《Heavenly Hollow Rhapsody》 1 - The End One fatality today. It was better than two. That was the nature of the job. She listened in on the worst day of some stranger¡¯s life, the aftermath always a few moments out of view. Day by day, the bomb threats were increasing. Her shift alone had included nearly fifty bomb calls. Churches, schoolyards, and public parks. People targeted at random and explosives cheaply fashioned and set off with neither warning nor ransom. Some were false sightings. Others are little more than tasteless jokes. Only one call had been the real thing today. Only one call for her, at least. But once that first call came through, an avalanche of calls crushed the other operators. A woman¡¯s voice had started it all. Shaky, mumble-mouthed from shock. Background screams and stampeding footsteps drowned out her voice at the start of the call. It had taken a second for her words to finally come through. ¡°... Bomb¡­¡± She had wheezed, ¡°A bomb¡¯s gone off¡­! My son... My son is...!¡± And then her voice submerged into the frantic panic of the scene. Her sobs stifled any other information she could have given. Officers, ambulance, and fire brigade were swiftly sent to the woman¡¯s location. Until they arrived, all she would do was listen and console. Although given the circumstances, it was doubtful that much comfort was felt. And then, emergency services had arrived. And then, the woman had hung up on her. And that was that. She wasn¡¯t privy to the details of the investigation. That was someone else¡¯s burden to carry. Someone else¡¯s tragedy. Someone else¡¯s problem. All she had to do was listen and direct. Listen and direct; always calm, collected, compassionate. Stay calm. Save the panic for the end of the shift; when the phone was hung up, leaving her stranded in a sea of unanswered questions. Cliffhangers floating eerily in the back of her mind. Life as a 911 dispatcher was rough sometimes. She scrunched her eyes shut. Standing on her doorstep at some ungodly hour in the morning. She had worked double overtime and still, rent would be tight this month, as was usual. ¡°Okay,¡± She thinks, fingers turn the key to the shoe-box of an apartment that she called home, ¡°I¡¯m going to open this door and when I do, I¡¯m putting it all behind me. I¡¯m going to scrounge up something for dinner, fall into bed, and let it all go. There¡¯s nothing to be done about it now. I did my best and I may never know how it all turned out. That¡¯s just how it goes.¡±This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Was it a bad sign that she spouted this exact same speech every night after work? No, it couldn¡¯t be. She wasn¡¯t part of the action. It¡¯s not like she was out there charging into battle and saving lives. Truly, she was pathetic if she couldn¡¯t handle sitting on the phone for a few hours every day. It was pathetic. She turned the knob and her apartment door swung open with a croak-ish creek. Something is wrong. Her apartment is blurry. Where there was one dinky coach, there are now two fuzzy ones, sailing like driftwood across her sightline. The ugly yellowing carpet shuffles back and forth like a rogue wave. The doorway splits in two, jostling each other as she whipped her head from side to side. The numbers on her electric clock. What did they say? She squints. Lines and circles. Circle and lines. But no numbers? Were those numbers? Why couldn¡¯t she read them? Only circles and lines & lines and circles. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she blinks at the floor in rapid succession. That ugly yellow carpeting. ¡°Is there dust in my eyes¡­?¡± Her eyes return to her apartment. It¡¯s much the same until a sledgehammer of pain and misery smashes into the back of her head. She¡¯s going to puke. Trying to do too much at once, she tumbles her way into the bathroom, all the while fumbling with the phone in her back pocket. Vomit dribbles between the fingers of her right hand as she dials those sacred three numbers with her left. 9-1- ~*~ She reawakens in the softest chair she¡¯s ever had the pleasure of sitting in. All is calm. Her vision is straight. Her head doesn¡¯t pound. Her stomach is settled. But this isn¡¯t her apartment. It isn¡¯t a hospital either. ¡°Where...?¡± An office of some sort. A study or a powder room with no colour in the soft carpeting between her toes. She looks around. There are furniture and wallpaper but she finds that nothing she sees locks into her memory, although she has the faintest feeling of contentment. The room is unclear even as her eyes remain sharp. Like the background of a memory, nothing in the room is in focus. As if the room itself is too unimportant to fully render in her mind. It is only when she sees the drum table in front of her that she locks onto a single image. A pair of clasped hands resting on the wooden tabletop, thumbs tip-tapping nervously against dry, flaky knuckles. She looks up. It has her face. Its eyes are the same shade of dark chocolate, a little too far apart. Its mouth is opened slightly, and she sees that they have the same gap in their front two teeth. Its hands fidget in the same way that hers are fidgeting right now. Both she and it are nervous. About what, she isn¡¯t sure. She hesitates, ¡°... Hi¡­¡± What a stupid thing to say at a time like this. Not ¡®What are you?¡¯, not ¡®Where am I?¡¯, not ¡®Why the hell do you have my face?¡¯ No, just a dumbstruck ¡®Hi¡¯ underplaying the insanity of this moment. How stupid of her. She opens her mouth, maybe to try again, but this thing beats her to it. It leans across the table and gently takes hold of her hands. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Shirley. You¡¯ve died today.¡± 2 - Chatting in the Mirror There are benefits to working a high-stress job. An impressive poker face is one of them. Shirley is alone in the office, the thing with her face was giving her time to gather her thoughts. She¡¯s drinking tea. It¡¯s strange. This tea is perfect. She¡¯d wanted to collect fancy teas since she was a child but never could afford the extra expense. Once, one of her foster parents let her taste some of their luxury teas. It was fruity like soda but without the fuzz and less of the sugary aftertaste that made her teeth sting. She¡¯d been allowed one sip but even a decade later she was still dreaming of the flavor. This tea tastes exactly like it. She sips, blinking slowly as her mind continues to race at this startling news. ¡°A brain aneurysm.¡± She mimics the thing¡¯s tone in her head, whose voice was also identical to hers, ¡°That¡¯s really what took me outin the end?¡± Shirley¡¯s thumbs fiddle nervously. That¡¯s all her body gives away. Other than that, she looks as unmoved as polished stone. ¡°How could I have prevented it? I should have scheduled regular trips to the doctor. And I had a bit of a twitch in my left eyebrow last month. Was that a sign? Why did I agree to that double shift? All those hours killed me¡­¡± She puts her teacup down, ¡°God, and what was it all for then? All that work--¡± ¡°It¡¯ll pay off, Shirley. All reap the fruits of actions taken in life, good or bad.¡± She startles as the thing with her face appears back in its seat, facing parallel to her. It¡¯s smiling her consoling smile, the one she uses when she¡¯s about to deliver some news, both good and bad. It¡¯s holding a white-covered book with what had to be over a thousand deckled pages. The first thing that comes to Shirley¡¯s mind, she also says aloud. She hadn¡¯t meant to, but the words slip through. ¡°You can hear my thoughts?¡± She gasps, the leftover fright making it hard to catch her breath. ¡°Our thoughts.¡± It says. Because that is so much better than the alternative. ¡°And you are¡­?¡± It puts the book down on the table and holds its hand out, waiting patiently for her to shake. ¡°I am Yu. The Judge of Character.¡± Shirley doesn¡¯t reciprocate the handshake. ¡°You¡¯re me?¡± It shakes its head, ¡°No, I am Yu.¡± ¡°I just said that.¡± ¡°No, you didn¡¯t. You said ¡®me¡¯. I said ¡®Yu¡¯.¡± ¡°As in¡­ Your name is ¡®You¡¯? Y-O-U?¡± ¡°My name is Yu. Y-U.¡± ¡°That¡¯s a very fitting name for¡­ you.¡± ¡°Thank you!¡± This was absurd. So much so that, despite herself, Shirley giggles as she finally reached over and firmly shook Yu¡¯s hand, grins matching. Another perk of a high-stress job, an impressive level of adaptability. ¡°No. Thank you, Yu. I needed a laugh.¡± Yu smiles, ¡°You may have all you need and more while we wait. Are you hungry? What¡¯s your favorite food?