she notice they’re gone? Does she even care?

When the last one falls, will she even cry?

I had dreams of holding a star once but I can’t see them now. They aren’t mine to hold. They never were. Even those that she forgets are too far for me.

But I want one.

It is petty of me to think so. I should be happy with what I have. But I am not. I never was. I think of all the stars she has and can only wonder why she can’t spare one. I need one. But I can’t have one. She wouldn’t even give me one if I asked. She doesn’t care. Why would she when she has her own?

The drip of the faucet returns me to my room. Each slow drop patters against the steel basin, cracking its spine in its last descent. I wonder if it would hurt – to pitch yourself towards the steel and the beams. If you closed your eyes, would you even realize you are falling?

I roll on my mattress and stare at the clock.

Twelve o’clock it flashes. It has for the last three days. That was when the power went out and the lights grew dim. The clock shouldn’t even be flashing but I put a battery in it to make it glow. However, I never reset the time.

I just want to see it shine.

My room is so dark without light. Only the dim red flash of the clock fills it. Though there is my bracelet. The lights on those are too dim to brighten my room. Neither of them are substitutes for a real star.

The patter of each droplet’s final scream drags me to my feet. My shoes are by the door and I don’t even bother tying the laces. They’re still damp and the water squeezes from the soles when my toes squish against the fabric.

It’s too cold for them to dry. I could leave them behind but I don’t want to cut my feet outside. They are damp and make my skin clammy. However, they are better than nothing.

I should be happy with what I’ve got.

I don’t even lock my door as I leave. There is nothing out there that can’t come in. Nothing that hasn’t come already. What good are locks when feet can break the bolt and bend the frame?

As I enter the empty hall, I think about the dripping faucet. It’s better than thinking about the stars. At least I can envy the water. Its journey is done. It doesn’t have to wait anymore.

Not me. I have to walk through the darkness. Each day is the same. Each step is the same. Each flicker of a dying bulb, echo of a grinding girder and creak of shifting metal is the same.

There is nothing separating today from the last. If I closed my eyes, would I even remember what day it was? Would I even remember what this place was?

I don’t think I could. I know there was once people and light. I haven’t heard from anyone for hours. Not since I last went to sleep. I heard earlier someone’s feet pounding frantically above me. Round and round. Just like the others right before they fell silent.

And now, it is quiet and it is dark. I can’t hear them now. I can’t see anything now. Not without a star.

And so, with fingers gently scraping the slick walls for guidance, I step carefully over rubble and head into the gloom.

 

2.

I killed myself today.

Even then, I couldn’t do a proper job.

I stood before the crashing waves and rushing water. I knew the pressure would be enough to mangle limbs and shatter bones. It would be brutal, violent and harsh. The clear blue of the ocean would turn a sickly red as blood was pummeled from veins and muscles.

At least it would match all the other crimson pools dotting the halls.

I could feel the cold of the steel rail in my hand. I could feel my breath catch in my lungs. I could feel the wet spray as the water tore through the metal and churned in an ever frothing pool below. I stood, prepared to pitch forward like a droplet returning to the primordial ocean.

But my fingers didn’t unravel. They clutched to the rail, betraying my own desires. I wanted to let go but they didn’t. They held until the cold steel burned my skin. I was forced to step back to the catwalk. I held my hand and it glowed so bright before me.

My traitorous hand.

The lights on my wristband still blinked fluorescent green in the darkness. One flashed with each beat of my heart. It blinked rapidly matching the fluttering of that weak muscle in my chest still thrashing with life.

I attacked the band in my anger. I scratched at the metal clasp, tearing at it until my skin broke beneath and my blood stained its surface. At last, the protective clasp cracked and loosened. With chipped nails, I wrestled it from my wrist.

The pain was excruciating. Tiny holes over thick blue veins welled with fresh blood as my body rushed to fill the cavity. Freed from my arm, the lights slowed their blinking until they dimmed and died, the wires hanging uselessly from it.

I threw it over the ledge. I watched as it tumbled and fell, landing against the waves and tossed in their grasping fingers. The froth rushed up, grabbing it and slamming it repeatedly into the metal wall. Finally satisfied, the waves dragged the bracelet down into the depths.

It was the fate I deserved but was too cowardly to take. Though I still drew breath, the result was still the same.

I had died. No one would come for me now.

I stand over the pool, watching the water continue to rise. I already regret what I did. It was stupid. Did I think I was being altruistic? Did I think I was being brave?

