feel again
Feel Again, TenToo/Rose, PG, 1702
The letters don’t start with a salutation; no greeting line to put a label to the addressee.
Part One is +here
The letters don’t start with a salutation; no greeting line to put a label to the addressee. Just the story, the person communicating their innermost thoughts.
They don’t end in a signature either. Nothing to mire them in previous computations of the other. These are simply a means of finding themselves again.
And each other.
One is trying to find himself, gain a name, forget an old one through travel.
The other is trying to find her footing, to gain her measure, settle into a life she didn’t expect to have.
The human body can only go 330 meters underwater without a suit or some other kind of vehicle to protect it. Recreationally, a human should only attempt 68 meters, if that even. With this in mind, I find it interesting that this world insists on submarines as the primary mode of oceanic transportation. Having not had a chance yet to study the encyclopedias of this universe, I wonder what incident prompts this shift from ships to subs.
I’m in a submarine right now. Didn’t have any cash on me to speak of so I’m doing a bit of deck hand work. Though there aren’t really any decks so I don’t know what you call it. Sub-deck-hand work? Floor work? Inner submarine marinological work? (Yes, I know that isn’t a word.)
Not sure where I’ll get off. I’ve spent enough time in the European Alliance now I feel. Think I’ll explore the southern hemisphere for a bit.
I have to say, not being able to get somewhere instantly makes for some long trips. But at least I’ve got a friend to write to, eh?
It was “Bring Your Sibling to Work” day today so Tony was in the Tower, creating all sorts of mischief. He’s only four so you can imagine what kind of trouble he got into. Dad generally forbids him from coming and Tony seems to be aware of it, so guess where he spent most of his time? Hanging on Dad’s leg. I particularly enjoyed the weekly budget meeting with Tony babbling at his feet.
Since I don’t think you can travel with an entire encyclopedic set with you, I took the time to look up the history of submarines. Apparently, when Titanic happened here, factories turned their time and energy to building reinforced bottoms of ships which then turned into just building underwater ships as a whole. They thought it was safer that way. It seems to have worked out.
If you go to the Caribbean, if there is a Caribbean, can you send me a coconut?
Did you know that coconuts don’t exist here? They have something that looks like a coconut on the outside but tastes like a mango-pear on the inside. A MANGO-PEAR!!! I cannot stand PEARS. The fuzzy sour feeling would not wear off my tongue for days. At least they still have regular mangoes. I would be very very sad to discover that they didn’t. I’m sending you a mango-pear (called “mannut,” I swear, I could not stop laughing when they told me at first) even though this is a disgusting taste. I know you’ve always been fond of pears. (Which is a mark against you, just so you know.)
The other day I went to the market and learned how to play the nyabinghi drums (the tall wooden ones you stand behind and it makes that deep organic drumbeat). The natives here thought it was interesting that I wanted to know. After a test run though I seemed to be relegated to only one of the drums to beat on, and only when the drummer told me to. Not sure if this meant he was jealous of my overwhelming talent out-shining him or what…
I learned something else about me recently (besides the ever present disgust of pears). I like hanging upside down. No this is not a non-sequitur comment. I was in my bat-cave the other day, realizing that I’m Batman-no really, sorry, getting to the point-I was hanging upside down the other day trying to find one of my socks which seem to have disappeared under the bed and realized how this increased the blood flow to my brain. And how it was fun. (And yes, I could have gotten out of bed and gotten on my knees to look for the thing but I didn’t really realize how lazy human bodies can be in the morning-I guess that’s another thing I’ve found out about myself.)
I wonder what you work on, now that you’re not, well, looking for me, or him, I suppose. I haven’t asked because, well, you haven’t mentioned. I want to wipe this whole paragraph out now, but I’ve sworn to not to filter myself to you. You’re really the only true friend I have here and you deserve all my ramblings in their unadulterated glory. Don’t think you have to answer this last paragraph.
I like this “mannut.” I CANNOT say that or even WRITE that with a straight face. Mum’s looking at me strangely, since I was laughing and slightly choking on this fruit. She had a bite and asked what it was. I couldn’t say it’s proper term so she’s sharing a bit of the “Mongolian Nut” with Tony right now.
I hate to break this to you, but you were never musically inclined. Remember that one time on Ranhillea IV? You were asked to participate in a christening, playing what passed for an earth triangle and they literally had to stop the whole thing to take it away from you and continue with the ceremony! Don’t bother denying it right now, you know it’s true.
Dad’s got me listed as ET Special Ops, meaning I’m the alien techie, diplomat, intel, catchall, troubleshooter extraordinaire. Basically, I handle what the other departments can’t. I don’t have a “pet” project anymore. Dismantled the Dimension Cannon since I think you were asking that. I know better than to have that be something available for any old person to rip open the time continuum.
I’m settling into something here. Not sure what yet, but think I’m getting close.
I’ll hear from you later, I suppose…Batman.
I was going to write something funny and anecdotal but something happened today that makes the world just not that amusing or fun to be in right now. I wish you’d been here with me. It’s selfish of me to even write this, but I can’t help it.
