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⌚ Gears, Brass & C L O C K W O R K ⌚; Active | Closed | Mature
Topic Started: Mar 13 2012, 12:06 AM (654 Views)
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He rolls his eyes at me as if I've just said the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard. "You'd take me along?" I rephrase, the news alarming. I never would have expected so much. His invention seems like something so sacred, something so carefully looked after within his family, and I'm merely the stranger, the stowaway, and I've suddenly been given a place to stay, food, a place in the Meridian City. My smile has the nerve to even quiver a bit before I hold it steady with a cheeky remark. "You're not teasing, are you?" I narrow my eyes in jest before a laugh comes out, and I reach out and gently squeeze the side of his arm, thanking him with a gesture.

<br><br>August reacts to my story the way I might've predicted he would, after being acquainted with his personality for the past few hours. I wouldn't have guessed he would be one to condone arranged marriages. I like his tale, however. It's good to know that he was raised by someone so understanding, so open-minded. "He was a smart man, your father," I remark, smiling at the obvious admiration August had for the man. I don't say his father was kind--though he was most likely the sort--because sometimes, it takes more than kindness. It takes smarts, brains, mental strength and resistance. I know that there are weaker types who would've caved under the idea of raising a novel child with select tendencies. I don't think my own father could've done it. But I don't want anyone thinking too poorly of him, and I set out to correct things. "My father, he…he isn't a bad man," I begin, endeavoring to justify something some would find inexcusable.

<br><br>"He's just always afraid of the things that could be. It's no way to live, of course, but what's done is done." I brush a stray curl from my forehead, thinking of the father I left behind, the man who used to love taking me to the fair, the man who recoiled from the most minute and most grave of insults no matter who said them…the man who sold his daughter. But within reason, as I've always reassured myself. "Times were tough, my parents needed money, and it's always easy to give away something before you've really known it," I give August a faint smile. In the back of my mind, I think I'm aware that we wouldn't have had the money troubles if my mother's tastes weren't so extravagant, but I've always liked to imagine that it was a matter of life and death, that the money was for food and not luxury. But I can't ignore the truth completely, and the arch of my lip stiffens, sours. "I used to picture a future with Sterling and try to see it as my only destiny…that by getting married, I would be doing something right…"

<br><br>I'm no longer sour, because I'm reminded that I'm no greater than my father. He ran from his troubles, and that is precisely what I am doing now. "…fulfilling my purpose in life." It had always seemed like a duty that must be performed no matter what, and yet here I was now, miles away from my wedding. I let out a small sigh, shaking my head as if my guilt is a shawl that could be shaken off my shoulders. "I suppose I'm not as courageous or honorable as I've always hoped to be." The confession stings, but...what's done is done.

<br><br>At least my theory was correct on the matter that August hasn't chosen only one destination, once he unlocks his time machine. Listening carefully, I cross my ankles, toes stretched inside August's boots as he begins to tell me each one. I find the first one wonderfully sentimental, my previous gloom dissipating briskly with his infectious glee, because I don't think there would be anyone prouder than a person whose grandson has just gotten a time machine to work. A full-fledged, nearly cheshire smile shows the top row of my teeth as I watch him move, enchanted by his own complete passion for the topic. Visiting the world before civilization…before buildings and ships and streets. It sounds as if it'd be empty, but naturally, there would be lush forests and animals and all sorts of other life, as he describes. It's strange to think August would be the only person on earth during that time. I might grow mad if I was left in such a situation. The isolation would be overpowering! But then, August did say that he wouldn't leave me behind, so if I was still with him, then we would be the sole two people on earth. That's a whole 'noter thought, but I'm hardly given time to ponder it before August launches into the future, of which I try to have no or little expectations of. I wouldn't want to be disappointed. But I do have in mind a few things I would like to see…the best inventions would be the ones that connect us with others, from everywhere. Different means of travel would be fantastic, too. I'm imagining queer crafts with wiry faces and--

<br><br>Suddenly, August grasps my hands (though not too violently, this time) and informs me of his last port, and it's one I didn't forecast. "See me?" I repeat, surprised by that bit on his list, and it takes me a moment to realize what he means. But why…if I go? Isn't it inevitable? He has his mission, and I…well, I certainly don't want to interfere, or impede. Another mouth to feed, more weight on the ship…another permanent presence just adds a whole onslaught of changes to one's life! I couldn't do that to anyone, especially not August, when he has such a grand holy grail to be hunting after. Surely, he's only being polite…although the way he says it…it starts to occur to me how lonely August might've been all these years. It's a baffling epiphany, because I can't help but think it might mean something for me. "I…" But no, I can't…no. I set any confusion aside in a faraway drawer for now, shut it tighter when he squeezes my hands again. I fetch my voice. "I think my younger self would be very lucky," I grin.

<br><br>"She's always wanted someone to race her to the treehouse or chase dragonflies with." And really, this is applicable to any time, for even now, I've dreamed of having someone to wholly be myself with and share those experiences. I suppose you could say that if I could spend my spare time freely, it'd be in the most unconventional ways. Well, perhaps not most. After meeting August, I'd hardly think anything I've ever done or thought about was really unique in comparison. But enough to send my poor mother in a tizzy.

<br><br>I imagine what it'd be like to meet August when I was, say, nine. "You more than fit the bill," I tell him honestly, my smile tightening my lips together like pucker of a taut pull-string purse. I'd be fascinated by him, by Ol' Rusty, by the time machine, even more so than now, I'm sure. I was a little impatient back then, so I'd probably drill him on the places he has already searched, what he imagines the key to look like, and all of that, mercilessly. Poor August would have to cope with a much more demanding passenger. I'm glad I've changed at least that much, even if I've lost my honor. It's a sad thought, but I try to ignore it for now, concentrating on the good that awaits me in this new life.

<br><br>"But don't think you can't come visit me in the present, August." I give a curt nod. That's just silly. He doesn't have to stoop to my past self in order to have some conversation. Wherever our paths lead us, I seriously doubt I'd ever try to avoid August or wish not to see him. A warm look softens my smile. "We'll have to write and make some arrangements from time to time." He'll be on the move all the time, but it shouldn't be too difficult. My eyes move over to his, complicated irises like an iced blue doily. I say something I didn't anticipate. "I've never really had a real friend before." My shoulders crumple slightly, and then I find myself staring. A rude habit, and yet I can't stop myself. I release his hands--lightly--as if I think they're the cause, and lower my feet to the floor, returning to the other side of the kitchen.

<br><br>"So, does lentil soup with sweet potatoes and spinach sound like proper fuel?" I ask, adjusting my cap as I turn back to face him, more stable now. I pick up the canister of lentils I left behind when August went to show me the time machine, and I roll the metal in my hand. "Or do you have something else in mind?" It was just a recipe that seemed easy enough to make for the first day, and I noticed he had all the provisions needed. Besides, there's something very comforting about stew, and with all the excitement and commotion of the day, I feel that something a little more heartening needs to be eaten.
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<BR>I let out my own laughter when she chuckles, gray-green eyes alight as I feel her hand on my arm, a gratuitous gesture that makes me feel as if some hot beverage such as tea is running through my bloodstream. I shake my head as the chortle continues to slip through my lips. It feels good to not laugh alone, and her laughter is quite infectious. "No, no. I'm not teasing." I assure her as my laughter dies down and I give her a wide grin. "Just imagine the grand adventures we'd have! Traipsing across time, seeing whatever sights we dare please!" I can't imagine a better traveling partner. I really do hope she'll stay, for already, the idea of me doing this by myself seems incredibly lonesome.