¡± That was easy. Those chocolate chip muffins she used to buy at the bakery across from her apartment. They were the cheapest thing they sold, a dozen for five dollars. Overwhelming in sweetly bitter chocolate flavouring. Freshly baked each morning when she¡¯d pick some up for breakfast before a shift, one for herself and the rest to share with her coworkers. It was no contest, they were her favorite by far. She begins, ¡°Well, I--¡± but she is swiftly cut off when muffins sprout from within the table like mushrooms growing plump in a bog. On a silver plate, the smell of them wafting under her nose, the same aroma as the bakery¡¯s dozen she used to buy. ¡°I hope these are to your liking.¡± Yu smiles.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Hesitantly, Shirley plucks a muffin from the tray. Bouncy muffin bread breaks under her teeth and bits of melted chocolate nearly burning the tip of her tongue. It was glorious. This taste of home. She could have happily eaten every lastone of them and still had room for seconds. But Yu is watching her eat. Its expression was difficult to read. What was Yu thinking? What did Yu think of her? Shirley pushes the tray in Yu¡¯s direction. She swallows and then speaks, ¡°Want some?¡± ¡°No, thank you. They¡¯re all yours.¡± Yu retrieves the white book from the table. It¡¯s eyes straying from Shirley, focusing on the flipping of the pages. Shirley turned her head away but from the corner of her eye, she continues watching Yu. What is it thinking? What did it want from her? She finishes the muffin in her hand, picks up two more but doesn¡¯t bring them to her lips. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t hurt to lighten the mood a little.¡± She thinks to herself. With a half-smile, Shirley tosses one muffin into the air and catches it with her left hand, but not before tosses the other muffin into her right. Her foster siblings had loved to watch her juggle. Maybe Yu will like it too. And when Yu looks back at Shirley, the face it shared with her lit up. It¡¯s happy with her. Perfect. Yu laughs, ¡°It¡¯s good to see you haven¡¯t lost your spirit, Shirley! Most people take their death quitehard but you seem to have bounced back quickly.¡± Without breaking her rhythm, Shirley smiled thinly. ¡°I prefer moving forward, not looking back. Can¡¯t change what happened, no use blubbering about it.¡± She catches a muffin in each hand then places them back on the tray, ¡°So what happens now?¡± Shirley hadn¡¯t put that much thought into what would happen when she died. She might have, if she had been given more time. But as it was, she had thought she still had her whole life ahead of her. No time to fret over an afterlife or purgatory or reincarnation. ¡°Is there a god I need to answer to? Gods? Goddesses? Were any of those religions right?¡± ¡°Your records say you¡¯re agnostic. This is true?¡± Shirley¡¯s mind wanders further. Her first foster parent had been a religious woman. Ms. Winston had been her name. She had been catholic. Or maybe protestant? Shirley couldn¡¯t remember. Ms. Winston used to rant about Jesus and the ten commandments whenever the children annoyed her. ¡®Honour thy father and mother¡¯ has been hissed at them through gritted teeth at least five times a day. She had dragged them to her church every Sunday and would pinch Shirley when she¡¯d inevitably fall asleep during the sermons. That was as much interest as Shirley had ever taken into any kind of religion. But she¡¯d worked with people of several religions. Dan Berkovich in the cubicle next to her was Jewish. One of her supervisors, Agnesa Prifti, was a Muslim woman. And she¡¯d taken calls from people of many religious backgrounds. Comforting a frightened Hindu woman after she¡¯d gotten into a five-car pileup while nine months pregnant. Desperately trying to stall for time while on the phone with a suicidal teen who¡¯d just that evening been disowned by his family, who had chosen the doctrine of the Watchtower over their living, breathing child. Somehow, even after years of exposure to different philosophies and worldviews, Shirley had remained on the fence. Neither believing nor disputing. Shirley waits before she answers. Yu¡¯s face gives nothing away, which Shirley finds slightly unnerving. Against her better instincts, Shirley speaks the truth. Shirley shrugs, ¡°Probably. Never put a lot of thought into the matter.¡± ¡°Have your beliefs changed as you¡¯ve spent time here?¡± Shirley hesitates. Was this a trap? Was there a wrong answer? ¡°... Now that I know that there¡¯s an afterlife or at least some kind of waiting period, I kind of want to believe in something. In someone.¡± Unbeknownst to Shirley, her face twists into something ugly. Wrinkles of bitterness and resentment made themselves known around her narrowed eyes, ¡°But, honestly? I still don¡¯t believe. After all I¡¯ve been through, all I¡¯ve seen, If there was a god behind it all... He¡¯s one sick son of a bitch.¡± That last part. She hadn''t meant for it to escape her thoughts. What was wrong with her? She knew better than that. Hastily, Shirley¡¯s hand clasps over her mouth. She babbles, ¡°Sorry! I¡¯m sorry, that was so rude of me--¡± ¡°You had no god in life so you will not have one in death.¡± Shirley relaxes, studying Yu¡¯s expression. They seemed indifferent to Shirley¡¯s rant. Her curiosity bristles. Carefully maintain an air of aloofness, Shirley inquires further, ¡°But if I had believed in a god?¡± ¡°Then they¡¯d greet you in your image of them. Your idea of them specific to no one''s beliefs but yours. Unique from any other god not because of the constraints of scripture but only the wants of your will, conscious of its influence or not.¡± Yu places the book onto the table. It¡¯s flipped open to page 117. Chapter two, Proceedings & Precedent of Judgement. Yu continues, ¡°You have no want for a Lord to command you. So by your wants, no god of your design exists.¡± ¡°So¡­ I was right?¡± ¡°All of you are right. Wrong, but also right.¡± Shirley frowns but says nothing. The conversation goes on like this for a while. Yu asks questions and Shirley answers to the best of her ability. The questions are pointed, obviously centred around some overwhelming query that Shirley can¡¯t seem to grasp, no matter how hard she thought. What did she like most about herself? What did she like about her life? Where had she wanted to live? What hobbies had she wanted to pursue? What does she like? What does she want? Yu flips through the pages of her book as they chat. Shirley wants to lean forward to peak at the pages but she restrains herself. Patience. She¡¯ll get her chance eventually, or so she thinks. Yu asks its final question. Gently closing the book, Yu stands and gestures for Shirley to do the same. Yu smiles, ¡°Would you like to go back?¡± ¡°... Back?¡± ¡°Would you like to be brought back to life?¡± Shirley wraps her arms around her stomach, suddenly overcome with nervousness, ¡°Is that possible?¡± Yu pauses. Movement for movement, it mimics Shirley¡¯s stance. A self-conscious posture and an astute scrutiny in its eyes, ¡°... Do you want it to be?¡± 3 - A Conference Call The ringing is somehowboth deafening and painfully hushed. Shirley couldn¡¯t be sure if the sound was in her head or all around her. The chiming, the bells, the digital tunes in this ceaseless resounding clamour. Begging to be put to rest. ¡°Are those¡­?¡± Shirley trails off. Yu smiles, hand clasping the doorknob, ¡°The conference is nearly concluded. Come now, we don¡¯t want to keep them waiting.¡± Yu holds the door open for her, and Shirley cautiously steps inside. A white room with a ceiling low enough that the top of Shirley¡¯s head could almost scrape against its black tiles. The room sort of reminds her of a cluttered back alley museum. You know the sort, the sort ofplace with animal skeletons and haunted dolls tall cabinets of jars with tiny heads, brains, and severed penises rumoured to belong to famous serial killers and ancient queens. This room is littered with phones. Shirley stumbles over the big, boxy art deco rotary phones sat gathering dust on the floor. Candlestick phones, from pencil shaft to potbelly, are stacked on tiny round tables. Kellog and Stromberg Carlson¡¯s phones are mounted like deer heads up the walls. Gigantic Monarch drop switchboards stand in rows like an army of soldiers. Sky-high cabinets of mobile phones. Walkie-talkies, flip phones, Nokia, and smartphones. All of them ringing and dinging incessantly like a swarm of angry hornets. Yu steps in after her and shuts the door. It shouts over the noise, ¡°If you¡¯d give me a moment¡­¡± Yu prances around the room, answering each phone it passes. It leaves the phone open as she passes and Shirley can sort of hear the muffled voices on the other end. The ringing makes it difficult for her to make out the words. Shirley yells, ¡°Would you like some help!?¡± Yu pauses, then turns to Shirley with a bright smile, ¡°Only in you¡¯d like to.