Life is just unfair. Let's not beat around the bush. It just isn't. We find ourselves in constant competition with those who should be our friends. We grow bitter, and everyone loses because of it.
Let me tell you about Naya, about Iris, about June. Except, I'd love to, but life isn't fair, so relationships that should have been, never were. We re all proud women. Actually, maybe that's the problem.
Zuri was my mother. This gives me all too much insight into what happened, why it happened, and how no one knows, despite it being the most important thing that ever happened. History just forgot. Life gets in the way. Petty nonsense like the space pirate Drexel, who only sees women as potential lovers. I don't know how I let it happen, but it did. And so I hate June, despite that being only detrimental to my cause, because as the daughter of Queen Alexus, she knows, as well as I do, but she can't tell anyone. Neither can Naya. Neither can Iris.
At least Iris has a book. Oh, I know about the book. Who do you think gave her the information? Not me directly, you understand, but...No, that would be telling. What happened, what my mother did, after what happened, that's something I must take to my grave. I will never tell anyone. Not even Drexel. He's just using me, like he uses everyone else. I doubt he ever took a woman seriously in his life.
Some secrets are like that, I've learned to accept. Selfish. So I can be selfish, too. I'm proud of my mother, more proud than you could ever understand. Why should I explain that to you? As far as I'm concerned, you're no better than Drexel.
"But this is not the story," says Kindly.
Friday, April 22, 2016
Thursday, April 21, 2016
A to Z Lies in Space - Reeve
Order. And power. These are the things I craved, and I found both on Zala, everything I ever wanted.
Then, of course, it all ended. I still struggle to understand how. One moment I had it all, and then the next, a stranger had come, from out of nowhere of course, and knocked me aside just as if I had gained nothing at all from all my years of plotting.
How old I am I care not to say. As old as Greer. That was the start of it, basic, perfectly fallible jealousy. His admittance into the Order, and the Order's subsequent rejection of me, led me down alternative paths. They say everything is for the taking for those bold enough to take it. That is my tale in summation. I learned, and I took. I had no idea what I was doing. I thought I did. I convinced everyone around me I did, at any rate, but it was a lie spread too thin, and the result was inevitable. Introduce one person, one anomaly, one variable into the equation, and the whole thing falls apart. It was all just numbers. Numbers are meaningless. It's what you do with them, the calculations themselves, that have any weight. The old story of the journey being better than the destination. The oldest, saddest story in the book.
That's what I became, a joke. The joke. That's what the universe is all about. Nature abhors a vacuum, but it doesn't necessarily welcome those who attempt to fill it. Funny how that works. I saw an opportunity, and I took it. I was ruthless, completely committed to the cause, once I identified it, once I saw my opening, my motivation, the forbidden fruit, as it were. That's exactly what it was. On Earth, the home world of that putrid animal Ulysses, I'm told it's biblical.
Now I have all the time in the world to ponder such things. I was defeated so easily, as if I represented no threat at all, meant nothing, just a means to an end. I saw the whole thing collapse around me. I mean, everything. And the sad part is, I thought that this was exactly what I wanted, but now I see, far too late, that it wasn't, that maybe I should have done something different, everything different, right from the start.
Because it was a mistake. But I can't take it back. In the cruelest irony of all, my last mistake is what killed me, ended me, the servant I called Xander, who avenged my defeat at the hands of Ulysses, but who himself fell, in ignominy, as we attempted, once and for all, to finish what I'd begun. He murdered me, and still fell. At her hands. And that's how it all ended. And no one will ever know. Truly, a tragedy.
"But this is not the story," says Kindly.
Then, of course, it all ended. I still struggle to understand how. One moment I had it all, and then the next, a stranger had come, from out of nowhere of course, and knocked me aside just as if I had gained nothing at all from all my years of plotting.
How old I am I care not to say. As old as Greer. That was the start of it, basic, perfectly fallible jealousy. His admittance into the Order, and the Order's subsequent rejection of me, led me down alternative paths. They say everything is for the taking for those bold enough to take it. That is my tale in summation. I learned, and I took. I had no idea what I was doing. I thought I did. I convinced everyone around me I did, at any rate, but it was a lie spread too thin, and the result was inevitable. Introduce one person, one anomaly, one variable into the equation, and the whole thing falls apart. It was all just numbers. Numbers are meaningless. It's what you do with them, the calculations themselves, that have any weight. The old story of the journey being better than the destination. The oldest, saddest story in the book.