He died today, Rose. The tenth regenerated into the eleventh incarnation. I woke up in the middle of the night feeling like fire was racing through my arms and legs but when I pulled them up to where I could see them, swearing that I would find them glowing with Time energy, they were just ordinary human hands and feet.
And I realized how alone I was. This isn’t to make you feel guilty, but just stating a fact. He’s gone. The me that was me. Where I came from. You could say that he lives on in this eleventh incarnation, and he does, but him, all the idiosyncrasies, the thinking pattern, the details, the importances and the mundaniety of his life have been stripped away. For a moment, I could feel just a shadow of the new incarnation, feel his ability to set aside what had weighed his previous self down.
I’m really the only thing left of him. Yet I am not him, and he was not me.
I hadn’t really realized how that echo of him residing in me had been intrinsic to my own sense of self. I feel lost and not a little afraid of moving forward without him. I realize that I have to be brave now. Because it’s just me.
He can only hear the soft sounds of the beach settling down, nature coming to rest for the night. he susurration of tide rolling in does little to sooth his mind. She hadn’t written back. Was it because he’d called her by name? Was it because he’d made it known how much he needed her?
He digs his toes into the fine sand a bit further, the last vestiges of captured warmth sinking into the slightly numb appendages. This is one of the things he enjoys about the human body, the ability to feel his body go from cold to hot. He doesn’t enjoy the reverse too much.
The idyllic setting seems to underscore the tangible misery that’s seeped into him since the morning he woke, knowing that there was only him now to carry on this incarnation’s memories and dreams.
It isn’t only this knowledge that brings this weight down on him, it’s the fact that he’d felt some relief at the time of the tenth’s “death.” Relief that he wasn’t just a copy anymore. He could be his own man.
He huffs out a mirthless chuckle. Guilt and moodiness are things that’ve always come easily to him. Some things never changed.
In this moment, he misses Rose. She is really the only person who’s lightened him from the inside out. Others, he was able to play it off for a little, make it seem like he’d moved on, but really the misery was always present. Rose is his lantern, his guide of the dark.
His head dips down, considering the grains of sand. He could do with some guidance now.
The sun sets with no further fanfare and he sits at the edge of the water, looking but not seeing. His time sense slips now and then, especially in times like this, and he doesn’t know if an hour or three have passed when he feels the change in the air around him.
She settles down in the space next to him, as if she’d already been there, having left for only a moment to check on something. He doesn’t move, afraid that this is a waking dream, an echo of fierce desire to have her here. A long moment passes, both of them staring straight ahead, no verbal acknowledgement between them.
Warm fingers find his in the sand, a light clasp that’s both familiar and new.
He finds himself smiling.
The letters don’t start with a salutation; no greeting line to put a label to the addressee.
Part One is +here
The letters don’t start with a salutation; no greeting line to put a label to the addressee. Just the story, the person communicating their innermost thoughts.
They don’t end in a signature either. Nothing to mire them in previous computations of the other. These are simply a means of finding themselves again.
And each other.
One is trying to find himself, gain a name, forget an old one through travel.
The other is trying to find her footing, to gain her measure, settle into a life she didn’t expect to have.
The human body can only go 330 meters underwater without a suit or some other kind of vehicle to protect it. Recreationally, a human should only attempt 68 meters, if that even. With this in mind, I find it interesting that this world insists on submarines as the primary mode of oceanic transportation. Having not had a chance yet to study the encyclopedias of this universe, I wonder what incident prompts this shift from ships to subs.
I’m in a submarine right now. Didn’t have any cash on me to speak of so I’m doing a bit of deck hand work. Though there aren’t really any decks so I don’t know what you call it. Sub-deck-hand work? Floor work? Inner submarine marinological work? (Yes, I know that isn’t a word.)
Not sure where I’ll get off. I’ve spent enough time in the European Alliance now I feel. Think I’ll explore the southern hemisphere for a bit.
I have to say, not being able to get somewhere instantly makes for some long trips. But at least I’ve got a friend to write to, eh?
It was “Bring Your Sibling to Work” day today so Tony was in the Tower, creating all sorts of mischief. He’s only four so you can imagine what kind of trouble he got into. Dad generally forbids him from coming and Tony seems to be aware of it, so guess where he spent most of his time? Hanging on Dad’s leg. I particularly enjoyed the weekly budget meeting with Tony babbling at his feet.
Since I don’t think you can travel with an entire encyclopedic set with you, I took the time to look up the history of submarines. Apparently, when Titanic happened here, factories turned their time and energy to building reinforced bottoms of ships which then turned into just building underwater ships as a whole. They thought it was safer that way. It seems to have worked out.
If you go to the Caribbean, if there is a Caribbean, can you send me a coconut?
Did you know that coconuts don’t exist here? They have something that looks like a coconut on the outside but tastes like a mango-pear on the inside. A MANGO-PEAR!!! I cannot stand PEARS. The fuzzy sour feeling would not wear off my tongue for days. At least they still have regular mangoes. I would be very very sad to discover that they didn’t. I’m sending you a mango-pear (called “mannut,” I swear, I could not stop laughing when they told me at first) even though this is a disgusting taste. I know you’ve always been fond of pears. (Which is a mark against you, just so you know.)