¡± When Shirley nods, Yu smiles wider, ¡°Pick up the phones that are ringing and leave them open. You can let the ones with cords dangle. Thank you, Shirley darling!¡± ¡°Happy to help!¡± Shirley looks down. Like a chessboard, phones cover the floorboards in a diagonal sequence. Some are ringing while others remain silent. She takes three hop-steps forward and one to the side and answers a plastic Trimline phone hanging on the wall. Should she say anything? Shirley watches as Yu picks up each phone one by one, not stopping to say so much as a ¡®hello¡¯. Still, Shirley¡¯s a curious person, to a fault most would say, so she presses the receiver to her ear. Despite just answering, the person on the other end is talking in the middle of a sentence. Shirley can¡¯t even get a word in. ¡°--At age twelve, Shirley May Villeneuve confessed to her social worker than she accidentally made a dent in his car, despite the fact that Mr. Mathews would have had no reason to suspect her of doing such a thing. In her twenty-eight years, she has demonstrated unwavering integrity in the pursuit of the truth even in the face of--¡± Shirley jerks away. Like Yu, the person on the other end has her voice although they speak in a much gruffer, raspy accent than Shirley does. She gently lets the phone go, allowing it to dangle side to side, the person with her raspy voice a muffled chatter. It is only then that Shirley sees the little white plaque with black writing underneath the base. Chensuko Judge of Honesty, Integrity, and Trustworthiness Interesting. Her curiosity insatiable, Shirley moves on to another phone. An oak two-box with a metal watchcase receiver. It is her voice yet again, but high and a little whiny. ¡°--She spent eight hours waiting to donate blood after the Sydney church shooting on her only day off that week. A month later, while out grocery shopping--¡± Shirley lets the receiver dangle. Frankly, she doesn¡¯t want to think about all those hours waiting in line at the hospital. All those people in line panicking and gossiping, barely enough room to breathe in the tightly packed hallway. Shirley finds the name plaque overtop the twin bells. Nydidi Judge of Patience and Discipline Moving on, a fat walkie-talkie that she needs two hands to hold up. She presses down the answer button. This voice is congested and sounds like Shirley did whenever she was coming down with a cold. ¡°--Villeneuve brought muffins in for her coworkers on the occasion but notice that she always snagged the best muffin for herself. Although she let her coworkers pick first sometimes, she kept the best muffin in the back of the box where it¡¯s most awkward to reach--¡± Oh, that¡¯s a little embarrassing, being called out like that. Certainly not a kind as the other voices had been. Shirley snorts, amused. She reads the plaque. Unlike the other two, this plaque is black with white writing. Pyamos Judge of Greed, Gluttony, and Self-regard Interesting. Shirley answers a few more phones in quick succession, catching a few straw words but not actively trying to listen in. Did the color of the plaques indicate what kind of ¡®judge¡¯ the voice on the other end was? She studies the other phones and sees an equal amount of black with white as there are white with black. Then, at the back of the room, Shirley sees four smartphones on a display cabinet. Yu is answering the flip phones beside the smartphones, which have plaques in black with white. The plaques under the smartphones are neither black with white nor white with black. They are a rainbow of colours, each letter a different pigment. The plaques themselves are a psychedelic tie-dye.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. Curiously, Shirley rushes over to get a better look. It seems Yu has already answered these four phones, although Shirley can barely hear their voices. She squints, trying to make out the letters in the mess of saturation. Ami Judge of Hope Liko Judge of Logic Moa Judge of Pain Ikal Judge of Passion ¡°I wonder what they might have to say about me.¡± Shirley wonders. Her hand hovers over the four phones. Hope, Logic, Pain, or Passion? ¡°Hope?¡± She scoffs in that humorous self-deprecating way, ¡°If only¡­. Logic? Seems boring. Pain? I¡¯m just going to ignore that. Passion? Hmm¡­¡± Her hand hovers over Ikal¡¯s smartphones. Her fingers wrap around the case. ¡°All done!¡± Yu cheers. Shirley jumps, yanking her hand back to her chest. She stammers, ¡°O-oh, okay--¡± Yu claps its hands like a royal summoning their servants. All at once the voices go silent. ¡°Judges,¡± Yu addresses the phones with a confident bellow, ¡°Meet Shirley May Villeneuve!¡± ¡°Hello, Shirley May Villeneuve.¡± The phones echo their greeting like former alcoholics at an AA meeting. The walls and floor shiver under the vibration of the voices. ¡°H-hello! Thank you for having me.¡± Yu takes Shirley¡¯s hands and rubs her knuckles comfortingly. It smiles, ¡°It is time to welcome Shirley into her afterlife. Are we all in agreement? Judges of morality?¡± All the phones with white plaques and black writing answer in a unified ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Judges of Immorality?¡± Another ¡°Yes.¡± this time from the black with white phones. ¡°And the Judges of Neutrality?¡± There¡¯s a pause. Yu frowns, ¡°Judges of Neutrality?¡± The four smartphones with the rainbow plaques answer in unison. Not a confident ¡®yes¡¯ but a hesitant question. ¡°Are you confident in this judgement, Yu?¡± Yu releases Shirley¡¯s hands. It crosses its arms, its frown becoming irritable. ¡°I am. Are you not?¡± ¡°We hesitate.¡± ¡°Clearly. Why?¡± ¡°The wants of mortals are miscellaneous. This one in particular¡­.¡± ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°Shirley May Villeneuve may be better suited somewhere else. Perhaps--¡± ¡°No!¡± Yu shrieks, stomping her foot like a petulant child. Shirley jumps back, startled by this uncharacteristic outburst. The four smartphones also go silent. ¡°Yu?¡± Shirley raises an eyebrow, ¡°Is there something you¡¯re not telling me?¡± Yu straightens, face pinched with what Shirley thinks is shame. ¡°I¡¯m sorry Shirley,¡± It takes her by the hands again, although Shirley is far less receptive, ¡°That was rude of me.¡± Shirley frowns. She pulls away from Yu and calls out to the four smartphones, ¡°What aren¡¯t you telling me?¡± The phones are silent. Yu opens its mouth, ¡°Shirley--¡± but Shirley cuts it off. ¡°I¡¯d like an answer please.¡± Only one phone responds. Ikal, whose voice is soft but firm, ¡°Close your eyes and imagine a perfect life. Where would you be if you were truly happy?¡± Shirley narrows her eyes, ¡°That¡¯s not an answer. Is this a trick?¡± Ikal repeats, ¡°Close your eyes and imagine a perfect life. Where would you be if you were truly happy?¡± Frustrated, Shirley snatches her hands from Yu¡¯s grip. ¡°That¡¯s not an answer!¡± ¡°Close your eyes and imagine a perfect life. Where would you be if you were truly happy?¡± This time, the three other judges of neutrality also speak. The same two sentences. They say it twice in a row, ¡°Close your eyes and imagine a perfect life. Where would you be if you were truly happy?¡± ¡°What are you hiding from me?¡± Shirley turns on Yu, ¡°Yu, what¡¯s going on?¡± Yu opens its mouth, ¡°Close your eyes and imagine a perfect life. Where would you be if you were truly happy?¡± ¡°Oh, for god¡¯s sake¡­¡± She scoffs. Although she¡¯s mostly just deeply annoyed, Shirley also finds herself shaking. She wraps her arms around her middle and frantically scans the room. Where¡¯s the door? It was over there last she checked, beside the rotary phones. Where has it gone? The other phones join in. All these stolen voices chanting, ¡°Close your eyes and imagine a perfect life. Where would you be if you were truly happy? Close your eyes and imagine a perfect life. Where would you be if you were truly happy? Close your eyes and imagine a perfect life. Where would you be if you were truly happy?¡± She¡¯s blinking in rapid succession, afraid that if her eyes drift closed for too long, something will happen. But what? What will happen to her if she does as they say? What do they want with her? What¡¯s their game? ¡°Close your eyes and imagine a perfect life. Where would you be if you were truly happy?¡± ¡°Okay! Fine, I¡¯ll do it!¡± Shirley snaps, ¡°Just be quiet!¡± The voices grow quieter. One last time, they say, ¡°Close your eyes¡­¡± And they go silent. Yu watches her with this big bright smile, as if it¡¯s won something wonderful. Shirley matches that look with a glare. Phones have no eyes, but she¡¯s certain that they¡¯re watching her too. From where, she can only wonder. Heart drumming in her throat, Shirley swallows. This is a bad idea. This is such a bad idea. But she said she¡¯d do it. Unfortunately, Shirley¡¯s a woman of her word. She scrunches her eyes, holding them shut so tightly that her eyeballs hurt. ¡°Where would I be if I were truly happy?