That's what I became, a joke. The joke. That's what the universe is all about. Nature abhors a vacuum, but it doesn't necessarily welcome those who attempt to fill it. Funny how that works. I saw an opportunity, and I took it. I was ruthless, completely committed to the cause, once I identified it, once I saw my opening, my motivation, the forbidden fruit, as it were. That's exactly what it was. On Earth, the home world of that putrid animal Ulysses, I'm told it's biblical.
Now I have all the time in the world to ponder such things. I was defeated so easily, as if I represented no threat at all, meant nothing, just a means to an end. I saw the whole thing collapse around me. I mean, everything. And the sad part is, I thought that this was exactly what I wanted, but now I see, far too late, that it wasn't, that maybe I should have done something different, everything different, right from the start.
Because it was a mistake. But I can't take it back. In the cruelest irony of all, my last mistake is what killed me, ended me, the servant I called Xander, who avenged my defeat at the hands of Ulysses, but who himself fell, in ignominy, as we attempted, once and for all, to finish what I'd begun. He murdered me, and still fell. At her hands. And that's how it all ended. And no one will ever know. Truly, a tragedy.
"But this is not the story," says Kindly.
Wednesday, April 20, 2016
A to Z Lies in Space - Quinten
I once had a conversation with Zuri. I told her exactly what I thought about the Order, and why I had to resign from it. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do. I could stand the reproach of Greer, of Lark, of the whole Order, but not Zuri. I needed to know she still believed in me. I was at a crossroads in my life. The galaxy no longer made sense to me. I saw the Order as decadent, as no longer serving its original purpose, of serving no purpose at all except to prop up a way of life, and that was not the Order had represented, in its glorious, exultant past, the past I believed in, the past I joined the Order to maintain. Not what it became. Not the soulless, custodial entity it became.
I knew it would be difficult for her. How difficult, I confess now, I sadly underestimated. I did not join the side of Reeve to support him, but as a misguided protest. I saw that only too late. Reeve represented everything I hated, what the Order was meant to guard against, its opposite number, in many respects. A child of the same lineage, but distorted, abhorrent.
I did not foresee a regrettable great many things. I did not know what Xander would do. I tell myself this as a way to exonerate me from the further abominations that sprang from my actions. I died, by the way, at the hands of Ulysses, but it was too small a payment, and I do not feel as if I can ever pay enough. How could I? In my misguided attempt to save the Order I destroyed it. Me alone. I carry this burden in death as if the sins of all time, across a thousand worlds, rest on my shoulders. In a way they do.
If I could speak with Zuri again, what would I tell her? Everything. I would tell her everything. I realize now that I didn't tell her anything at all. I forced her into an impossible situation. She alone would face the Order, and she wasn't prepared for that, anymore than the Order itself. That's why it happened. That's what I tell myself, anyway.
I came from a privileged few. I learned too late just how privileged.
"But this is not the story," says Kindly.
I knew it would be difficult for her. How difficult, I confess now, I sadly underestimated. I did not join the side of Reeve to support him, but as a misguided protest. I saw that only too late. Reeve represented everything I hated, what the Order was meant to guard against, its opposite number, in many respects. A child of the same lineage, but distorted, abhorrent.
I did not foresee a regrettable great many things. I did not know what Xander would do. I tell myself this as a way to exonerate me from the further abominations that sprang from my actions. I died, by the way, at the hands of Ulysses, but it was too small a payment, and I do not feel as if I can ever pay enough. How could I? In my misguided attempt to save the Order I destroyed it. Me alone. I carry this burden in death as if the sins of all time, across a thousand worlds, rest on my shoulders. In a way they do.
If I could speak with Zuri again, what would I tell her? Everything. I would tell her everything. I realize now that I didn't tell her anything at all. I forced her into an impossible situation. She alone would face the Order, and she wasn't prepared for that, anymore than the Order itself. That's why it happened. That's what I tell myself, anyway.
I came from a privileged few. I learned too late just how privileged.
"But this is not the story," says Kindly.
