no

I like to pretend, and I did not admit that to myself until this morning.
I deny the reality of my situation because sometimes, many times, things are okay. Any day that I don’t feel as though I am being swallowed by the reality of my circumstance. Any day that I am not reminded of how abrubtly I was thrust into adulthood and constant, real, worry, I am satisfied. Tonight I have been reminded of my role- the son of a shipbuilders’ son.
What fun it is, though, to play the part of a noblemans’ son! I once was, you know. My future filled with promise. I had dreams, as I could afford to. I had hopes, for there was no reason not to. I did not have great love.
Now I have one but not the others, and what a bittersweet exchange it has been!While I would not trade my love, I understand the value of what has been so callously snatched away.
Every so often, when I am reminded that I sail not on the great ship built by my dear father, but on the driftwood that remains, I can feel madness threatening to creep upon me. Surrounded by the endless sea and a dark sky, I feel terribly alone. The nobleman became a shipbuilder, and the shipbuilder something else. I now walk in his well worn boots. Will this shipbuilder become a nobleman, a businessman, a wise man? This shipbuilder does not know. This shipbuilder is simply looking for solid ground: to be filled with promise, to afford to have dreams, to hope because there is no reason why he should not. He was truly endless and did not know it. I am the son of a nobleman whom became a shipbuilder and now something else, and I was once endless. Where does one go from there?

earthakitkat:

“What can you remember about the place where you were held captive?”
The members of the jury look on expectantly. My attorney never breaks eye contact with me. Neither does she. She smiles. Why would she smile, most especially at a time like this? Does she understand that this isn’t a game? Stay calm. Hide your trembling hands. Answer the question.
“Please answer the question.” The judge breaks the silence, she has grown weary of my fidgeting and hesitation.
” It was cool and dark. I don’t remember any light coming in at any angle. I think we were underground.”
” We?” My attorney inquires with feigned interest. He knows my account of what occurred so well he could probably recite it himself.
” There were others. I could hear them from outside of my room. Sometimes we talked to one another.”
” Do you remember any of their names?”
” Yes.”
” Can you tell us their names?”
” Yes.”
” Please.”
” Taylor, Jake, Joe, John…”
“That many?”
” There were others. Those are the names that I can remember.”
One juror shakes his head disapprovingly. A few others glare scornfully at my tormentor, and rightfully so. Another looks at me, as if to question the validity of my testimony. I can see why. Here I am, a man who, as she has stated many a time, scorned her affections. I broke her heart, right? And to mistreat someone so slight of frame; flaxon-haired and heralded for her image of purity.
In that jurors mind, I drove her to this. We all did. Her captives. Libertines in need of…punishment? Rehabilitation? I don’t know what she sought to achieve, only what she did.
My attorney clears his throat, as if to snap me from my reverie and despair.
” Did your captor ever speak to you?”
” Yes, but only a few sentences at a time, and they rarely had anything to do with what was happening at the time.”
” Can you remember anything she said to you?”
“Yes.”
“Please?”
” When she brought me food for the day, she would sit across from me and watch. After I was done, she would sit near me, hold my hand and…”
“…And what?”
” Whisper.”
“What did she say to you?”
She was still smiling.
” It’s a love story, baby. Just say yes.”