You enter the door seemingly carved into the trees spine…


Is anyone…? Um. Oh?

Is… is that? Oh, greetings! I wasn’t sure if you were actually here or not. Gosh, look how small you are, indeed. Oh no no! J don’t mean like that, of course… I mean in comparison to, well, everything! Just look around you; look outside; look up into the sky. Can’t you see? Don’t you get it? It’s not important anyway, noone ever really gets it. 

So tell me! How are you? We hardly speak nor see eachother anymore, granted that’s my fault… Well go on, tell me how you’ve been feeling recen- uh. That’s… You’re thinking of a problem aren’t you. You know, I really couldn’t give a toss. Not in a mean way, mind, just… You’re so bloody small! I hope to God you get that someday since its not like this ‘being this tiny thing in such a large universe’ concept is an incredibly commonly used anecdote or anything. I’m not surprised you don’t really care about it. Noone ever does at first. Well, the first few times you start having visions of your perfect future all because you feel as though your mind has been split open and filled with knowledge, but that never lasts more than an hour. You’ve just got to be feisty about it. Just stick your fingers up and yell “Fuck you problems!” 

Well, actually you probably shouldnt. There’s most likely people within earshot. And don’t be that smartass who is all “but people being within earshot is a problem which means I should do it. Muewww mueeewwww mueeeeeewwwwwwww”. You know what problems I’m talking about you tit. You’re hardlylistening to me because you wish you had a lollipop. Though, a lolly would be pretty dapper right around now. Would a lolly taste better if it had ketchup on it? Oh no no no why would I think of that, Jesus’s nipple tassels, that’s horrible! Now that’s a problem I can happily say ‘fuck off’ to. 

So anyway, what brings you here?

Oh. I’m all out of heroine, but I can throw in a free taster session of some cocaine if you buy this tin of cannabis.

Axiomatic Vagabond

Every footstep made on the shimmering floors of the ship sent countless echoes to cascade down my ears, every new step digging deeper into my mind and carving the truth upon it.

I was alone.

Staring out through the front of the ship into the void of space, it made me realise that I chose to be alone. I didn’t have to fly out here, there isn’t even technically a here in which I am currently situated in. My ship is surrounded by nothing, and that nothing is applying so much pressure to the ship’s exterior constantly. Maybe it will cave in some day; that would probably be fun.

You see, I wasn’t always alone. People used to come with me all the time on these stupid adventures. They never ended up as strangers to me. Whenever I took them home they became a part of me from the experience, and I treasured every moment. It’s just a shame that outliers exist. All it takes is one little outlier to completely ruin your routine, to make the skew of the data blast out of proportion. It’s always hard to ignore it; sometimes you can’t just remove that single piece of data from all of the others and pretend it doesn’t exist. It’s hard to pretend that someone you loved doesn’t exist.

As if routine, a noise belted up from beneath the floorboards from where I tapped my feet and scraped them across. The two of them were still down there. Along all of my travels, they’re usually encountered by me. They are a part of me after all; it’s hard to escape them. I have two of my emotions held captive downstairs. Why they exist is a long story which I do not wish to delve into, but just know that a small part of me is happy I can see them visually. What I have downstairs are literal beings which are my emotions. Each of them looks different, walks different, talks different… Also, naturally, each and every one of them wants to kill me. Among the lower decks right now are Guilt and Boredom. Sure, I could kill them… Why on Earth would I keep something that’s trying to kill me alive and on my ship? Well because we’re not on Earth. I don’t want to. Killing those emotions also strips my soul of them. If I someday decide to kill Boredom, then I will never be bored again. I shouldn’t have that kind of control over my emotions, so I keep them alive. Just trapped, so that they can’t someday kill me. I’m lucky I haven’t met depression yet, to be honest. I might have to break my rule on that one. They don’t choose to be my emotions, I presume. I believe I shouldn’t kill them just because I like to be in control of my emotions. I should only kill them because they try to kill me, that’s the bit I need to focus on. It’s a struggle sometimes, especially with Guilt. That one gets me lots. I just go down into their section and watch them. Whenever I’m feeling an emotion, they tend to act in weird ways. The sort of “not reaching through the bars and trying to rip my insides out” kind of way. As for boredom, I’m kind of used to it. You live by yourself on a spaceship for so long; you learn how to deal with being bored. Boredom is possibly one of man’s main sources of motivation in which to do something because there is nothing better to do. If I decided to kill my boredom, literally nothing would ever get done. I’d probably just sleep all day. Granted, that sounds nice, but I’d rather not sleep and crash into an exploding star.

I’m never quite sure as to how they manage to latch onto the sides of the ships and dissolve their way inside, but they always manage it. Just last night, another emotion tried to break in. I saw they were clambering against the window to the side of the ship, so I stood behind the reinforced glass and watched as they walked in the door as I slowly opened it for them. It was Love. They instantly fell to the ground at the window, looking up at me, as if in pain. This was the emotion I was most excited to meet, seeing what they looked like. Seeing as it was immobile at the door, which I had closed to make the room air tight again, I went down to the lower section and made sure that there was a cell already prepared for them to stay in. I then came back up, stood in the same room as them, watching as they sprawled themselves across the floor, rolling around like a maniac. I shot them there and then.

I used to want to…

At least a small part of everyone wanted to be an astronaut when they were young. It is curiosity which thrives us to do most of the things throughout our day after all, it’s just a shame that so few people are able to maintain dreams, even if it was from back when they were three… Nonetheless, it must be a great feeling to have something to dedicate your life to, be it a profession, a person, a hobby… whatever it is! If you’ve been able to form your life around something then I admire your talents. Give yourself a pat on the back. If you haven’t?  Pat yourself on the back anyway for being good at lots of things in smaller amounts.

Back when I wanted to be an astronaut, probably coming close to the age of 8, I had a small rocket shaped cushion. I’d say that this single cushion is the reason I’m a hugger (don’t take that the wrong way), because I always hugged that cushion. Not in the “Oh no, puberty is coming. Better get used to shoving a pillow on my lap” kind of way, I just used to imagine that it would some day take me away. As such, my imagination bled across my dreams.

It wasn’t as much the sense of exploration that made me want to do this, I was just a fan of independence from a young age. I just wanted the rocket to take me anywhere away from Earth. The reasons behind that are what they are, but escaping is probably something a lot of people are a fan of. This dream started to reoccur, just slightly altering along with my life. If I had a partner, then they might be on there with me… Played a cool game, I’d see things from that… If I had homework, I’d take it with me… If I was going through puberty, then what happened on my rocketship is none of your business… Well, it was around then that the dream became more fleshed out. Places to start going to, enemies yo defeat… The main enemy ended up being emotions, if you knew me them you’d understand why, but shooting a physical form of “Love” is more relieving than I care to admit, as every emotion I shot was then removed from me, ones I wanted to keep therefore ending up as prisoners. I’m weird, I know.

I still haven’t outgrown these thoughts, and I’m not exactly planning on ever doing so. Besides, I still eat rocket lollies…

I had that dream again last night, I think I’ll write it into a story tomorrow.

Thanks for reading

: : Ruby ❤ : :