Tuesday, April 19, 2016
A to Z Lies in Space - Paisley
I grew up with Ulysses, I know him better than anyone else. There's no one who knows him better, understands him better, can forgive more of his nonsense, or can tell when my brother is trying to hide something. I know his moods. God, do I know them. Anyone can see them etched across his face. But few people can get him to talk about whatever it is he's mulling over like I can. It's just the relationship we've always had. Survivors instinct. We both made it out of childhood together, somehow.
So when I say I believe him, I hope that means something, because I do believe him, no matter how crazy his stories sound, because I've heard his nonsense, heard it all my life, and this is different. It's not something he's somehow convinced himself of, or some incredibly fantastic delusion. I mean, I know he has his problems with the rest of the world, always trying to find his place in it, but he's not someone who would do it at the expense of his sanity. He's far too stubborn for something like that.
So I believe him when he says that he went to outer space, saved a whole world, and somehow returned home to try and resume his life. I know it hasn't been easy. I'm the only person, as usual, he has to turn to. He's told me more about it than anyone else, and why shouldn't he? And maybe that's the problem. Maybe that's always been his problem. Sometimes relationships are too important. I know how that sounds, but I absolutely believe it, just like I believe him. I feel sorry for him, too, because he came back and made the ultimate sacrifice, because he lost everything. The only thing I question is whether he had a choice at all to return, and if he's been regretting that choice ever since. I wouldn't blame him if he did.
I worry about him, I really do. I don't know what it took for him to do it in the first place, I mean become a hero and everything, because let me tell you, that's not what I would have expected from him in a million years. He was about as awkward as you can get, growing up. He certainly wasn't a star athlete or anything, and he didn't join the military out of high school. He went to college, and eventually graduated, but what he was like in college, I wouldn't know. We drifted apart for the only time in our lives at that point. So maybe there's an explanation there. I don't know. Sounds about as plausible as anything else.
What do I do for him now? Anything I can. He's always been there for me, and I've always been there for him. What can I say? It's the least I can do.
"But this is not the story," says Kindly.
So when I say I believe him, I hope that means something, because I do believe him, no matter how crazy his stories sound, because I've heard his nonsense, heard it all my life, and this is different. It's not something he's somehow convinced himself of, or some incredibly fantastic delusion. I mean, I know he has his problems with the rest of the world, always trying to find his place in it, but he's not someone who would do it at the expense of his sanity. He's far too stubborn for something like that.
So I believe him when he says that he went to outer space, saved a whole world, and somehow returned home to try and resume his life. I know it hasn't been easy. I'm the only person, as usual, he has to turn to. He's told me more about it than anyone else, and why shouldn't he? And maybe that's the problem. Maybe that's always been his problem. Sometimes relationships are too important. I know how that sounds, but I absolutely believe it, just like I believe him. I feel sorry for him, too, because he came back and made the ultimate sacrifice, because he lost everything. The only thing I question is whether he had a choice at all to return, and if he's been regretting that choice ever since. I wouldn't blame him if he did.
I worry about him, I really do. I don't know what it took for him to do it in the first place, I mean become a hero and everything, because let me tell you, that's not what I would have expected from him in a million years. He was about as awkward as you can get, growing up. He certainly wasn't a star athlete or anything, and he didn't join the military out of high school. He went to college, and eventually graduated, but what he was like in college, I wouldn't know. We drifted apart for the only time in our lives at that point. So maybe there's an explanation there. I don't know. Sounds about as plausible as anything else.
What do I do for him now? Anything I can. He's always been there for me, and I've always been there for him. What can I say? It's the least I can do.
"But this is not the story," says Kindly.
Monday, April 18, 2016
A to Z Lies in Space - Ophelia
I believe him. Despite everything, I believe my father. I believe everything he says about what he experienced while he was missing from my life, while I was growing up, without a father, with a mother who held out hope, with a brother who grew more and more cynical, and a world that was actually pretty indifferent to the whole thing.
I guess that's what's been most difficult for me, figuring that out. To me, he's everything. I don't want to suggest my mother means nothing, or that I don't appreciate everything she's done for me, but, and maybe it's because I never knew him, my father somehow means so much more. The more I've gotten to know him, the more I believe him. Again, maybe it's just because I want to, but I can't help it. As far as I'm concerned, it takes a lot of guts to do what he did, and I'm not talking about becoming a hero on some other planet, but in how he came back, knowing no one would believe him, believe in him, or think he's much of a hero.