¡± Shirley opens her eyes. She takes in her surroundings and she gasps. It¡¯s perfect. 4 - Little Paradise on the Sea Marina Doyle had been Shirley¡¯s best friend in the whole wide world. The way her laugh had swelled out of her chest like a crashing wave. The way she hopped up and down in excitement like a prancing pony. The pretty headscarves she used to wear, sewn with silk roses and shiny beads. Marina had helped compose the majority of Shirley¡¯s happiest memories. Their happiest memory together had also been one of their last. Six years into their friendship, on the week of Marina¡¯s fourteenth birthday, it was her Make-a-wish trip. Marina had wanted to sail the world. And she wanted to take her best friend with her. For seven exhilarating days, Marina, her family, and Shirley had hopped from boat to boat, exploring the seven seas like the hardened sailors they¡¯d always dreamed they¡¯d someday get to be. Thirteen months later and Marina was dead. Complications from a botched craniotomy intended to remove an aggressively cancerous tumour. Shirley¡¯s eyes remain shut, even as she feels her surroundings change. The floor rocks up and down with the flow of the tide. She can feel it even with her eyes closed. She smells saltwater and coffee. She hears the whistle of a boiling teapot and the rumbling of a steady current. Shirley opens her eyes. She takes in her surroundings and she gasps. ¡°Where would I be if I were truly happy?¡± The vast blues and whites of the sea take her breath away, so much so that she has to lean on the dark wooden railing to steady herself. There¡¯s no land visible for tens of thousands of miles. The brightness of the sun, the way it¡¯s shining against the stark white clouds and shimmering against the water. It is blinding. ¡°You¡¯ve got to be kidding me,¡± Shirley mutters to herself. Although her words are apprehensive, her tone is full of nothing but awe. She steps back from the deck, turning around and gasping once again. Her boat is huge. A steam-powered ferry, painted in earthy browns, blacks, and golds. A pair of stacks huffing out swirls of rainbow smoke. Shirley reaches up and strokes the lines that attach the right stack to the railing. She recognizes the design of the ship almost immediately. The first Christmas Marina and Shirley had spent together. The first Christmas Shirley had spent away from whatever foster home she was stuck in that year. Her first Christmas with people she could call family. Marian¡¯s parents had gotten them matching white sailor hats. With their hats slumped down their foreheads, they tore open their second gifts. Two model boat kits. For Marina, a model of the U.S.S Constitution. For Shirley¡­ ¡°The Mississippi Comet¡­¡± Shirley had kept her model on a little stand in her apartment, right next to her bed. Marina¡¯s model had been buried with her after she died. Who knows, maybe Shirley¡¯s model had been buried with her as well. Then again, there was no way her meager savings were enough to pay for a cemetery lot. She was probably cremated. But such morbid thoughts didn¡¯t depress Shirley, not this time. Standing on the polished deck of The Mississippi Comet, bigger and even more beautiful than her little model had been, there is nothing that could bring her down. The noise that bursts out of Shirley¡¯s throat can only be described as a squeal. It morphs into a laugh that swells out of her chest like a crashing wave, her feet bouncing up and down like a prancing pony. ¡°Oh my gosh!¡± She laughs, ¡°Are you kidding me!?¡± Overtaken by the restless need to explore the boat, her big beautiful boat, Shirley hurdles over the railing. She falls all the way from the hurricane deck to the bow, feet stinging from the impact, but she doesn¡¯t care. From there, she¡¯s off. Down the main deck and towards the stern. Look at that gorgeous paddlewheel! She watches it turn like a tiny Farris wheel, loud and proud as it churns the water. Back to the bow and up the main stairs. The boiler room is hot, the temperature gauges ticking back and forth ever so slightly. When Shirley goes up the next flight of stairs to the boiler deck, she doesn¡¯t find the hallway of passenger rooms as she had expected. Instead, she finds a kitchen with a half-wall separating the front house from the rest of this charming little cafe. Shirley hums, ¡°This is--¡± ¡°Perfect, isn''t it?¡± Shirley jumps. Her reflection in the steel refrigerator waves at her. Shirley blinks, ¡°It¡¯s you.¡± ¡°It¡¯s me!¡± Yu grins, ¡°So, what do you think?¡±Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. Shirley could have smiled at Yu. She could have gushed and gasped over the decor and craftsmanship. She could have praised the attention to detail, how well Yu seemed to know her and her wants. She could have said ¡®thank you, thank you, thank you!¡¯ like an excited toddler. But the grin on her reflections face. The way Yu¡¯s eyes blink, too slow with pupils too wide. The too expectant, too casual tension in its body. Shirley is immediately on edge. She maintains an open but blank expression and hums in a non-commitment sort of way, ¡°You definitely did your research.¡± ¡°I did,¡± Yu intones, clearly expecting more of a response, ¡°Do you like it?¡± ¡°It sure is something.¡± Shirley leans against the wall, arms crossed. She smiles but her smile maintains that careful air of emptiness, ¡°What are the rules?¡± ¡°Rules?¡± ¡°Yes. What am I allowed to do? Am I stuck in this one place or can I leave whenever I want? Am I alone?¡± ¡°Well¡­¡± Yu mimics Shirley¡¯s stance, ¡°I wouldn¡¯t exactly say we have rules here. This is your afterlife, you make the calls. You can pick your location, your activities, your appearance, and the company you keep. Think of this ship as your foundation. If you don¡¯t like it¡­¡± Yu trails off, eyeing Shirley keenly. It¡¯s waiting for some validation, she can tell. ¡°I like it,¡± Shirley says, watching as Yu smiles like a puppy who¡¯s finally been given a bone, ¡°It¡¯s very homely. But if I wanted to go somewhere else for a while I could? And I¡¯d be able to come back here?¡± ¡°Whenever you want. The world is your oyster and I am the knife with which you crack it open.¡± ¡°I see¡­¡± Shirley raises an eyebrow, ¡°Do I have to go through you if I want to change something?¡± ¡°Oh, goodness no!¡± Yu laughs. The reflection in which it resides straightens up and walks out of sight. It reflects in the kettle, and then the toaster, then the industrial ovens. It motions for Shirley to follow it, which she does. Shirley point at the empty table over the other side of the half-wall separating the kitchen from the cafe. Yu says, ¡°Think of something you want and imagine it on that table.¡± ¡°Anything I want?¡± ¡°Anything you want¡­¡± What does she want? She¡¯s not hungry or thirsty; she¡¯s not too cold or too hot. The table, glossy walnut with a pretty blue glass river, has four wooden chairs. All of them as empty as the rest of the cafe. Aside from her reflection, Shirley is alone. Alone in paradise. Suddenly, the tabletop warps. Its polished surface bubbles and from within the wood, a cream-coloured mass ruptures forth. Sprouting like fungus, it flourishes until the mass takes a firmer shape. Bright eyes and a gentle smile; young and able-bodied. The mass remodels itself into a man in casual brunch attire with a coffee cup in hand. The man waves his cup happily in Shirley¡¯s direction, ¡°Captain Villeneuve! Great to see you, lass!¡± Shirley blinks, ¡°Um, Hello--¡± ¡°Captain!¡± Shirley turns and suddenly, a woman is sitting at the table next to the man, sipping her ice tea with a smile. The woman says, ¡°Finally came down for breakfast, have you?¡± ¡°I--¡± ¡°Captain, shall I grab you a muffin and some coffee? I just took a batch of double chocolate out of the oven! And we¡¯ve got a fresh pot of coffee here too!¡± Shirley jumps as another voice, much too close and much too loud, startles her from behind. She spins around. There¡¯s a girl in a polka-dot shirt with a pink apron tied around her waist standing behind her. She has a coffeepot in one hand, a tray of muffins in the other, and a smile on her face. ¡°Oh, well¡­¡± Shirley half expects to be interrupted once again. Instead, she simply trails off. When she looks around her boat¡¯s cafe, she sees every seat is now taken. Men and women in their summer dresses and pool shorts chatting over their breakfast. Shirley¡¯s gaze flickers to the ovens, fridge, toaster, and coffee pots. Her reflection has disappeared, Yu is gone with it. She takes a muffin from the girl in the polka-dot shirt. She smiles, ¡°Thank you! I¡¯ll just take a stroll around the cafe before I head back to my quarters. Keep up the good work!