<br><br>She remarks that my father was a smart one, and a fond smile grows upon my pink tinted lips. "Yes. Very smart man. So was my grandfather." I don't know where I'd be without them. I'd possibly be more off kilter than I am. "Maybe you'll be able to meet them someday!" It was possible, once I found that key. We could go back and she could have a little chat with them, if she so pleased. She goes on to defend her own father, and his decision to sell her. Honestly, I can't fathom how any parent could sell their child off to anyone, to choose their fate before they are even truly breathing the planet's air. My family never would have, no matter how horrid we were doing. However, my family is not her family. I do not really take to judging others. I do not like to be judged myself, so why would I?

<br><br>I do feel sorry for her father though, for feeling the need to sell his own child for profit. Maybe it doesn't seem so awful, if you think about it from their perspective. After all, many believe a woman's best future is marrying off to a rich man who will care for them for eternity. Maybe for some girls, this fate wouldn't be so cruel, so daunting, so lacking. It would be one they could live with. Perhaps Sterling is an upstanding and generically handsome man who most females would find to be a fine significant other.

<br><br>I have easily come to the conclusion that Vinnie is not like some girls, or other girls. She is her own type of girl. Her own type of being. The sort who finds the arranged marriage a trap to her heart no matter how she trains her brain to believe it's what she wants, because it was what her family handed to her, what they expected of her. I see the bitterness in her as she speaks, and I understand she feels a strange guilt for abandoning what she believed to be her destiny. My lips turn down at this, my eyebrows furrowing. I don't like the way she doubts her courage, her honor, herself, believing she's not who she thought she was.

<br><br>I know at times I can be as harsh as a feral rhinoceros charging towards his target with the way I handle others. I find that I can hardly contain my enthusiasm, and I feel that when I touch, I should put my all into it... However, during other times, it's completely the opposite. My thumb finds her chin, brushing the skin as lightly as if a butterfly had landed upon it. I run it up her jaw as my pistachio colored eyes stare into her glittering blueberry irises. "How are we to know just how courageous we are until the chance to show our courage arises?" My eyebrows pop up. Her skin is very soft, like the majestic silks of China, and I find my fingers stroking over the curve of her cheek. "And from what I can tell, my dear Vinnie, is that you've been honorable to your heart, which might I add." I smile towards her, "Takes great courage to follow." I press my lips together and give her a sort of sneaky closed lipped smile as I pull my hand back and simply tap the side of my index finger to her chin. "Hm?" I inquire, as if asking her to challenge me. I don't give her much of a chance though, for I laugh in delight at nothing in particular, and continue on to answer her question on my time and travel.

<br><br>I'm pleased to see that Vinnie is sure her younger self wouldn't mind visits from me. The idea of running about that tree house and going after fascinating little creatures with a shorter version of the girl before me sounds delightful, and a wide grin lights up my face, "You and me would have fantastic journeys in the forest, you see. Spend our nights swapping stories in the tree house. We'd find pictures in the clouds and in the stars." I would do that now, despite Vinnie's current age, something you can probably tell from my ecstatic tone. I find wonder in the small things, the large things, and all the things in between. The antics of a child seem extremely enjoyable, especially when you have one to spend those antics with.

<br><br>"If we are not together in the present, then something must have occurred between us?" My dark brows knit together as I respond to her insisting we meet in the future, looking like a lost puppy for a moment, going over as to why she would desert my side, but then it seems to hit me. My face falls, my lips a hard line as my eyes soften to an odd sadness. It would be just as I thought before she even joined me. She'd outgrow my ways. After all, she's hardly even seen a quarter of myself, of who I am, of what I can be. She hasn't been here for even an entire day. She's accepting and understanding, but her patience and open minded ways may be strained and pulled, ripped apart the longer she's around me. How long will she be willing to stay around me is a mystery. I can't be such a fool as to forget we don't really know each other, but oh, how I do want to know her. A smile that wavers like an unsure idea surfaces upon my mouth as I give her a curt nod. "Yes. Arrangements."

<br><br>Our eyes meet, and my smile turns solid as she tells me she's never had a real friend before. "Neither have I, Vin, but I believe we're changing that." We do have some sort of connection, yes? I feel we must. She's stuck around longer than anyone else who wasn't related to me before, and not because she's trapped on the ship until we land. That must mean something. I want us to be friends. To have a friend, a companion, a partner, during my journey, well, it would bring me great joy. She gazes at me, and I do the same to her, finding the act more natural than rude, but before long, her grasp releases mine, and her feet are on the floor, leaving me alone on the table.

<br><br>It's alright though, for she doesn't leave the kitchen, instead picking up my lentils off the nearby counter and asking me if a soup including sweet potatoes and spinach would be acceptable nourishment. My eyes scrunch up in mirth at the idea of this meal. Yes, I'll cook things here and there, but I tend to just gather things on a plate and nitpick at them. "It sounds like splendid fuel." I have nothing else in mind... Well, not when it comes to food anyway. My eyes find their way to the floor, and it doesn't take long for my overactive imagination to come out and play, telling myself that the floor is made up of a horrid brown acid and that it must be avoided at all costs. So, of course, I stand up on the table, step towards the opposite edge, and quite gracefully half leap and half step onto the counter near the tea bag tree, and plop myself down, legs dangling. Without an explanation, I start up a new conversation.

<br><br>"So, this Sterling fellow." I absentmindedly play with a string that's dangling from the cuff of my sleeve as I talk to her, or more like ramble off to her. "Do you care for him even a little bit? I highly doubt you care for him a lot or else you most likely wouldn't be here, correct? Is that the sort of life you want? Settling down in some sort of a house with a person you care for more than a little? Is that life at all appeal to you? Did you only need to get away, or do you want to travel? Where have you always wanted to go? What things have you always wanted to do?"
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[align=center]Posted Image[/align][dohtml]<center><div style="width: 375px; text-align:justify;">I like when August laughs--his whole heart thrown into it, no hands barred. He's nothing to hide, no mask at the ready, and it's something so refreshing and new that I know it's something I'll never tire of. He's someone I'll never tire of. I listen to him proclaim the next statements, shouting it like propaganda at the bottom of a sign. I smile at him, my gaze becoming as captured as a child at the stage of a street-side puppet show. "It sounds like a dream," I say almost wistfully, imagining it all. Because honestly, who would have ever thought that a girl of such little importance from a town like Greyhaven would even have the opportunity to accomplish all of that? Time-traveling. It really must be a dream, but one I intend to live in to the fullest.

<br><br>A rush of warmth floods my body as I feel entirely honored that August would actually want for me to meet his father, and grandfather as well. I'm sure they'd be of the most incredible personalities--being inventors, and related to August, after all. I wonder how many traits they'd share? My hand instinctively goes to the chain of my necklace, plucking at it for a moment as my weight shifts to my toes. "I'd like that very much, August," I respond in a sprightly manner, yet wholly honest manner.

After my unfortunate cognizance, he notices my more morose demeanor, and suddenly, I feel the pad of his thumb tracing a line from my chin to the side of my jaw, so carefully, so gently, it is almost as if he's stroking the gossamer, papery wings of some celestial endangered being in need of extra attentiveness. His fingers aren't the baby soft ones of aristocrats that soak them in oils or have never known a day of hard's work, especially not fiddling with mechanisms or piloting aircrafts. But it's not an unpleasant feeling. In fact, it's nice…very nice, and he's telling me things I didn't know I wanted to hear. I find myself being drawn in to him, like a dandelion being pulled by the wind but not hard enough to lose its fluttering seeds.