I don't know. My mother talked about him all the time. Sometimes she was sad. I mean, really said. She felt abandoned. She says she never stopped believing in him, but she really did. The man who came back wasn't the man she had married, and they've never figured out their relationship since then. They're not even married anymore. He's never lived with us. And so all of that has made it that much harder for me to get to know him, to try and figure out for myself who he is.
But I've been trying. I figure I owe him that much. Here I've been, all my life, waiting, just like the rest of the family, steadily absorbing what everyone else has said about him, including Uncle Miller, who I think likes my mother but would never admit it, and I think that colors what he thinks, but whenever I try to talk to him about it, he just laughs it off. It makes me feel about two years old, but I'm not. I'm not a kid anymore. I don't talk about what I think because I'm pretty sure no one will take me seriously, but I'll never stop believing. I love him. I love my father. I love him for the man I've gotten to know, and for everything he's never told me, but I can sort of figure out from what he has. I can't help it.
Does any of that make sense to you, or am I just coming off as naïve, dumb and young an' gullible as they come? I hope not. Maybe I haven't explained it well enough. Well.
"But this is not the story," says Kindly.
I guess that's what's been most difficult for me, figuring that out. To me, he's everything. I don't want to suggest my mother means nothing, or that I don't appreciate everything she's done for me, but, and maybe it's because I never knew him, my father somehow means so much more. The more I've gotten to know him, the more I believe him. Again, maybe it's just because I want to, but I can't help it. As far as I'm concerned, it takes a lot of guts to do what he did, and I'm not talking about becoming a hero on some other planet, but in how he came back, knowing no one would believe him, believe in him, or think he's much of a hero.
I don't know. My mother talked about him all the time. Sometimes she was sad. I mean, really said. She felt abandoned. She says she never stopped believing in him, but she really did. The man who came back wasn't the man she had married, and they've never figured out their relationship since then. They're not even married anymore. He's never lived with us. And so all of that has made it that much harder for me to get to know him, to try and figure out for myself who he is.
But I've been trying. I figure I owe him that much. Here I've been, all my life, waiting, just like the rest of the family, steadily absorbing what everyone else has said about him, including Uncle Miller, who I think likes my mother but would never admit it, and I think that colors what he thinks, but whenever I try to talk to him about it, he just laughs it off. It makes me feel about two years old, but I'm not. I'm not a kid anymore. I don't talk about what I think because I'm pretty sure no one will take me seriously, but I'll never stop believing. I love him. I love my father. I love him for the man I've gotten to know, and for everything he's never told me, but I can sort of figure out from what he has. I can't help it.
Does any of that make sense to you, or am I just coming off as naïve, dumb and young an' gullible as they come? I hope not. Maybe I haven't explained it well enough. Well.
"But this is not the story," says Kindly.
Saturday, April 16, 2016
A to Z Lies in Space - Naya
I am Witt's daughter. I'm proud she was willing to turn on Xander.
There. I said it. Someone had to. Someone had to take Zuri's side. Someone had to be something other than a coward.
But I've done something I'm not proud of. I stole from an old woman. I think she was blind or something. I stole myself into her good graces. She probably never even suspected who I was. I visited her, one stormy evening, called myself her biggest fan, asked why she had stopped writing so many years ago...and begged for a new story. She told me one, all right.
Her words were rambling. I'm sorry, I should tell you her name. Iris. Her name was Iris. Iris was obviously in poor health, as I was saying. I think she was dying. Well, like I said, I'm not proud of what I did. I took advantage of her. She was just looking for someone to take pity on her, someone to share her pain. Just like anyone else.
It's not as if I lied to her. I really didn't. I can rightly say I was her biggest fan, read everything she ever wrote, cherished every word, and I really did want a new story from her. The last one. The most important one she ever wrote. What I have since called the Book of Iris, because it's so important.
I left her in the quiet hours of the morning. It had finally stopped raining, and she had fallen asleep in her armchair. She looked peaceful. I'd like to think so, anyway. If she's still alive, I wonder if she even remembers I was there. I told her my name was Vaughn. Of course it isn't. Vaughn's the sorry fool I did it for. He has me nearly convinced he wants the truth. Him and his stupid robot. Maybe it's wrong to disparage artificial intelligence, but it's ingrained in primitive organic minds like mine to fear such things. It's a mortal fear, something they know nothing about.