¡± The girl meets her smile with one of her own. The captain then slips through the saloon doors and into the eatery, absently nibbling on her muffin bread. Her passengers enjoy their morning, acting as if all was business as usual. The kitchen is bustling, the girl in polka-dots accompanied by two more baristas. A short boy with blonde hair and freckles and a plump woman wearing black lipstick and nail polish. They banter with each other like old friends. It like they''re real. Like they¡¯re real people, with real histories, and real personalities. Like they actually exist. And maybe they do. A passenger in a pretty yellow skirt and white blouse calls out her the captain. The passenger says, ¡°Hey, Captain! How¡¯s your morning treating you, girl? Everything ship-shape?¡± Shirley smiles, tentatively. ¡°Ship-shape and Bristol fashion! How are you doing, ma¡¯am?¡± This is all she¡¯s ever wanted in life. And now, in death, she has it all. All she¡¯s ever wanted. ¡°All I¡¯ve ever wanted¡­¡± ~*~ ¡°And there you have it! She¡¯s perfectly content. To hell with your doubts!¡± The phone in its hand mumbles a reply into its ear, too quiet for any outsider to hear. ¡°Don¡¯t put words in my mouth.¡± More mumbling. ¡°If Shirley doesn¡¯t want this, she can choose something else!¡± The voice on the other end scoffs. ¡°Yes, she can!¡± The voice laughs. ¡°She can! Why are you laughing!?¡± The voice laughs harder. 5 - Coffin Shirley was having a fantastic month; a fact that brought her nothing but melancholy. It was a gradual development, although, in hindsight, it¡¯s obvious when her dissatisfaction started. ¡°Good morning, Captain!¡± ¡°Good morning, Anne!¡± Shirley replies as she walks into the cafe for breakfast. It¡¯s the start of another sunny day on her darling Mississippi Comet. Anne, dressed in her polka-dots and pink apron, holds out a tray of muffins. The Captain thanks her warmly as she takes a muffin from the tray, as she did every morning. She munches on it as she makes her rounds. ¡°Good morning, David! Good morning, May!¡± The man and the woman sitting at the first table in the cafe smile at her. The woman is drinking her usual ice tea, and the man has his usual coffee cup in his hand. ¡°Good morning, Captain Villeneuve! Great to see you, lass!¡± ¡°Good morning, Captain! Finally came down for breakfast, have you?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Shirley smiles, ¡°You know I¡¯m always late!¡± ¡°Hey, Captain! How¡¯s your morning treating you, girl? Everything ship-shape?¡± Belle calls out, her yellow skirt unwrinkled and shimmering in the sun, as usual. ¡°Shipshape and Bristol fashion! How are you doing, ma¡¯am?¡± Zachery, the freckle-faced barista, taps Shirley¡¯s shoulder. He smiles, ¡°I¡¯ll get you your Coffee, Captain?¡± ¡°Yes, Zachery, thank you so much!¡± Shirley feels the influx of the ocean under her feet, the gentle back and forth lull of her boat on the waves. The first time she was on a boat, Shirley had been so seasick that she felt like her stomach was seconds away from surging out of her throat. Those moments feel so far away now. ¡°Good morning, Captain!¡± An older gentleman calls from across the cafe. He¡¯s a chipper looking fellow, his snazzy Hawaiian shirt matching his wife¡¯s summer dress. ¡°Good morning Horace! Good morning Eliza!¡± ¡°Morning, Dearie,¡± His wife, Eliza, smiles as she sips her raspberry tea. Shirley stumbles when a little shadow knocks into her from behind. ¡°Sorry, Captain!¡± Shirley turns and looks down at this adorable little boy in his adorable little sailor shirt. A little girl runs up beside him in a matching dress. Shirley smiles down at them, ¡°It¡¯s okay, Buddy, accidents happen. Hello Molly!¡± The little girl waves accidentally, ¡°Morning Captain!¡± The then taps the little boy on the shoulder, ¡°You¡¯re it!¡± The kids run off, resuming their game. Shirley completes his rounds and finally takes her usual seat at the back of the cafe against a large window. The view of the ocean is breathtaking. The barista with the black lipstick delivers her coffee with a smile and an enthusiastic, ¡°Good morning, Captain!¡± Shirley replies as is expected of her, ¡°Good morning, Jane! Thank you for my coffee, just like I like it.¡± And that concludes the first part of Shirley¡¯s morning routine. Next, she¡¯d sit by the window and drink her coffee. She¡¯d finish her coffee in half an hour. Then she¡¯d leave to check on the stern wheel and refuel the boilers. Then she¡¯ll check all the ropes, maybe do a little fishing. Then she¡¯d break for lunch and then she¡¯d check the wheel and the boiler once again. Then she¡¯d nap in her quarters, maybe update the map or go for a stroll. Then she¡¯d return to the cafe for dinner and then stargaze from her room. Finally, she¡¯d retire to her bed and do the whole thing again in the morning. The routine is nice. It¡¯s dependable. There are no surprises. And maybe that¡¯s the problem. Shirley takes a sip from her coffee. The cafe patrons become background noise, just meaningless rumbling. But, as was usual, something''s off. Shirley idly tunes in and out of the passing conversations all around her. ¡°--The coffee is lovely this morning, isn¡¯t it--¡±The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Shirley takes a bite out of her muffin. ¡°--Weather is so perfect--¡± She eyes her passengers. Anne looks exactly like an Anne. David looks exactly like a David. ¡°--Such a nice sunny day--¡± The names of her passenger¡¯s suit them too perfectly. They dress the way Shirley would think they¡¯d ought to dress. ¡°--Isn¡¯t the captain such a darling--¡± She¡¯s rarely seen them outside of the cafe. Yet, on those rare occasions when Shirley thinks in the back of her mind, ¡°I wonder if I¡¯ll see Belle or May while I¡¯m out on my stroll,¡± they appear with their chipper smiles and dull conversation. ¡°--There¡¯s isn¡¯t anywhere else I¡¯d rather be--¡± They are there when she thinks of them, gone when she doesn¡¯t. ¡°--These muffins are superb--¡± Shirley takes a sip of her coffee. ¡°--Don¡¯t you just love the decor--¡± Shirley takes a bite out of her muffin. ¡°--Nothing could be better than this--¡± Shirley takes a bite out of her coffee. ¡°--This ship is so full of life--¡± Shirley takes a sip of her muffin. ¡°--Who wouldn¡¯t be happy here--¡± Coffee and muffins. Coffee and Muffins. Muffins. Muffins. Coffee. Muffins. Coffee and muffins. Muffins and coffee. Muffins and Muffins and Coffee and Coffee and Muffins and Coffee and Muffee and Coffins and Coffee and Muffins and Cuffins and Moffee and Coffee and Cuffee and Moffins and Coffee and Muffins and Coffins. She¡¯s done. ¡°You¡¯re done your breakfast, Captain?¡± Who says this? Does it even matter? Shirley gets up from her chair by the window. The reflection of the sun on the ocean waves is too white. The cafe is a silent cacophony of noise. Shirley smiles, ¡°Yes, I¡¯m done.¡± ~*~ Five days later and Shirley doesn¡¯t get up for breakfast. Anne knocks on her cabin door and the captain tells her she¡¯s not feeling well. She¡¯ll come out for lunch or dinner. Shirley doesn¡¯t leave her room the entire day. She doesn¡¯t leave her room for an entire week. She becomes hungry, thirsty, and lonely. Eventually, those feelings, like everything else, fade away. She¡¯s sat in the most uncomfortable corner of her cabin, in between her big fluffy bed and her floor lamp. The shades are closed. The door is locked. She has a leaning mirror in her room that¡¯s taller than she is. Two days into her self-imposed exile, Yu had appeared in the mirror. Its overly concerned worrying had gnawed at Shirley¡¯s last nerve even as the Captain deflected its questions with a docile smile. After Shirley managed to shoe Yu away, she flipped the mirror around. She didn¡¯t like how her reflection spied on her, even when it wasn¡¯t Yu looking back. That night, she goes for a walk. The stars reflect off the ocean waves, an aurora of droplets that makes it impossible to distinguish the sky from the earth. Shirley leaves her captain hat in her room. The wind is cool. Shirley wonders, ¡°Is it cold because I want it to be or because it is? Would it matter either way?¡± She leans against the railing on the hurricane deck. The view is perfect. ¡°Why am I here?¡± She thinks, fingers tapping a meaningless beat on the metal, ¡°How do I even exist? I don¡¯t remember when my life started. I barely remember what happened yesterday. Maybe yesterday didn¡¯t even happen. Why am I able to question my own existence? What¡¯s the point?