<br><br>Before I realize it, I'm leaning into his touch, into his eyes like jade marbles lightly speckled with azure. It's as if I'm seeing him in another way all of a sudden, through a new kaleidoscope that's bringing out different colors and contours that I didn't catch before. August is not only misjudged, but wise, wiser than I thought before. Smarter than I, smarter than anyone I've known. My lips part slightly, but snap together when he abruptly taps my chin with a smile as if we were sharing a secret, roguish and yet not entirely in the older, devilish manner, and more like a fellow scamp-in-arms…warming, somehow. I smile back, petals of my lips crimping together as I surrender to his logic. I can't argue with anything he's said, after all, and I'm so strangely moved by what he's said that I fail to grasp anything to respond with, save for a rather soft, out of place "thank you", my affected expression saying the rest.

<br><br>His plans sound amazing, and I really do enjoy the idea of being able to know August even earlier, having someone to tell my dreams and ideas to, having someone ask questions and actually be curious about me. As I think about it a little longer, I realize what would happen if August's machine worked, and he did go to see me in my childhood. "..then I suppose, I'd suddenly be able to recall all these whimsical, fond memories of a past with you, if that happened," I state, head perking up a bit at the idea, before I give a droll look. "So I don't have to be entirely jealous of my past self." I jest, although it's not as if I'm a bad place right now, not at all. It's just that I don't know how long it'll last, how long I'll be able to relish all of this.

<br><br>What August says next confuses me, however. What does he mean by that? Naturally, we'll be splitting ways eventually…when we arrive in Germany. I can't burden him forever. He knows that he won't have to tote around extra weight after we stop there, so what could he possibly have in mind? Perhaps he means together in the sense of still being on friendly terms? Surely, that must be it. But his face has turned so crestfallen in the past few moments that I feel the need to seal it. "Of course," I affirm, taking his hand for the instant, giving him the levelheaded glance that lets him know that I fully intend to keep in contact. "I'd like to stay updated on you and your latest escapades and feats."

<br><br>With a look of more enthusiasm than I would've hoped for, he accepts my menu suggestion swiftly. "Good," I smile, and decide to get started on it right away, because it usually takes forty-five minutes or so to prepare. I reach up towards one of the nets to take a lemon, finding that the net is made of a strange, durable yet entirely flexible material, that enables me to pluck the fruit through a tiny hole that stretches to accommodate the size. As I do that, I hear an odd smacking sound behind me, and I turn to see August having just landed on the counter, stance as nimble as Jack over the candlestick. I give a nearly delighted grin, like a child who has just seen a magic trick, chuckling lightly to myself before he drops down onto the counter as if it was the most comfortable chesterfield on the planet.

<br><br>As I begin collecting the other ingredients, August mentions Sterling, and my smile disappears, lips buttoning together. I unsheathe a knife from the block more briskly than usual as a full-length survey of questions pours out from him like a jet of endless steam, and I start to pare a sweet potato, the edge of my blade scraping the skin almost relentlessly. My motions calm as he continues, however, thinking of the future I want, and my carving turns more eased, almost artistic. "He was a boorish lout," I say, shaking my head. "The type that…doesn't believe in dreams, magic, possibilities…imagination…" I frown, and then look up towards August, lowering my chin. "…or miraculous machines." I roll my eyes with a smile of relinquish. "I don't think I could ever truly love a person as shallow as a…a bowl of bisque." I laugh a little at that. The next part is easier to answer than I thought it would be.

<br><br>"I've never enjoyed the idea of "settling down"…it makes me think of being stuck in one place, forever." Might as well be fettered to a post. "I think that if I find someone special, the one person for me…we won't be the type to hole up in a pretty cottage by the sea for the rest of our lives. " That is a lovely idea, but it's not for me. "I want to see everything there is to see. Spare no expense! I want us both to have our own valises just buried in tags from our travels all over the world, and if we have children, they'll have their own, too." It's peculiar, the "us" and "our" and "we" was just meant to apply to my future partner and I, but as I continued on, the meaning felt like it was changing to apply to…well, to…

<br><br>"What about you, August?" I question, my voice more tender and expectant that I had bargained for. "What sort of life do you long for, beyond one of time-skipping and popping in on different eras?" My knife curves around the vegetable, creating a spiral like a metal coil of potato skin as I look up at him, the concentration in my eyes saying that I'm trying to guess an answer I already know I have no means of presaging. He's unpredictable. My whole life, I've thought myself to be perceptive, but that maybe be just because I've been surrounded by very predictable people. "What do you see in your future?"
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<BR>I find myself staring at her hands as she peels away at the sweet potato, finding something calming about her motions. I place my temple up against a cabinet as I watch her, mind running away with itself as I imagine what her fingertips feel like. I've grasped her silky hands but I don't feel like I've truly felt her touch. They look so soft. My hands are so rough in comparison, ragged from working on machines and trinkets day in and day out. The only touch my fingers have known these past few years have been the grain of metals and the edge of the ores of the earth.

<br><br>I listen to every syllable that escapes her lips, my eyes closing momentarily as I let the sound fill my ears, creating an odd tingling sensation in my core that could lure me to sleep. That's entirely a compliment. I find her so soothing to my fractured senses. My eyelids raise before she looks at me, and a half smile hits me as she continues to explain her former fiance. "He sounds rather droll." I murmur, laughing when she does. He sounds like more than that. He sounds like a fate worse than death. I haven't known Vinnie long but I understand that she needs a partner who will fuel her dreams and be side by side with her on adventures, not someone who stands in her way and holds her back, like this Sterling man that she had to run away from.

<br><br>Her definition of 'settling down' is as if it's echoing my own thoughts on the subject. I would hardly want to stay in one place for too long. Traveling was always something I longed for and now has become a part of me. To know that it's what Vinnie wants to, well, I am pleased by this notion. Not that it matters if I am or not. She will find a man who shares our same ideals, one who will take care of her. Why would it be me? The idea would be laughable if it even crossed my mind. I do laugh though, but it's in pure mirth over the idea of her finding such happiness. My eyes gleam as I chuckle, admiring the idea, more than I probably should. It's a fine future to have in mind, a far cry from my own.

<br><br>She ends up actually asking about that, about what I see in my own future. My laughter falls to a flickering smile, but soon it drops to nearly a frown as my eyelids lower just slightly. I'm pensive, quiet for a moment as I think over what she asked me. No one ever has before, and, well, the only future that has been in my mind has been just what she described. Time-skipping and popping in on different eras has been my only plan. What is beyond that for me? That's what stops me short. I see nothing. It's an empty vast space before me. I swallow, my eyes lowering to the ground before they slowly rise to her expectant face.