Maybe that's the point. Maybe it's a good thing. Maybe I'll let them have the book. Then someone will know. Finally, they'll know...
"But this is not the story," says Kindly.
There. I said it. Someone had to. Someone had to take Zuri's side. Someone had to be something other than a coward.
But I've done something I'm not proud of. I stole from an old woman. I think she was blind or something. I stole myself into her good graces. She probably never even suspected who I was. I visited her, one stormy evening, called myself her biggest fan, asked why she had stopped writing so many years ago...and begged for a new story. She told me one, all right.
Her words were rambling. I'm sorry, I should tell you her name. Iris. Her name was Iris. Iris was obviously in poor health, as I was saying. I think she was dying. Well, like I said, I'm not proud of what I did. I took advantage of her. She was just looking for someone to take pity on her, someone to share her pain. Just like anyone else.
It's not as if I lied to her. I really didn't. I can rightly say I was her biggest fan, read everything she ever wrote, cherished every word, and I really did want a new story from her. The last one. The most important one she ever wrote. What I have since called the Book of Iris, because it's so important.
I left her in the quiet hours of the morning. It had finally stopped raining, and she had fallen asleep in her armchair. She looked peaceful. I'd like to think so, anyway. If she's still alive, I wonder if she even remembers I was there. I told her my name was Vaughn. Of course it isn't. Vaughn's the sorry fool I did it for. He has me nearly convinced he wants the truth. Him and his stupid robot. Maybe it's wrong to disparage artificial intelligence, but it's ingrained in primitive organic minds like mine to fear such things. It's a mortal fear, something they know nothing about.
Maybe that's the point. Maybe it's a good thing. Maybe I'll let them have the book. Then someone will know. Finally, they'll know...
"But this is not the story," says Kindly.
Friday, April 15, 2016
A to Z Lies in Space - Miller
My best friend is insane. I thought you'd like to know that.
He went missing a while back, left his poor wife scared, his children fatherless, and the rest of us wondering if we'd ever see him again, ever find out what happened. The investigation dragged out so long the media lost interest. It became the fodder for conspiracy theories, myth...Fiction.
And then he came back. I was the happiest man in the world. He was a childhood friend, you understand, someone I grew up with, knew everything about me, just like I knew everything about him. Used to. Until he started telling us his stories.
Listen, I know what he was like before. Like everyone I know, he would've dismissed that kind of talk, laughed it off, assumed if any of us talked like that, it was just a joke. But he wasn't joking. He really believed it.
He lost a decade of his life. That's as much as I can say for certain. Maybe he was in a coma somewhere, and someday I'll meet the people who cared for him, and thank them. But only just. Because they didn't do him any favors, for all I care now. He's just not the same man anymore. He scares me.
Maybe one day...I don't know. I just don't know. I love the guy, I really do. Maybe I'm just not being fair to him. I owe him better than what I've done for him since he's returned. I mean, he deserves better, right? He deserves support. Well, maybe in another lifetime, Ulysses...
"But this is not the story," says Kindly.
He went missing a while back, left his poor wife scared, his children fatherless, and the rest of us wondering if we'd ever see him again, ever find out what happened. The investigation dragged out so long the media lost interest. It became the fodder for conspiracy theories, myth...Fiction.
And then he came back. I was the happiest man in the world. He was a childhood friend, you understand, someone I grew up with, knew everything about me, just like I knew everything about him. Used to. Until he started telling us his stories.
Listen, I know what he was like before. Like everyone I know, he would've dismissed that kind of talk, laughed it off, assumed if any of us talked like that, it was just a joke. But he wasn't joking. He really believed it.
He lost a decade of his life. That's as much as I can say for certain. Maybe he was in a coma somewhere, and someday I'll meet the people who cared for him, and thank them. But only just. Because they didn't do him any favors, for all I care now. He's just not the same man anymore. He scares me.
Maybe one day...I don't know. I just don't know. I love the guy, I really do. Maybe I'm just not being fair to him. I owe him better than what I've done for him since he's returned. I mean, he deserves better, right? He deserves support. Well, maybe in another lifetime, Ulysses...
"But this is not the story," says Kindly.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)