The other day I went to the market and learned how to play the nyabinghi drums (the tall wooden ones you stand behind and it makes that deep organic drumbeat). The natives here thought it was interesting that I wanted to know. After a test run though I seemed to be relegated to only one of the drums to beat on, and only when the drummer told me to. Not sure if this meant he was jealous of my overwhelming talent out-shining him or what…
I learned something else about me recently (besides the ever present disgust of pears). I like hanging upside down. No this is not a non-sequitur comment. I was in my bat-cave the other day, realizing that I’m Batman-no really, sorry, getting to the point-I was hanging upside down the other day trying to find one of my socks which seem to have disappeared under the bed and realized how this increased the blood flow to my brain. And how it was fun. (And yes, I could have gotten out of bed and gotten on my knees to look for the thing but I didn’t really realize how lazy human bodies can be in the morning-I guess that’s another thing I’ve found out about myself.)
I wonder what you work on, now that you’re not, well, looking for me, or him, I suppose. I haven’t asked because, well, you haven’t mentioned. I want to wipe this whole paragraph out now, but I’ve sworn to not to filter myself to you. You’re really the only true friend I have here and you deserve all my ramblings in their unadulterated glory. Don’t think you have to answer this last paragraph.
I like this “mannut.” I CANNOT say that or even WRITE that with a straight face. Mum’s looking at me strangely, since I was laughing and slightly choking on this fruit. She had a bite and asked what it was. I couldn’t say it’s proper term so she’s sharing a bit of the “Mongolian Nut” with Tony right now.
I hate to break this to you, but you were never musically inclined. Remember that one time on Ranhillea IV? You were asked to participate in a christening, playing what passed for an earth triangle and they literally had to stop the whole thing to take it away from you and continue with the ceremony! Don’t bother denying it right now, you know it’s true.
Dad’s got me listed as ET Special Ops, meaning I’m the alien techie, diplomat, intel, catchall, troubleshooter extraordinaire. Basically, I handle what the other departments can’t. I don’t have a “pet” project anymore. Dismantled the Dimension Cannon since I think you were asking that. I know better than to have that be something available for any old person to rip open the time continuum.
I’m settling into something here. Not sure what yet, but think I’m getting close.
I’ll hear from you later, I suppose…Batman.
I was going to write something funny and anecdotal but something happened today that makes the world just not that amusing or fun to be in right now. I wish you’d been here with me. It’s selfish of me to even write this, but I can’t help it.
He died today, Rose. The tenth regenerated into the eleventh incarnation. I woke up in the middle of the night feeling like fire was racing through my arms and legs but when I pulled them up to where I could see them, swearing that I would find them glowing with Time energy, they were just ordinary human hands and feet.
And I realized how alone I was. This isn’t to make you feel guilty, but just stating a fact. He’s gone. The me that was me. Where I came from. You could say that he lives on in this eleventh incarnation, and he does, but him, all the idiosyncrasies, the thinking pattern, the details, the importances and the mundaniety of his life have been stripped away. For a moment, I could feel just a shadow of the new incarnation, feel his ability to set aside what had weighed his previous self down.
I’m really the only thing left of him. Yet I am not him, and he was not me.
I hadn’t really realized how that echo of him residing in me had been intrinsic to my own sense of self. I feel lost and not a little afraid of moving forward without him. I realize that I have to be brave now. Because it’s just me.
He can only hear the soft sounds of the beach settling down, nature coming to rest for the night. he susurration of tide rolling in does little to sooth his mind. She hadn’t written back. Was it because he’d called her by name? Was it because he’d made it known how much he needed her?
He digs his toes into the fine sand a bit further, the last vestiges of captured warmth sinking into the slightly numb appendages. This is one of the things he enjoys about the human body, the ability to feel his body go from cold to hot. He doesn’t enjoy the reverse too much.
The idyllic setting seems to underscore the tangible misery that’s seeped into him since the morning he woke, knowing that there was only him now to carry on this incarnation’s memories and dreams.
It isn’t only this knowledge that brings this weight down on him, it’s the fact that he’d felt some relief at the time of the tenth’s “death.” Relief that he wasn’t just a copy anymore. He could be his own man.
He huffs out a mirthless chuckle. Guilt and moodiness are things that’ve always come easily to him. Some things never changed.
In this moment, he misses Rose. She is really the only person who’s lightened him from the inside out. Others, he was able to play it off for a little, make it seem like he’d moved on, but really the misery was always present. Rose is his lantern, his guide of the dark.
His head dips down, considering the grains of sand. He could do with some guidance now.
The sun sets with no further fanfare and he sits at the edge of the water, looking but not seeing. His time sense slips now and then, especially in times like this, and he doesn’t know if an hour or three have passed when he feels the change in the air around him.
She settles down in the space next to him, as if she’d already been there, having left for only a moment to check on something. He doesn’t move, afraid that this is a waking dream, an echo of fierce desire to have her here. A long moment passes, both of them staring straight ahead, no verbal acknowledgement between them.
Warm fingers find his in the sand, a light clasp that’s both familiar and new.
He finds himself smiling.