<br><br>"That is all I have. Ha." My smile only glimmers as I speak, eyes glossy, shining under the light of the sun cascading through the window, eyes grayer than usual. "It's been my life, you see. The idea of time travel and then doing it... That's it." I lift my head and take in a deep breath. "Maybe someday I'll become a legend." My mouth widens as I let out a hearty laugh, finding that idea amusing. "The Mad Time Traveler, they'd call it." I nod, knowing how the majority of people think of me. I huff out a breath with a white smile, shaking my head, "This is it!" I swing my legs up and my arms out, a more deranged chortle escaping as my limbs drop, my booted heels thumping hard against the wood of my bottom cabinets. "I don't have anything else. Hm!" I press my lips together, edges turned up into a smile, my cheeks raising and scrunching up my eyes, but it's easy to see that none of my features are the least bit genuine.
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<br>"Droll?" I repeat, lips pressing together uncertainly as one eyebrow hooks, pondering the idea. I've always used droll in the sense of something that's witty, clever, funny. Perhaps something a little more dry, but still, something entertaining, to say the least. Sterling is the complete opposite of the word. He's like a slice of toast with the crusts cut off in a flawless manner, but no jam or butter or honey to go with it. Just a plain, plain thing, as blank as the peel potato I've just begun to dice. It's a mental description, completely mental, completely--no…perhaps that's exactly why August said it. August is very, very different…his own person, and I'm sure his views on the world would not connect with Sterling's at all. Perhaps that's precisely why August would find Sterling droll. I suppose it's the same manner in which I sometimes take a guilty interest in how banal the "catastrophes" my tea-time mates have can be. I could certainly picture August laughing at Sterling's gallery of endless portraits dedicated to himself.

<br><br>So, reconciled with the idea, a smile pushes its way through again, back to where it belongs. "Yes, I'd imagine you would find him…" I start to murmur as I take a pot and begin to fill it with water. Find him…I search my thoughts for but an instant, and then a chuckle tickles from my throat. "Very," I say, repeating the colloquial phrase August coined earlier before looking back over my shoulder at him, grinning. I begin to prepare the vegetable broth as I ask August about his own future, beyond whatever births from his contraption. However, it seems to be a sensitive one, and I watch as his smile slowly fades like the ink of a favorite quote into crinkled parchment over time. He thinks about it; no one's asked him before.

<br><br>When he does answer, I see that I have definitely dug into a wound beneath the surface, his entire manner changed, but…I don't feel guilty for it, ashamed that I might've caused this sad change, because I firmly believe that all our emotions wait behind our skin. I've only made him aware of it, but it's important to know your pain, for then you can fix it, you can heal it. I stop stirring the pot and set down the wooden spoon, turning the knob to lower the fire so I can leave its side for a moment. I'm needed elsewhere. I go over to August, shaking my head at his devaluation of his self, his future. "You're not mad," I correct in a fake, sour attitude, as if saying so displeases me greatly. Ordinarily, mad isn't too harsh of a word in my mind, but I wouldn't like to use it to describe August just because I don't like to think of what others would think of him. I know what I thought before of him, but I also know I was wrong. "That suggests there's some piece missing…"

<br><br>"But you have all your parts. Different ones, but that only makes for a more beautiful result. " I gaze up at him like a child who has been toiling over a puzzle for a long time, only to finally put in the last fragment and see the picture as a whole. But with August, it wouldn't be an ordinary puzzle made of some clumsy chunks of painted wood. With him, it would be like putting together a stained glass window...and after it's finished, you would see the world through brighter tints. Not rose-colored glasses, no veils and false optimisms. Everything real, only in a new light.

<br><br>"So you deserve a greater title than merely a "mad"--" I roll my eyes at this. "--time traveler." I touch a finger to the tip of his nose briefly, mouth curving upwards, nearly in an authoritarian way (Mother always says I can be rather bossy if given the chance). I'm sure he could concoct a better epithet than that, although I'm not creative enough to suggest any. Being such a small, precise profession, the only substitute I've ever heard for time traveler is chrononaut, and that's not wildly inventive either.

<br><br>But now it's time that I mention the last part, the part that's manifested in puppeteer strings that've hinged that unnatural smile on his face. "As for not having anything else…" I begin tentatively, wanting to say that if it's only time travel, that's already more than enough. I can't imagine many more wonderful things to have in life than such adventures, but somehow, I feel that that wouldn't be what August would want to hear. I shake my head, a slow, but playful smile tinting my lips warmer.

<br><br>"…well, we'll see about that." It comes out before I had even decided, and even I am not sure what it means entirely…if I'm…suggesting something? No, I don't matter. It's he that matters, his feelings that count. My head tilts back, that cocky look Sterling hates returning to my features. "You're very smart, August, but you've yet to invent any bifocals that can see down the road ahead," I say, almost whispering as I lower my chin. I stare back at him, letting him know I mean every word I said, but my eyes soften, like molten blue fire only warm, only encouraging and consoling. "So I wouldn't get too wrapped up about it," I tell him, raising a brow as if I'm warning him not to think otherwise. I bite down on my lower lip with a wry smirk.

<br><br>"I of all people would know that nothing is ever set in stone."

<br><br>Even weddings that have been arranged before I was born can be replaced with the most fantastical aerial adventures, if you would only wait.
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<BR>I watch as Vinnie leaves her food station to 'tend' to me, as I lean back slightly like a child who has a doctor approaching him, shifting uncomfortably. When I realize she's not going to touch me, I relax, and I watch her with rather brooding brows as she explains to me that I'm not mad, explaining that such a word means that pieces are missing. She's attempting to make me feel better, informing me that I'm made of alternate but still very fine parts indeed. It reminds me of what my father and grandfather would tell me, and I suck lightly on the inside of my bottom lip. The longer I'm alone, the more I'm not sure if those words are the truth or just a way to pacify me like a toddler.

<br><br>I don't usually like to call myself mad or insane or daft, for I don't like to believe myself as being such. I'm just... Eccentric. Isn't that the kinder word for it? However, if a few hundred people said you were blue with polka dots, wouldn't you start to wonder if your mirror or your pupils were shattered, and you were the only one to see yourself as a ball of peachy flesh? I've heard those who describe themselves as not mad are truly the crazy ones... So if I were to admit it, would that fix me? No. It wouldn't. Oh, these words! What can define me? I'm not crazy or odd or broken.

<br><br>I'm August.

<br><br>The problem with that is that most people can't understand an August, or an August scares them.

<br><br>I'm so distracted with my own wandering thoughts I shocked when her finger meets my nose and I stare back at her with wide and hazy teal eyes, my mind slowly recognizing that she has told me I am worthy of a title greater than the one I have given myself. It is kind of her, but I am unsure of what other title any legend I may become would have. People like to keep their fairy tales simple after all. They will pay no mind to what amount of lavish glory the title will give me.

<br><br>Her words towards my perception of my future are suppose to be helpful, but they are incredibly hurtful. She doesn't understand. Not many understand. Actually, not a single soul has. I reach up and run my fingernails down the side of my neck, enough to cause strict red marks but not enough to tear the skin. How can she say that? She's leaving, is she not? She's going to leave, and that reality, the only thing I know is reality right now, is going to grow more severe the longer she's here, taunting me with her presence. I won't have her. I won't have anyone, because they won't want to have me. It's just the way it is. I don't hate myself or who I am. I just see the harsh reality in my sparing moments of clarity.

<br><br>My eyes flutter downward towards my lap for a moment, fighting back what creeps up inside me. My knuckles clench and shake in my hand and as my eyes snap up, so does that appendage, grabbing into her frail wrist. I'm not rough. I don't hurt her. However, the strength in it shows my purpose, my want for her to be in the moment and pay attention, my need for an anchor. My eyes meet hers, and they are tinted by a darkness stirred up inside of me from things I bury deep within, the truths I avoid, the things I have not told her. My curved lips shudder before they move to form my firm words, "You don't understand."