¡± Her steamboat crosses the ocean so slowly, Shirley can hardly tell if it¡¯s moving. Although the view if perfect, it''s also so far away. She jumps from the hurricane deck down to the bow. Normally, a fall from such a height would have broken her legs at the very least. When Shirley lands the ground feels soft as a pile of feathery pillows. It¡¯s so aggravating. Shirley takes a seat on the hull. She¡¯s close enough to the water that she can feel its spray on her cheeks. In hindsight, sitting so close to the water might have been a mistake. Her reflection shifts and Shirley nearly groans when Yu appears in the dark, starlit water. ¡°Hello, Shirley!¡± ¡°Hello, Yu!¡± ¡°How are you?¡± ¡°I¡¯m good! How are you?¡± ¡°I¡¯m fantastic!¡± Conversation dries up quickly despite Yu¡¯s attempts. The Mississippi Comet continues its course, although the Captain is no more sure of its destination that anyone else. Shirley stands, ¡°Well, it was nice talking to you, but it¡¯s getting pretty late. I think I¡¯ll retire for the night.¡± Yu smiles, ¡°Sleep well!¡± She wants to glare. Instead, Shirley smiles. ~*~ The next night, the sea and the stars are the same. Shirley¡¯s reflection wobbles as Yu takes over. ¡°Hello, Shirley!¡± ¡°Hello, Yu!¡± ¡°How are you?¡± ¡°I¡¯m good!¡± ¡°Are you sure?¡± ¡°Of course! Why wouldn¡¯t I be?¡± ~*~ The next night. ¡°Hello!¡± ¡°Hello!¡± ¡°Is everything okay?¡± ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m good. Nice night for a walk, you know?¡± ¡°Yes, it is!¡± ~*~ The night after that. Before Yu even fully manifests, Shirley speaks. ¡°Hello, Yu! Isn¡¯t it a nice night? I¡¯m feeling pretty good, how are you?¡± ¡°Shirley.¡± ¡°Hmm?¡± ¡°Why are you out here?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Shirley¡¯s smile is wide and her eyes are narrowed, ¡°Why am I here?¡± 6 - The Ocean Deserted Her smile burns and she¡¯s only been awake an hour. Shirley waves at her passengers as she leaves the cafe. The doors slide shut behind her. It vaguely occurs to her that once again, nothing from the previous half-hour is worth remembering. Things happened, and nothing mattered. Now, we¡¯re simply moving on. Breakfast is over. Now what? She could go to the boiler room. Check for leaks that are never there or dust that never settles. She could check all the ropes. None of them will be loose. She could sit on the bow, but Yu will be there. Anywhere with a reflection, Yu will be there and that¡¯s another problem. Could Shirley rightfully call what she¡¯s going through a ¡®problem¡¯? Is she allowed to have problems here? It is day 135. Nothing could be more opulent than the captain''s quarters. Vast windows with crisscrossed muntins take up every wall, ruby curtains blocking out the sun. The captain enters and light swarms into the room, quickly retreating into the hallway when Shirley closes the door behind her. ¡°Hello room,¡± She smiles tiredly, ¡°I¡¯m back¡­¡± Shirley had gotten dressed for breakfast. A clean double-breasted suit, knee-high boots, and a navy captain¡¯s hat. Zachary had called her dashing. He said that every day and every day Shirley wore the same thing. She moults like a tarantula. Clothes are haphazardly discarded in piles on the rosewood floor. Only her boxers remain. She pulls the puffy white comforter off her bed, wrapping it around her shoulders and shuffling to her desk chair. Huddled in her cocoon, she lays her head down on her desktop. A deep, raspy breath. A hoarse sniffle or two. Just behind her desk chair is Shirley¡¯s bedroom mirror. It¡¯s long, body-length form is confined under a blanket. It¡¯d been that way for a while, although Shirley can¡¯t quite remember when she covered it. It happened at some point in this endless blur. ¡°If you wanted it to matter, it would.¡± That¡¯s what Yu would say. Exactly what Shirley neither wanted nor needed to hear. Underneath her head, there¡¯s a map etched onto the desktop. A seventeenth-century Nova Totius Terrarum Orbis Geographica ac Hydrographica Tabula. It¡¯s inaccurate and stunningly beautiful. Bronze with lush colours painted onto the ornamentation. The two hemispheres are carved into the wood, giving the continents it depicts a natural texture. She had a postcard with this map in her apartment. It¡¯s probably been thrown out by now. Shirley traces the sea with her fingertip. ¡°I wonder,¡± She says to herself, ¡°If I wish for an island, would it first appear on the map and then the skyline? Or would I see it lurking from my window, pretending to be a surprise?¡± She presses her pointer finger against the edge of Septentrio in the left hemisphere. She breaks off a piece and drags it to the other hemisphere, plopping it down in the Indian ocean. It doesn¡¯t really look like Australia, but it¡¯ll have to due. She stares. ¡°Come on,¡± Shirley mutters, ¡°Have some imagination¡­¡± She cups all the continents in her hands and squishes them together. The earth reshapes and when she pulls away, she¡¯s left a heart-shaped mound in the space where the two hemispheres meet. It¡¯s a little lopsided. ¡°Pangea 2.0,¡± She mumbles, ¡°I guess¡­ I should put the Comet somewhere?¡± The captain plucks a Barc out of the carving and the ship changes shape between her fingers. A little Mississippi Comet takes form, and she hesitates. Where to put it? By the border? Or maybe closer to the heart? Should she build a fleet of ships or let it sail the seas alone? She organizes the other ships into an arrow in the incognita. The tiny Comet goes at the tip of the arrow, spaced farther out than the other ships. Maybe it¡¯s in the lead or maybe it¡¯s not part of the group at all. Impossible to tell. Shirley leans away and rests her cheek against her palm. ¡°The ocean¡¯s a little bland. But then again, I guess Henricus was more focused on mapping out the land, not the water. Maybe if I¡­¡± She swirls her fingers against the wood that¡¯s meant to represent the sea, and gradually it begins lilting up and down. A current of gentle waves brings the desktop to life. Her comforter falls part-way down her back when Shirley straightens up, ¡°Not bad. What if I¡­¡± She bumps her fist against Pangea 2.0 and it splits apart. The shards drift. Shirley cycles through a few different shapes. Perfect circles that look more like ovals. Squares, triangles, and diamonds. She scatters them around until the ocean looks like a sea of constellations. She wants to like it. She wants to feel that warm rumble of satisfaction in her chest. But she feels nothing, not even dislike. Just a numb discontent that''s starting to itch. It prickles and tickles her skin most uncomfortably, and then the weirdest thing happens. She likes it. Not the haphazard carving before her, Shirley feels nothing for this meaningless thing under her fingers, but this itch¡­ It¡¯s alluring. The desk, it¡¯s cream and bronze polish, gives Shirley an idea. A dumb idea, but an idea none the less. Her comforter falls away as her legs uncurl out from under her. The floorboards are chilly under her bare feet. As Shirley gathers and molds the pieces into her desired shape, her chair creaks as she pushes it backwards. ¡°I¡¯m gonna make a giraffe.¡± Shirley mutters. So she cracks her knuckles and gets to work. Giraffes are orange, right? And bronze is kind of like a dirty orange, isn¡¯t it? Tammy, her fourth foster parent, had loved giraffes. Giraffes, lions, elephants, and hyenas; Tammy had more paintings and statues of these animals than there probably existed on earth. Shirley was scarcely allowed to look at her foster mother¡¯s statues, let alone touch them. When Shirley moved into her first apartment, barely a day after reaching the age of majority, the first thing she bought was a tiny wooden giraffe. She¡¯d put it on her shabby console table and had always made a point to give it a pet when she walked down the hall. Moulding the basic shape of the mammal is child¡¯s play. Carving out the finer details is not. How long are a giraffe¡¯s legs compared to its neck? Should all four legs be visible or just two? The bottom half of the giraffe gets globbier and its head smudges into a rotund triangle. Frustrated, Shirley smacks the glob of wood into the left hemisphere and stumbles backwards, knocking the mirror behind her with her shoulder. The mirror rocks back and forth, the blanket over top of it falling away, revealing Shirley¡¯s nearly naked reflection. ¡°Shirley! It¡¯s so good to see you!¡± Yu¡¯s boisterous greeting makes Shirley jump, spinning around mid-air, spine tingling and breast bouncing. Yu takes in Shirley''s state of undress with a blank expression. It coughs, ¡°Oh, uh, am I interrupting¡­¡± Yu¡¯s eyes flicker downward, zeroing in on the Captain¡¯s desktop, ¡°¡­ something¡­?