Or was I afraid that no one would come anyway? It was only one bracelet. Who would care about one bracelet? If they hadn’t come for the others why would they come for me? I was a nobody.

Everyone that was anyone had grown quiet long ago.

The well would soon be full. The water rushed in with violent consistency. The others whispered that it would eventually stop. That it had to stop. But none of us deserved a star. The water would make sure of that.

It wouldn’t be long now anyway. The echo follows me as I slowly make my way up to the higher levels. I am like a rat seeking higher ground, drawn to a distant glow of salvation. The corridors are damp from the mist. It is so cold and wet. You can’t smell anything but the oil and the ocean. Eventually that rising pool would submerge everything in its crushing embrace.

It would do what I could not. I should have just jumped and ended it quickly.

At least now no one would trouble themselves by coming for me.

 

3.

Why is the human heart so frail?

I’m so lonely now that the end is coming.

Not that it wasn’t lonely before. Little has changed in that regard. I sit at the chair like I always have, one leg pulled up to my chin. The lights of the console bathe me in their artificial light. With all the others down, I find them almost blinding now.

Even though the main generators are down, the reserve power kept this console going. It glowed constantly in the gloom, like a subterranean candle calling me to its side each day. The others refused to come in here. They thought I was stupid to come here.

They were probably right.

I can barely remember them now. I didn’t know most of them before, but the others in this room have left me so quickly. I remember Tim sat in front of me. He had curly hair and a splotchy beard. It wasn’t flattering; however not many of us shaved down here. He didn’t talk to me. But, I often caught him glancing in my direction whenever he thought I wasn’t looking.

He was sweet. I don’t know what happened to him. I don’t think I ever want to know what happened to him. I never saw him after the incident. There weren’t many that were around once the water arrived.

I have the headphones pressed against my ear and all I hear is the empty crackle. It’s been like that every day. Every day since the power went out.

Before it had been different. Before, I had heard the voices. It was my duty to listen for them. I never spoke to them. I wasn’t allowed. But I listened to them and connected them to those they had to speak to. I was told that one day someone would call for me. Who had told me that?

Had it been Tim?

No one ever calls for me. Especially not the one I looked forward to most. Why would she? She has everything. She doesn’t need me. She has all the hopes and dreams. She has ambitions. She doesn’t need to be down here digging in the dirt beneath the waves.

Why would the sky ever speak to the earth? She has all the stars from the family and I am fortunate I can just see her with them.

I suddenly remember when mom died. I remember feeling so sad, like someone had ripped something from my chest that I never found since. I know I lay in my room for days, crying into my pillow. Why haven’t I cried now?

And did she ever cry? I think she did when she held mom’s necklace. Was she sad then? Did she miss her then? She held up that necklace and it shone like a string of tiny stars. She always wanted them. She always held them close. She promised me one, once.

But when mom died, Father gave her the stars.

I can hear the water now. It won’t be long. I wondered what I would think about when it came. I’m glad I didn’t think about the others. I’m glad I didn’t think about what happened or the men that came into my room after the incident. I’m glad I didn’t think about my trying to keep them out and them breaking down my door with their feet to get what they wanted.

I’m glad I didn’t think about what things would be like had that great rock not punctured the hull. There was no use in wondering what the future would be like. I would never have one. Not after mom died.

I sit at the console, turning the dials and adjusting the frequency. There is only crackle. There has only ever been crackle down here.

I draw my legs tightly beneath my chin. I can still feel the water sloshing between my toes in my damp shoes. I wonder what it will be like when it’s over. I wonder if I’ll finally stop feeling so alone.

I close my eyes.

There is a pause–an unexpected silence. I hold my breath. Had I just imagined it?

I wait frozen on my chair.

I hear it again. It’s soft and indistinct but it causes my heart to race. I reach for the dials, turning them slowly.

“Echo One. This is the HMS Ansun. Over.”

It repeats.

I reach instinctively for the microphone; my finger darts for the switch. But I pause.

“Echo One. This is the HMS Ansun. Is anyone there? Over.”

I can hear the water getting closer. I can feel the cold of the deep rushing up from the sunken levels. I can feel the tireless march of oblivion thundering towards me. I move my hand, snatching the cord of the headphones and pulling it loose from the console.

I no longer hear the crackle.

I lean back, clutching the end of the headphones. I stare at the metal stub as if it has turned on me like all the others. Had I really heard the voice or had I imagined it? Was this how it was for the others when their footsteps made those frantic circles?

I close my eyes and wait for the water.

I had always wanted a star. But they were not mine to hold. They were hers and she had forgotten me down here in the depths.