<br><br>I swallow, and I am almost positive you can see the vessels in the whites of my eyes straining, growing more crimson with each word. "You don't understand, Vinnie. This is it. They don't stay. You won't stay." The last three words are an aching whisper as I find myself slipping off of the counter, onto my feet. Although I'm not a tall man, beside her tiny frame I tower above her. My hand keeps it's grip on her for now, the grip on it neither loosening or tightening. I find myself fighting flashes of smothered memories. "There was another girl, in the very beginning. She asked to join me, and I said yes." She had been a girl working one of the produce stands in town. I was seventeen and she was just sixteen, and believing she needed travel and excitement to fill her dull life. She must thought of my ways charming because they were so askew from all the other boys she knew. She had been oddly infatuated with me.

<br><br>"They leave, Vinnie, you see." My eyes are getting watery, but they don't spill. My hand finally lets go of her wrists and I grab onto her delicate shoulders, my thumbs pressing into the fleshy part, "They want to leave when they can't see what I see." My bottom lip is pulled downward by my emotions, shaking, my nose tingling. "She got so scared. Terrified." It had been a bad episode, something that the female in front of me hasn't had the chance to witness yet. "And the screaming." Mine, not hers. My hold tightens enough to bruise as my eyes grow more fervent, the speckles of green and blues inflamed, with a dash of frenzy. "The screaming, she could not take." My voice breaks, as if my vocal cords are as unhinged as my mind.

<br><br>We landed as soon as possible the next morning. She wanted to go. She would get back home some other way.

<br><br>"It's not that I am missing pieces, my dear. I merely have too many!" I laugh, from the deepest recesses of my throat, the chortle dark and overwhelmed. "Don't you know, Vinnie? That's what the doctors do. They take out the extra pieces, the ones that make you see things, the ones that make you think in ways the others can't process." My eyes shine as my lips twitch with dazed amusement, "But, they always take out too many pieces, you see. Too many. You become a shell of something, because they think that's better than being too much, than encompassing too much."

<br><br>I take in a breath through my nose, but as it escapes through my mouth it far from a steady stream. "You believe that you know me but you don't, just as I don't yet know you... But so far, you are fantastic, and I will hate it when you leave." I state before I finally let her go, our eyes embracing for but a moment longer before I turn and go over to my tea tree, picking up a bag of Earl Grey and placing it to the side before I go about boiling the water, my actions rigid and my face still, the only reminders of my little break consisting of my puffy eyes and the marks running down my neck.
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<br>Suddenly, something comes over August like a storm, and he seizes me abruptly, staring at me with a look I've never seen before. So…cold, but burning at the same time, straight through me like a frozen poker. As he repeatedly tells me I don't understand…that people don't stay. I'm beginning to see what a fool I am. All along, I've been the one pushing our departure in Germany, just because I thought it was the right thing to do. But now that I retrace our conversation, I'm forced to realize that August had never said I have to leave…not once. Does it mean…he wants me to stay? To be here with him?

<Br><br>I can't believe that he would but…I can't ignore what he said before. "If we are not together in the present, then something must have occurred between us?" I was blinded by my own fervent beliefs in manners, of all things! And that is a crime so horrible that I hope never to commit it again. I shake my head, trying to come to terms with this new revelation. I'm not used to people…wanting me around, at least, being something more than merely ornamental. But in spite of all of this, August then goes on to assert that I won't stay…supporting it even with evidence from the past. There was another girl, and I don't know why this bothers me, but it does. I've little time to be vexed about it, however, before August continues. "What do you…" I start to ask him what he sees…I thought he sees the most amazing things. He's seen in me what no one has ever seen before. His vision is what has allowed him to get so far in his life, with these adventures and travels. Why would anyone leave because of that?

"…screaming?"

I repeat it, but even when I hear myself say it, I don't know what it means. Screaming? The girl before me…couldn't take the screaming. What was the source…no, I feel like I know the answer already. His expression tells me everything I need to know. I don't need to ask it. But…why, why would there be screaming? What…happened?

<Br><br>It's now that I'm realizing how little I really know about the man I'm traveling with. Other than his name…the name of his ship, our destination… what do I really know?

<Br><br>He talks of pieces and shells and a very ugly light suddenly shines on reality. It sounds like something from a novel, not something that should be known, or should exist in our world. I'm aware what some doctors do…and that they aren't the only ones that do it. Parents try to fix their children, too. We grow up in a society where perfection is craved, pursued. No one knows the true definition, but they'll go to such lengths if they think they can just step a little closer. Every since I was told of my engagement when I was young, my world has been taking pieces from me. Day by day. With each French lesson, with each forced poetry citation, every time my fingers touched the bow of a violin I never wished to play…I was losing my pieces, myself. How much of me is left? Have I become a shell of who I was once, in my happy childhood days?

<Br><br>His words torment me. They torment him.

<Br><br>And then August releases me, ending it with words that only confirm how much of a simpleton I was before to take his words in the wrong way. He leaves me, to go make tea, and for a moment, I'm rooted in my spot. "No…no," I reply, eyes going to stare at the floor, my senses awakening, my feet feeling the smooth rumble of the ship that reminds me we're in the sky, away from the rest of the world, and yet, still bound by the malice it plaits in our minds with these constant thoughts of not being enough. Good enough, smart enough, normal enough, never enough.

<Br><br>"You're very right." He doesn't yet know me, and I don't know him. We are still strangers. It's only been hours since we've met. We may be on friendly terms, but we still don't know so many things about each other. I won't lie to him.

<Br><br>"I don't…." I begin again, force the words out. "I don't make empty promises." I don't give people false hopes. I know what it's like to be on the other end, and I would never want to put someone else in that position. As much as I would like to be the friend I know August needs, I can't know if I have that ability in me. There's so many things unknown. "I can't swear that I won't be scared, or terrified." There's a chance the girl before me was made of much braver stock, and she was still frightened away. I'd like to think I'm courageous, but I've never had the opportunity to try it. I can't make an oath on something that may not exist inside of me.

<Br><br>"For now, I can't even swear that I will never leave," I murmur, a regretful tint on my lips as I stare at him, almost ashamed of my reply. I'm sorry to say the words. But things happen. Terrible things happen that can't be predicted. We live in a war, not just one between countries and seas but every day on this universe can be a war. We imperfect creatures can't help it. There is only one thing I am certain of. "But I can promise you that if I do leave…." I step over to August then, and soon I'm standing by his side, the tea pot breathing in front of us. I touch his hand, lightly at first, and then I take it in his, gently. "I won't forget you, or this. " A light chuckle softens my otherwise melancholic demeanor, eyes flickering to the whole of the ship's grand interior. "…all of this." I squeeze his hand.

<Br><br> "In the past few hours…you've given me more than anyone ever has in my lifetime." Anyone. Assurance, comfort, adventure, freedom…acceptance. I could go on. "I'd be very sad to go," I admit, not even wanting to think of it, bringing my gaze back to his. In the back of my mind, a hopeless desire forms--I want his face to be more familiar to me than my own, but…I don't know if that could happen. I purse my lips, and a new idea forms because well, this is a very sorry turn of conversation that we've taken, so early on in our acquaintance. In my hasty attempt to bring it all back, I lower my brow, but hand still holding his. "You know, you've made me very cross in bringing the topic up, at all" I cluck in an attempt to appear annoyed. "I should be angry at you, August."

<Br><br>But I smile.