¡± ¡°No!¡± Shirley hastily tugs her comforter up and around her shoulders, ¡°No, I was just, um¡­¡± She follows Yu¡¯s gaze down her the desktop and feels her cheeks go hot. The giraffe''s legs are spindly sticks that resemble coarse hairs. Its body is rotund and oddly angled. Its neck is thick and textured in a way that looks almost veiny. The head is shaped like an upside-down heart. It looks like a shiny, bulging penis. Shirley turns her head away. Her grin is wide and far too toothy. ¡°Have to pass the time somehow, right?¡± She laughs, grabbing the mirror and firmly shifting its view away from the desk. ¡°True, very true,¡± Yu smiles, ¡°Although, I¡¯m sure there are plenty of other ways to do so, don¡¯t you think? Take a stroll to the boiler room or maybe check the ropes? Oh, you could have afternoon tea with Horace and Eliza! You know, Anne is baking a fresh batch of muffins, wouldn¡¯t you like to go bake with her?¡± Shirley forces a shallow chuckle out of her mouth, ¡°What great ideas! But, you know how I love my private time. Besides, I¡¯m sure the passengers won¡¯t be missing me much!¡± ¡°Oh, that¡¯s not true! Your passengers love their Captain!¡± How tempting it is, the idea of simply throwing the blanket back over the mirror. If only to end this dreary discussion. Instead, Shirley shuffles over to her bed. She lies down. The cushions are very comfortable, almost too soft. Yu remains in the mirror; a perfect reflection. Shirley remarks, ¡°Yeah, they sure do love their captain. They do their job well, don¡¯t they?¡± Yu¡¯s smile falters, ¡°What does that mean?¡± Shirley stares up at the ceiling and says, ¡°Oh, nothing. Forget I said anything.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t like your passengers?¡± ¡°I never said that.¡± ¡°It was implied. ¡°Was it?¡± The rocking of the boat makes the ceiling sway in Shirley¡¯s vision. There¡¯s a pattern up there she¡¯d been dying to figure out these past few days. Sometimes, in the corner of her eye, Shirley thinks she sees where the pattern begins. Or maybe that¡¯s where it ends. Try as she might, she just can¡¯t get a lock on it. The pattern never stills. The order is always changing. ¡°Is that the one thing that matters?¡± She marvels, ¡°Whether or not I ¡®like¡¯ them?¡± ¡°No, of course not--¡± ¡°Aren¡¯t I a hypocrite? I¡¯ve never wanted to believe in any so-called god. A horrible god makes a horrible world, and a horrible world has horrible people. And now, well, just look at me! Just look at me now.¡± Shirley turns around, lying on her stomach with her head between her arms, ¡°An empty person surrounded by empty people. Just a bunch of reflections. If there was a god, I wonder if that¡¯s what went wrong? Maybe humanity wasn¡¯t as human as he imagined we¡¯d be. Impossible to relate to. Too similar to care. Goodness, that sounds pretentious as hell.¡± Shirley pauses. She waits for Yu to speak, but they say nothing. She sighs. If there¡¯s one thing Shirley hates doing, it''s complaining. It¡¯s such an unlikable trait. This numbness isn¡¯t Yu¡¯s fault, and Shirley knows it''s cruel to make Yu feel like it is. ¡°Thank you for trying. I¡¯m sure you put a lot of work into all of this and I really do appreciate it. Honestly, it¡¯s one of the nicest gifts anyone¡¯s ever given me. But it isn¡¯t real. You know it, I know it; if my passengers were real people, they¡¯d know it too. But they¡¯re not real. I want to talk to real people, Yu. But I guess you¡¯ll have to do.¡± Silence. ¡°Yu?¡± Shirley sits up. The mirror by her desk is empty, her reflection is no longer trapped within its confines. She¡¯s alone, which is exactly what she had wanted. But, unfortunately, wants are fickle things. Quick to leave oneself deserted.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. ~*~ Shirley doesn¡¯t cover the mirror again, but it hardly makes any difference. No matter how many reflections Shirley passes, Yu doesn¡¯t appear again. A sense of foreboding emerges. The captain spends most of the next ten days looking over her shoulder. In hindsight, she should have been more worried about what was standing right in front of her. ¡°Good morning, Captain!¡± ¡°Oh!¡± Shirley staggers backward, bumping her head against the cafe door, ¡°David!¡± Breakfast had just ended, and as usual, Shirley was the first one to leave. Or, at least, she thought she was. She pushes the door open just enough to peer inside. David¡¯s chair is empty. But David had been sitting in his usual spot, hadn¡¯t he? Shirley could have sworn she passed him on the way out. ¡°How did you¡­? Weren¡¯t you just inside¡­?¡± ¡°I was just going for a walk,¡± David smiles, ¡°I¡¯d love it if you joined me!¡± A second of staring and then Shirley smiles. ¡°Lead the way!¡± It¡¯s an aimless stroll. The captain walks slowly, making sure she stays one step behind her passenger at all times. The walk was David¡¯s idea; Shirley only wanted to make it easy for him to take the lead. It becomes very clear, very quickly, that David is a follower, not a leader. They¡¯ve passed the cafe fourteen times. It¡¯s only been fifteen minutes. Conversation doesn¡¯t ripen. They talk about the weather because what else is there to chat about? ¡°It looked like it was going to rain this morning,¡± David says. ¡°Yes,¡± Shirley answers, ¡°But it didn¡¯t.¡± They send each other a lopsided smile and pass the cafe for the fifteenth time. ¡°Well, it was great talking with you David!¡± Shirley smiles, ¡°But I¡¯d hate to take up too much of your time.¡± She starts walking to her quarters, and David follows close behind. ¡°I don¡¯t mind.¡± ¡°Yes, but I¡¯m sure you have somewhere to be!¡± She quickly turns a corner, but David doesn¡¯t take the hint. ¡°Not really.¡± ¡°That¡¯s too bad, but I¡¯m really not feeling my best.¡± She speed-walks up the stairs and David matches her pace with ease. ¡°Oh no! Why don¡¯t I get you some medicine?¡± ¡°No!¡± Shirley grits her teeth but her smile stays in place, ¡°No, thank you David. I¡¯m just tired, that''s all.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll walk you to your room. Jane will bring you some milk to help you sleep.¡± It¡¯s an odd thing to offer, given the fact that they¡¯ve already reached her door. ¡°That¡¯s so sweet of you to offer,¡± The captain turns her door handle and does her best to slip through without opening the door too wide. She says, ¡°But all I need is a nap!¡± Shirley goes to pull her door shut, but David catches it with a surprisingly firm grip. He¡¯s stronger than he looks. The muscles in his hand bulge, but David¡¯s expression remains sweet and sincere. ¡°Okay, I¡¯ll leave you be.¡± David says, ¡°I¡­ I just wanted to thank you. For running the ship! I¡¯m sure it''s a lot of work and we all really appreciate it!¡± Is it possible to cringe with a smile? Apparently, it is. ¡°Oh, trust me.¡± Shirley chuckles, ¡°It¡¯s no work at all doing what I do. No work at all.¡± ¡°I do trust you!¡± David¡¯s grin is like a sunbeam shining directly into the captain¡¯s eyes. Shirley feels like she¡¯s been cornered by an emotional drunk who¡¯s had a little too much vodka. She stays calm. She¡¯s good at staying calm. David leans in and keeps talking, ¡°We all trust you! You¡¯re a good person and we¡¯re all so lucky to have you here with us! Don¡¯t you agree?¡± A lump forms in the back of Shirley¡¯s voice. The captain flounders, mouthing words that her tongue won¡¯t bring to life. She pulls on the door. Tugging and tugging in quick bursts, hoping that David doesn¡¯t notice her distress. Why won¡¯t he let go of the door? That¡¯s all she wants at this moment. Let go of the door, the captain whimpers in her mind. Let go of my door; let go, for god¡¯s sake, let go! David¡¯s fingers slip away. The door slams shut so fiercely that Shirley trips on her heels and lands flat on her back. She hears David chuckle from the other side of the door. ¡°Have a nice nap! See you tomorrow!¡± ~*~ Shirley skips breakfast the next morning, and it seems she¡¯s not the only one. Belle visits her quarters and spends the better part of six hours cleaning. She somehow finds over a thousand ways to ask the same questions. How¡¯s your day been? Any plans today? So what have you been up to? Anything new in your life? Up to anything? How have you been feeling? How are you doing? It¡¯s torture. The day after that, Shirley flees her room before daybreak, but it¡¯s still too late. May tracks her down by the stern, regardless of Shirley¡¯s attempts at hiding under the stairs. Another brigade of questions. There¡¯s something off about how the passengers are talking to her now. They¡¯re too nosy, too open, and too intrusive. By the third day, Shirley¡¯s sanity is on its last thread. ¡°Good morning, Captain!