<Br><br>We'll just have to wait, and see.
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<BR>Vinnie is extremely honest with me, something I appreciate. Though I must seem unstable, she shoots straight with me. She's real. She's not hiding anything. She tells me she can't promise she'll stay forever, can't swear she won't become as scared as the girl before her had been. I look down at the counter, staring at the edge of it. I'm ashamed she has to say such a thing. I don't want to frighten her, but I know it's going to end up happening. It might even happen tonight. I can't predict it, but considering I have violent episodes nearly every night, it's inevitable. Sometimes I believe it takes more than someone brave to want to still be around me after they see how bad I can really be. I can't pinpoint it, but it's something. Lets just call it very for now. You have to have something very, and as much as I hope for it, I can't really say if Vinnie has it or not.

<br><br>She starts speaking again, about to make me a promise, and as she does, she touches my hand. A flinch slightly, but I keep my hand there, allowing her to grab hold of it gingerly. The last time I was touched so warmly, I was saying goodbye to my father. I bring my teal eyes to her as she states that she will never forget me, or all that I've given her. A twinge of a smile hits my lips as she informs me that she'd be sad to go, the idea that anyone, no, not anyone, that she, wouldn't like to leave me making my heart feel funny. It's in a good way though, so I don't mind. "I'd be very sad to see you go." I murmur as I look over her face, and then I bring my eyes down to our hands. I slide my thumb across her silky skin, wishing that she didn't have to let go but knowing she will have to eventually. When she speaks again, I bring my gaze up, and now she's chastising me for bringing all of this to the fore front, saying she should be furious at me, but the air around her and the smile on her lips suggest otherwise.

<br><br>The ends of my lips edge up into a smile, though it is shown my prominently in my cheeks. "Please don't be." I huff out of my nose as my smile grows, "I apologize. I didn't mean to upset you, you know. I... I want you to stay, but I would never make you stay. I would land early for you if that was something you'd prefer, and it might be, you see. You had to know the possibilities... Incredible, isn't it?" With my next words, my voice becomes a whisper as I lean in closer to her. "You could be gone tomorrow or here forever." The last two words are tender compared to the rest, because it would be fine by me if she never left.

<br><br>I'm proven this as we spend the rest of our day together.

<br><br>I make tea while she cooks us an incredible meal. I cannot recall the last time I ate so well, and I make sure my appreciation is shown. I offer her the shower first and after we're both clean I sit down with her and discuss with her the places I've been and the things I've seen, telling her we can revisit the places after I've found the key to my time machine, or earlier if that takes too much time. We laugh some more as she tells me little stories about her life, and I realize how trapped she really was, how sad it was. I feel like some sort of hero just because I gave her an outlet, an escape, even if she was the one who took it for herself. We don't discuss what happened in the kitchen again, and I find that best. We are merely able to enjoy each other's company, and I realize she has given me one of my happiest days in a long time. She brings me far more joy than that other girl did, who always stood too close and smiled at me a little funny. She's truthful, and imaginative, and curious, and adventurous, and she doesn't belittle my quirks and eccentricities. She is truly something. She murders the painful loneliness I have felt the past few years and stashes it away, because she doesn't merely fulfill my need to socialize, but also my need to be understood.

<br><br>I get her settled on my fortunately comfortable couch, loading with blankets and pillows I've collected from different parts of the world. I bid her good night and sweet dreams, and I lower the lights on the ship before I head to my bedroom. I crawl into bed and I lay there, staring at the window above my bed, towards the stars. I do this until my body relaxes and the edges of my gaze start to darken, the day playing in the back of my mind, while my heart pumps strongly against my chest and back, reminding me of just how alive and present I am, and how excited I am to see Vinnie the next morning. Soon, my eyelids close, and I fall into a steep and horrifying slumber that I know all too well.

<br><br>This dream starts with an air raid siren, and I am right in the middle of the bombing. The problem is that I cannot run. It's as if I am moving in slow motion, and no matter how hard I try, I cannot move fast enough. In seconds, the scene changes, and I'm able to move quickly, but no matter where I run in the city, the scenery is the same. There are bodies everywhere. The blood seems to be seeping out of the walls. I slip in it, the sticky crimson coating me. I call out, but no sound is heard. No one can hear me. Everyone ignores me, even the ones staring right at me. It does not matter how loud I scream.

<br><br>I manage to pull myself up from the pool of blood and I precede to run, soon finding myself in a warehouse filled with our enemy's soldiers. They all wear gas masks, all of them making a high pitched screeching sound that soon transforms into cries of pain. They are all coming after me, but as I turn around, the door I came in through is missing. As I turn back, a weapon, a curved knife is in my hand, and I hardly hesitate to begin hacking away at them, tearing them apart. They aren't human. Instead they are some sort of machine, made up of broken gears and rusted pipes. It is not until I slice through the last one does a waterfall of blood escape it's tall form, and I find myself drowning in it. I'm in a pool of it. I can't breathe. Though I reach the surface, I cannot stop choking.

<br><br>That is when I wake, but that does not mean that the nightmare has stopped. As I gasp for air, an intolerable pain shoots through my arm. It's a burning agony, as if the most severe of fevers have taken residence in the appendage. Once my airways clear, I let out a blood curdling scream. I fumble to unbutton the top buttons of my shirt, pulling my arm out. I place my hand on it and it nearly singes it. I pull it away swiftly and look down at my arm, seeing that my scar is a brighter red than it has been in years. I can nearly see it throbbing with it's torment.

<br><br>I start to breath heavily as I turn to look about my room. I don't see my room though. I see the excruciating visions of war, death, blood, and absolute loss. It surrounds me. The tragic weeping, the heavy cries, and the shrill screams of terror fill my ears, and my outcries follow. The pain isn't there, the visions aren't there, and the sounds aren't there, but in my mind, it's all real. It's all right in front of me. It's all afflicting me. I can't escape. As it builds, as everything becomes louder and more vibrant, the pain in my arm becomes unbearable. I press my fists into the ground, or what is actually my mattress, as a shudder runs through my body. I cry, my tears stinging my eyes as they cloud my vision. This episode is bad. It's the worst I've had in months, possibly years. As my nails dig in and my knuckles tense, I let out another shout, just wanting it to stop, just wanting some sort of salvation from all of the anguish.
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<br>
I feel a sort of happiness touch me when he mentions staying here forever, in such a special way that I can't help but think that he possibly might…he would possibly be as happy as I would, if I did. My smile brightens at that notion, but at the same time, I feel something sinking inside me, a pressure building because…I know it's all on me, then. August doesn't seem like he would abandon me, and I'm so ordinary that he wouldn't really have a reason to unless I was too dull. But I don't know what else there is inside him that's bad enough he has to warn me about. I want to believe it'll all be all right, that this friendship we're forming right now won't just become a painful memory that I'll miss and reminisce about on my own in the future.


<br><br>"Well, then, we'll just have to hope for the latter," I pipe up, grinning as I choose to break the melancholic tone of this discussion and releasing his hand, only to jauntily give his cheek a pat, before spinning on my heel, back towards the stove. The day continues on in this manner, us sharing supper topped with August's rather wonderful tea, freshening up and then just spending the rest of the time simply talking. About ourselves and our lives and all the things we've dreamed about. The more he talks, the more drawn I feel to him. He's just…he's got whole worlds not only at the palms of his hands, but in his mind. August is everything I've lacked in a companion before. Kindness, humor, innovation. That honesty that always gives you what you need. For these hours with August, I feel as if I've never been alone in my life, like he's always been there for me. And I really, really, really don't want to lose that feeling.


<br><br>When night comes, August arranges a myriad of pillows and blankets on the couch for me, making a nest that's quite comfortable. He also lends me a spare shirt of his to sleep in, so large that it's practically a nightgown for me. I mean, my mother would think it horribly indecent, and if it was a man other than August, I would feel wildly uncomfortable to wear such a thing, but after all we've been through today, I think it would take a great deal to make things feel truly strange.


<br><br>It's difficult for me to fall asleep, for just looking at one of the pillows he gave me, I'm filled with curiosity and excitement. It has embroidery that does not only tell someone's story, but someone's story from another country. The exotic architecture colorfully sewn into the pillow's material is almost like a promise of all the amazing adventures to come, should I stay with August and his airship. A very, very good promise.


<br><br>I soon find myself in a hazy dream…I'm walking down some silvery path somewhere, but the grass and trees are an ivory color. There's a dark purple night sky, with the stars hanging closer to the earth than ever before, and it's so beautiful that I feel wrong being there…as if I'm disturbing the scene. I tread lightly, unsure of where I'm heading in this phantasmagorical world, but the path eventually takes me to this eerie cavern. The stalagmites look as if they're made of glass, capturing colors and reflecting them every which way, and I reach up to touch one, when--it burns me.


<br><br>The screaming.


<br><br>Just like he said.


<br><br>It slits through the night, causing me to jolt out of my dreams like jumping through a hole. My eyes open, and for a second, I'm shocked to find myself in the airship, having nearly forgotten the adventures of the previous day. My surprise doesn't last long, however, for the cries continue, overcoming all other thought. And they aren't growing softer, or louder with each second--they're growing more agonized. They don't even sound…human. The torture in the howl couldn't be experienced by any human…it couldn't. And yet…I know there's only one other person onboard.


<br><br>I don't think. Thinking (at least, thinking too deeply) in this sort of situation can make you become a coward. If you trust your body, your instincts, you are more likely to do the brave thing. So I reach for the hurricane lamp on the table, clicking the gear until the light turned on, and then use my other hand to toss off the blankets, bare feet dropping to the creaky floorboards below. I hurry off towards the sound, never abating even now, until I reach August's bedroom. "August?" I call through the wood, knocking twice, and then pressing my ear to it. "Are you all right?!" There is no response, however, and I can't even be sure if I'm heard through his shouts, so I decide to heck with it and try the handle. It opens and I step through, only to find August in his bed, looking as if he wants to rip his mind to shreds.


<br><br>"Wha…what…" I'm at loss for words, just staring back at the sight with widened eyes, but I soon find my bearings. Growing up with a mother like mine, you learn to adapt to nearly every mood, though I've never seen anything like this. In this darkness, he's reeling like a man being pulled through the pits of poison, twisting and contorting through invisible torments. I turn to the side of the wall, lifting the lamp and looking for the apparatus that'll light up the room, but can't find it. I abandon that endeavor and head towards the bed instead. "August, what happened?!" I ask, looking around the room for a moment, wondering if he saw something, or he's in some sort of pain, or…I don't know, something else! What could it be?!


<br><br>I raise my lamp, and the first thing I see is his tears. Not ordinary tears, like the ones I expected to shed yesterday, for leaving, and going back on my word. These are tears of delusion, crafted from something foreign to our reality. He's looking without seeing, crying without really feeling. Everything's wrapped up in some black fantasy. I know this because I've seen this before, but with my grandfather. But for all my experience, I still feel useless and in the dark, unsure of what to do. And that's when I see what else my light illuminated. August's arm, poking out from his unbuttoned shift, with a scar that had been hidden away in the daytime.


<br><br>It is at once both one of the most beautiful and terrifying things I've ever seen. I can't decide what it looks like. Vessels, or branches, coral reefs…it's veiny and crimson…the imprint, brand, and blood of a nightmare. August doesn't seem to see me, at least, in the sense that it is me, his mind perhaps still clouded in the wake of some incubus. He doesn't even seem like August anymore, the chipper man who I had tea and laughed about the possibilities of time with…only hours ago. He's gone, or lost.


<br><br>Everything he told me earlier, about the girl who couldn't take the screaming…him having too many pieces. It falls together. This was what August was warning me about. Or not this exactly, but everything involving and behind it. But it isn't monsters and ghouls. It's not made of the usual things one runs from. It's just pain, and something inside me tells me there is absolutely no way I am abandoning him now. I force myself to speak.


<br><br>"August…August, it's me, Lavin--Vinnie," I say, my voice strong at first….almost strict, wanting him to hear me. I will it not to waver. I reach out towards him, hand twitching slightly, but then stop before I touch him, afraid that I might hurt him accidentally. "I'm here, August," I tell him, bringing the lamp towards my face now, casting light on my own skin, trying not to tremble. "I-I'm here with you." I think to ask what's wrong, but then decide against it, thinking that suggesting something could even be wrong would only make matters worse. My mind searches for what my father always said to comfort me when I woke up in the middle of the night and screamed.

<br><br>"It's…i-it's all right," I start, and then suddenly, feel just a bit more comfortable, living through my father's template. "Yes, it's all right." I sit down by the edge of the bed a little bit away from him, cautiously, not wanting to startle him. "Y-You're fine…you're safe, August." Terrified of not knowing what'll happen next, but knowing that terror on my face is the last thing he needs to see, I clench my teeth just slightly, hidden beneath my closed-lipped smile.
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<BR>Something foreign enters my conflict. It's a voice. A female voice. It's the epitome of warm and gentle to my ears. I want to follow it. I want to go to it. I let out a sob, my lips pressing tightly together as I duck my head, the tears gushing out as I attempt to push past all the horrors I'm seeing and pain I'm experiencing. I shake my head, thinking that maybe it's not there. It's just light I can't grasp. There is no one talking to me.

<br><br>The voice does not fade away however. In fact, it seems to get closer. There is someone here, trying to reach out to me, trying to pull me out of the blood I'm drowning in, and I lift my head, opening my eyes. The visions are fading away, mixing the battleground with my own bedroom, and I almost feel dizzy as I'm coming down. I look around frantically for the voice, and finally my eyes find where a light is shining. There is a woman, of a miniscule frame and a face as striking as a porcelain doll. I stare at her, not having a clue who she is. Why is there a woman here? I don't know any women. I never have. My breath is shaky as I move towards her, suddenly feeling the need to protect her from the bad things I see. "It's dangerous." I whisper as I blink, salty tears falling effortlessly from my gaze.

<br><br>As I close the distance between us, I look directly into her eyes, and I am quickly reminded that I do know a woman. Vinnie Trumeter. My new friend. This isn't a kind stranger. This is someone who should be asleep in the common room of my airship. There is no battle. There is no blood. There is no death. There is my bedroom. There is Vinnie. There is me, with pain subsiding in my scar from long ago. Long ago. Yes. It's been four years since I was in the war.

<br><br>I come back to reality.

<br><br>Realizing what I have done, what she has seen, and what she has heard, on top of the emotional turmoil of the whole thing, my bottom lip drags down and trembles as fresh tears on top of the ones that had hardly had the chance to dry yet appear. "Oh." I whisper, my breath quick as I feel my legs give out under the sudden weight of the situation, and I move into a seated position beside her, all of my pieces, extra or not, coming together. Everything starts to become clearer. I go over what happened today. I recognize the fact that I have probably frightened Vinnie to no end, and my hands start to shake as I think of this, as it upsets me, because I don't want her to go. I stop myself before I overreact however, because she didn't go. She hasn't gone anywhere. She stayed with me. She talked me down. She's not leaving.