¡± That sickening twist of regret in Shirley¡¯s stomach is awfully familiar. She shouldn¡¯t have left the captain¡¯s quarters. Why did she leave her room; her only sanctuary where she might be miserable in peace? She''d thought no one would think to look for her in the boiler room. Shirley turns away from the steam engine, greeting her passenger happily. ¡°Molly!¡± She says, ¡°What are you doing here, sweetie?¡± The chubby-cheeked little girl rocks up and down her heels in the most adorable way. Shirley regards her like a fragile vase tipping to and forth on the edge of a table. A source of unending anxiety. Molly smiles, ¡°You weren¡¯t at breakfast.¡± Shirley goes tense. ¡°Yes, I wasn¡¯t hungry--¡± ¡°Are you sick?¡± ¡°No!¡± She almost scowls but manages to catch herself, ¡°No, sweetie. Where are your parents? I¡¯m sure they''re wondering where you are.¡± Did Molly have parents? Shirley can¡¯t remember. Molly had Buddy; was he her brother? Or just a friend? Horace and Eliza are married, maybe they¡¯re Molly¡¯s parents. Then again, they seem a little old to have a child so young. The boiler makes a crackling squeak and the captain glances over her shoulder at it for only a second. In that split second, Shirley is faintly aware of a sudden gust of hot hair on her neck. She turns back to Molly. Four eager smiles greet her, each less than an inch away from her face. ¡°Oh god!¡± Shirley shrieks, goosebumps prickle her skin in a way that makes her clothes tickle. ¡°Good morning, Captain!¡± Says Eliza. ¡°Good morning, Captain!¡± Says Horace. ¡°Good morning, Captain!¡± Says Buddy. ¡°Here are my parents!¡± Says Molly. The captain laughs breathlessly, heart beating like a drum solo, ¡°There are your parents¡­¡± ¡°And my brother!¡± ¡°And your brother¡­¡± ¡°We hope we aren¡¯t taking up too much of your time, dearie!¡± Eliza smiles, ¡°We were wondering if you needed anything?¡± ¡°No. I¡¯m good.¡± ¡°Are you sure?¡± Horace presses. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°We¡¯d do anything for you, you know. Just say the word.¡± ¡°I know,¡± Shirley shuffles to the side, back pressed against the wall as she tries to get to the door whilst staying as far away from the smiling family as possible, ¡°Trust me, I know.¡± Eliza opens her mouth to speak, ¡°Oh, you look a little queasy, dearie. Are you sick--¡± but Shirley¡¯s already bolted out the door. Why did her boat have to be so big? Have the hallways always been so long? Has there always been this many corners where people could lurk just outside of her line of sight, waiting to pop out and ensnare her with their smiles? ¡®Good morning, Captain! Good morning, Captain! Good morning, Captain!¡¯ Her mind taunts her with those three words, just clear enough for paranoia to creep up her back. Are the words only in her head? Or are they whispers, just quiet enough to drive her mad with uncertainty? ¡°Good morning, Captain!¡± Shirley screams. A pitchy, out of tune D6. Behind her, Shirley hears the voice murmur almost fearfully, ¡°Captain Villeneuve? Are you okay?¡± The captain spins around, proudly displaying her widest smile on her cherry-red face. The baristas Jane, Zachary, and Anne smile back at her. Footsteps from up and down the hall get closer and closer. Oh god, more of them are closing in. ¡°I¡¯m just screaming for joy! Yelling for the yuks! Shipshape and Bristol fashion! Happy day, callooh callay!¡± Shirley slaps her knee, doubling over in wheezy, five-packs-a-day laughter. Then she goes straight as an arrow and smiles, ¡°Now turn those frowns upside down! It takes more muscles to frown than it does to smile!¡± The captain clasps her hands behind her back, scooching away inch by inch, ¡°If life gives you lemons, make lemonade! Laughter is the best medicine! Live, Laugh, Love!¡± Maintaining eye contact, the captain swings her door open. She gives her baristas a happy salute, ¡°You only live once but I¡¯m already dead!¡± And with that final remark, Shirley throws herself into the captain¡¯s quarters like a live grenade. She slams the door shut, locks it, and sticks a chair under the handle. Shirley¡¯s breath comes in gasps, ¡°Fuck¡­¡± There¡¯s a knock on the door. Then another, and another, and another. A groan that¡¯s angry like a growl escapes Shirley¡¯s throat and she turns away, refusing to answer. Instead, she marches up to the mirror and launches into a rant. ¡°If this is a joke, no one is laughing! Do you hear me?¡± She scowls, ¡°Answer me, Yu! You never had the sense to leave when you weren¡¯t wanted before, and now you¡¯re ignoring me when I actually want to talk to you? Well, I¡¯m sorry, okay! I¡¯m sorry¡­¡± She¡¯s on her knees now. When that happened, Shirley has no idea. She doesn¡¯t cry. She feels like she should be, she certainly has enough misery bottled up inside her but the tears just don¡¯t come. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I don¡¯t know what I did, but I¡¯m sorry¡­¡± Her reflection in the mirror remains nothing but a reflection. Misery wanes into numbness. The knock, knock, knocking doesn¡¯t cease until well after midnight. In all that time, she still hasn¡¯t moved from her spot crouched by the mirror, head pressed against the glass. It is day 145. The captain raises her head. ¡°Fine,¡± Shirley croaks, ¡°If you won¡¯t give me your company, then I don¡¯t owe you mine.¡± The captain removes her coat, shirt, and trousers. She throws her hat to the floor and shucks off her boots. It¡¯s going to be warm tonight. Even if it wasn¡¯t, Shirley wants nothing to do with these harlequin clothes and if that means she¡¯s going out naked, then so be it. She contemplates taking a blanket with her, but decides against it. Even a measly blanket would be too much of a reminder. Shirley takes nothing. She wears nothing. She escapes through the window. The captain of the Mississippi Comet tiptoes between the stacks and slides down the mast until her bare feet touch the bow. The grain is rough and splintery. Shirley strolls down the bow and as her eyes get a glimpse of where the water kisses the hull, the captain hears a stampede of harried footsteps converging on her from behind. A cool sense of relief falls over her. Not relief that she¡¯s no longer alone, but only solace at the fact that nothing can stop her now. ¡°Captain!¡± One voice becomes many, but Shirley doesn¡¯t freeze. Her heart beats steadily, and her pace doesn¡¯t slow. The voices keep calling and the footsteps get closer, ¡°Captain! Captain! Captain! Captain! Captain!¡± Over the bow¡¯s edge, Shirley can see her reflection in the water. It has her expression and its movements match hers perfectly. She raises her foot, levelling it over the water. Hands with clawing fingernails reach out and catch the captain by the skin of their teeth. It¡¯s not enough. With no clothes to grab hold of, they can''t get a grip. They scratch at her back, leaving grabby scrawls that come frightening close to getting a firm grasp on her skin. ¡°Captain, wait! Please, just wait!¡± But her passengers are too late. Shirley tips forward, falling from the bow like a heavy anchor without its chain. ¡°Please don¡¯t leave! Please, please don¡¯t leave us!¡± Legs straight and feet flat, the water comes nearer and nearer. ¡°What are we going to do without you? Come back here, right now!¡± But when her Shirley¡¯s feet collide with the deep blue sea... ¡°Why are you doing this? What did we do wrong?¡± Shirley doesn¡¯t sink. ¡°We¡¯re sorry! Whatever we did, we¡¯re sorry! We¡¯re sorry!¡± The surface beneath her is sturdy. With a wobble to gain her bearings, Shirley is surprised. Not only can she stand on the water, oh no, she also can walk. ¡°Please¡­! Please¡­ Don¡¯t¡­¡± And walk Shirley does. Under the stars, the water is shiny. Her reflection is stubby-looking, all scrunched up under her feet. ¡°You don¡¯t feel any guilt?¡± Shirley startles when Yu¡¯s voice resonates from under the gentle waves. Shirley smiles in a hazy, tired way, ¡°Hello, Yu. Lovely of you to join me.¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t answer my question.¡± The calls of her passengers become screams. It¡¯s not a pleasant sound. She keeps walking. Never turning back and bathed in a pang of guilt that Shirley doesn¡¯t allow herself to drown in. The entire world was made for her; she¡¯s walking on water for god¡¯s sake. She is the only real thing in the universe. Isn¡¯t that pathetic? The only thing that could be more pitful is trying to convince anyone otherwise. ¡°None of that was real.¡± Shirley narrows her eyes, sights focused on the horizon where the sun will hopefully soon appear. She smiles, ¡°Please, don¡¯t act like you care.¡± Her ties to this afterlife are firmly snipped when Captain Shirley May Villeneuve finally abandons ship.