<br><br>I turn to her, my teal orbs bloodshot and glossy, and my hands find the sides of her face as I stare into her eyes. "You're scared." I whisper, knowing that even though she did stay, that didn't mean she was numb to the situation. My gaze is intense on her as I search her face, and I can see how uncomfortable she really is. I pull away from her swiftly, as if I'm hurting her with my touch, and my hands move to fix my shift, but it turns out that it is ripped, and wouldn't stay on half of my body even if I wanted to. I'll have to sew it later. Do I know how to sew? Oh, I can't remember. I sigh as I strip the white linen from my body and toss to the floor, leaving me in my olive breeches, and she can see that the scar along my arm is not the only one, though it is the biggest and most unique. Parts of my chest, shoulders, and back are covered in small scars, nics from scrapnel and the like. There is a scar at the top of my left shoulder where a bullet grazed me. I have a burn mark across the top of my back from a gun which shot out pure steam. As she looks at me, I come to remember that I told her the altered version of my history. I told her lies, because in that moment, telling her the truth might not have been healthy for me. I feel awful, for I have not been honest with her, but I must rectify that now.

<br><br>"I lied to you." I whisper, the shame clear on my face. "About me. About my history. I was afraid of what you'd think of me." I look down, flashes of the kills I've made running through my brain, but right now, I'm focused enough to merely push them back, to not let it consume me. "I was afraid of how I'd react to it." I fiddle with the corner of one of my sheets as I speak, my eyes lifting back to her face. "But I am going to tell you the truth now, you see. I can tell you now."

<br><br>I inhale deeply through my nose and wipe the tears off of my cheeks before I begin, my voice low, "I didn't escape the draft. I was only fourteen when they came for me. My father pleaded for them not to take me, because it is true that I was not suited for war. I was always an odd and fragile boy, and I could never hurt a living thing. War was the last thing I was suited for." I lick my chapped lips as my hand comes up to rub at my chin and jawline where stubble has already grown. "It didn't matter to them. They dragged me away, but not before my father had packed my things and gave me the time machine for safe keeping."

<br><br>I adjust myself as I sit there, moving so that I'm directly facing her, and you can easily see the stress resting upon my face. "They trained me to fight, to use weapons, to be a good soldier, and I barely got through that. I scraped by. They didn't bother to send me back even if I didn't respond as well as they hoped to the training. They gave me a squadron and we were out on the battlefield before I was anywhere near prepared." I suddenly let out a chuckle, "Huh, but who can be prepared for that sort of thing?" I shake my head as my laughter fades into a strict silence, and I merely sit quietly for a moment, gathering my thoughts before I continue.

<br><br>"In the middle of battle, I came to realize that I couldn't be August anymore. I had to become something else... Something beast-like. A monster. Ruthless. Blood-thirsty. The horror snapped me in two. Who I was fell into the background and what I could do took over." I gestured to my chest, to my soul, as I shake my head at myself. "I blew men up. I shot them. I set them on fire. I-I sliced their necks open. I was numb to everything, yet in the back of my mind, I was screaming for escape. I craved it more than anything. I wanted to be home with my family. It never ended though. It was day and night of murder. It was death and violence. It was blood and human pieces. I stole life. I stole other's loved ones." My face contorts because despite my lack of mental static, my emotions can't handle the truth. This will always upset me, in one way or another. I bury my eyes into the palm of my hands, sniffling, and now, I do not dare to look at her. I don't want to know what she thinks of me. "I was only myself when I would look upon that time machine and think of home, but I wouldn't allow myself to look at it for long. I didn't want to break. I couldn't afford to break."

<br><br>I pull my hands away and look away from her, a whimper of a sob escaping me before I suck in a breath and precede. "After two years, I was just a machine. I fought and I killed. I was the only one left from my original squadron, and the boys that were with me now were frightened of me, even though I had no intention of hurting them. Just the enemy. They were right to be afraid though." You can see the horror in my face as I relive my final moments in the war. "One gray afternoon, we were fighting, and all of a sudden I felt this white hot burn up my arm." I gesture to my strange scar. "A ray gun had got me in the shoulder, and traveled all the way down my arm. It was crippling. It was the worst sort of physical pain I had ever felt. It ran throughout my entire body at first, the pain, and all of a sudden, I was in a blind and bloody rage." I shudder at myself as I look across the floor and to the wall. "I had shattered. All of me had lost it, and I attempted to kill everything and everyone in sight, including a few of my fellow soldiers." I am so ashamed and horrified at myself I feel sick, and she can probably see it on my face.

<br><br>"A couple of our commanders dragged me away, tranquilizing me. When I woke up, they told me I was going to be sent back home, because I was a danger to my comrades, and said that I should get some help." I become more numb to what comes next, physically, but vocally you can hear the struggle. "I was dropped off at home, but it wasn't my home anymore. Even if I hadn't been as afflicted as I had become, I wouldn't have recognized it. It was filthy. It was ransacked. It was empty. My family was gone, all because of that time machine, because they wanted it. There was blood on the floor." I shrug my shoulders as my head shakes at myself, "And I didn't even realize their absence until weeks later." I sob, this time harder, before I start laughing, at myself, at what I've become. My hands run through my hair quite roughly, scratching at the back of head vigorlessly before I rest my hands upon my lap, my legs now crossed in a meditative fashion, and I go on.

<br><br>"I could hardly take care of myself. I hurt myself. I couldn't eat meat after what I'd seen. I forced myself into the bustle of the market and managed to make it out with the produce I needed to live." I swallow, my stomach churning as I think of meat. It doesn't matter if it's beef, chicken, fish, or anything like them. I couldn't eat it or even deal with it anymore after the war. "The only time I could think clearly was after my night terrors. Like now." I glance at her and give her a sheepish smile. "This is when I'm the most like I was before the war." I let out a soft sigh before I look down at my scar, my opposite hand running along the lines of it, before I pause and hold it out to her. "It feels like silk." I whisper to her. It doesn't hurt. It stopped hurting long ago. It's only my illusions that tell me that it's burning.

<br><br>"So, one night, I went outside, and I uncovered my father's old airship. He was going to sell it, for he had no use for it anymore, but never got around to it. So, there it sat. I fixed it. I became so transfixed on repairing it I hardly did anything else. Sleeping, eating, and just being was sort of in the back of my mind. I did what I had to in order to live, but that was all. I had a goal, and I went at it hungrily. I got supplies from abandoned homes and scrap yards. I rebuilt it and added on to it. I made what you see here." I gesture around me, speaking of the airship. "I got it working. As soon as I got it working, I stocked up on grains and beans and produce and I left. I left that city, our city, and then I had a new goal. That key."

<br><br>Suddenly, I grab hold of her hands, which feel like a king's collection of velvets, and I clench them in a caring manner, "After that, everything else I told you is true, except I've been searching for three years instead of five." I blink away the last of my tears. "I am far better than I was, even if it hardly seems that way." My eyes flicker downward before I lift them to meet her eyes, her otherworldy eyes, and I give her a half smile. "If you want to leave, I will understand. I will be sad." I am being honest after all. "But I will understand, Vinnie, you know."
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SKINNED BY ALISON WONDERLAND OF ATF.