NaNoWriMo 2010 – Day 10

James was waiting on the swings. Him and Sophie had been friends since before they really knew there were differences between boys and girls. It would be an understatement to say that James had “a little bit” of a thing for her. Sophie was well aware of this and did her best to make sure it was kept in check. Though that didn’t stop her from accepting the ego boost his affections provided.
Sophie could see him as she walked across the grass. He was wearing his usual attire of an excess of baggy clothing that served to emphasise his small frame, rather than disguise it. She often teased him about such things, but he didn’t seem to wish to ever change. He was sat, moving gently back and forth, and dragging his feet along the ground. He turned as he heard he footsteps on the wood chippings of the playground.
“Hi, James.” Sophie smiled at him.
“Hi, Soph.” James beamed back at her behind his thick-cut, NHS glasses. “How’s life?”
“Exceptionally confusing.” Sophie slumped onto a swing next to him. She pushed off with her feet and began to swing in a slightly haphazard fashion. “Everything was so much less complicated when we were kids, wasn’t it?”
“I suppose so.” James looked thoughtful. “School was definitely a lot easier.”
Sophie gave him a look of endearment. “Yes. Yes it was. Families too.”
“Families are complicated?”
“Mine is. Well, it is now. I’m adopted, James.” She looked at him hopefully.
“Oh.” James’ face was offering no help. “Well, it’s nice to know, I suppose?”
Sophie sighed and went back to swinging.
“Do you know who your real parents are yet? I mean, your biological ones…”
“I’ve met my father. I don’t know what to think of him.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, either he’s mad or the world is. And even then, I think he’s still at least a little bit mad.”
“I sometimes think my parents are a little bit mad. Mainly whenever they try and go on about sport.” James gave her a reassuring smile.
“Yeh, he’s not that kind of mad. He’s more of your ‘mad prophet’ kind of mad. Beard and robe and everything.”
“Oh dear.”
“I’m meeting up with him again tomorrow. I’m gonna try and make him make a bit more sense. And maybe I can learn a bit about my mother.”
“Why can’t you meet her? Oh, she’s not dead it she?” James did his best to make his face show concern, but the glasses rendered it a bit ineffectual.
“Not that I’m aware of.” Sophie stopped swinging. “She’s apparently gone off somewhere and he doesn’t know where. He thinks she’ll be coming back, but has no idea when. Hell, that could just be some sort of delusion of his. I wouldn’t be surprised if she were staying away from him as much as possible.”
“Oh come on, he can’t be that bad!”
“No, I suppose he’s not. But it’s a bit jarring, really. To find out one day that you’re adopted, and then to find out the next day that your real father is the sort of man you’d avoid in the bus station in case he tried to give you some sort of leaflet.”
“Can I help at all?”
Sophie smiled, “You can take my mind off all this. Take me back to yours, beat me at computer games, and feed me until I pass out.”
“Um, okay?” James always got a little bit nervous at the thought of having Sophie in his bedroom. His mother would never allow girls in his room, but Sophie wasn’t considered a “girl”. James’ mother had known Sophie longer than Sophie had known James and she’d always approved of her. Though she did share Sophie’s mother’s opinion about Sophie’s hair. Suddenly Sophie wondered if James’ mother had known about Sophie’s adoption. And did anyone else know?
This all kept Sophie rather quiet on the walk to James’ house (not that it was a particulaly long one). James didn’t press her to break her silence. He’d never been one for excessive talking anyway, and Sophie’s company was enough to keep him more than happy. He preferred to simply look at his feet as he walked, trying not to smile or blush too much.

James’ bedroom was a boy’s bedroom. The walls were covered in posters and almost every possible surface was covered in things no longer considered toys (as he was now too old for such things) but collectibles. James was a hoarder and could see no reason to get rid of something that might have a use one day. He had drawers full of things with broken or missing parts and spare parts for things that he no longer owned. He had a floor-to-ceiling bookcase that was full to bursting with well-thumbed paperbacks. Some of them he didn’t even like, but he kept them anyway, just in case he forgot how he felt about them and needed to find out again.
It was relatively tidy today. His mother had come in earlier in the day and picked up all the clothes that had lain littered about. She’d intended to clean it, as she’d done the rest of the house. Unfortunately, there was barely anything to clean, without resorting to a large scale rearrangement of items. She’d vacuumed the floor and left it at that.
Sophie was now sat on this dirt-free floor with a plate of cheese-on-toast that James’ mother had made for her when she’d told her that, no, she hadn’t had any dinner yet. James was busy setting up the game they were about to play. He handed a controller to Sophie and she held it with one hand, the other being occupied by a half-eaten slice of the cheese-on-toast.
The game began and Sophie continued eating, neglecting to move her character and concentrating her focus on hitting whatever attack buttons she felt like. James’ character was running and jumping all over the screen, but was barely managing to land a blow on Sophie. She managed to stifle a giggle as his character was knocked out and he turned to look at Sophie in disapproval. She nonchalantly chewed on the last bite of the slice and placed her now free hand on the controller.
James took the second round with ease as Sophie was trying to remember complicated button combinations she’d learnt when they’d last played this game. None of them seemed to work, so she turned back to her random button strategy for the last round. It was a close fought thing, but James just beat her. Sophie gave him a smile that was intended to make it seem like she’d let him win, but she knew it wasn’t true. Sophie got up and left him to play on his own for a bit while she ate her second slice of toast and inspected his bookcase.
“Surely you’ve read them all by now?” James asked, not looking up from his game.
“I have not!” Sophie replied, petulantly. “And anyway, you might have some new ones.”
“Not for a while now. I’ve mostly been getting stuff from the library or just re-reading old stuff.”
“Let me guess, Hitchhiker’s Guide for the millionth time?”
“They’re great books! And no, other stuff.”
“Maybe I should give them another read. I might be going on my own fantastical journey soon…”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if Bob’s no help, that’s my new dad, by the way, I may have to go find my mother. No idea how I’d do that.”
“Well, couldn’t you just do a quick internet search for her? Everyone’s online in some for or another…”
“If she’s anything like Bob seems to think he is, she’s probably not going under her ‘real’ name any more. Hell, she might not even have a real name.”
“What?” James stopped what he was doing and looked round at her.
“It’s a long story that I don’t know the full details of yet.” Sophie lay down on James’ bed. “Bob seems to think he’s as old as the human race. And he said something vague about him and my mother having ‘arrived’ around then. Where they arrived from, I don’t know yet. I’m going to see him tomorrow, so I might be able to learn a bit more then. Or I’ll just come away even more confused.”
“Oh. That’s definitely very… hmmm.” James managed.
“Yes, it definitely is that.” Sophie rolled onto her side and looked at James. “Why have you gone all quiet?”
“There’s, um… there’s a girl in my bed.”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “I’m not in your bed, James, I’m on it. And you know full well it wouldn’t mean anything even if I were in it.”
“Yeh…” Jamie avoided her gaze. Sophie rolled her eyes once more and lamely threw a book at him. It caught him on the arm and James rubbed the imagined bruise as he blushed heavily.
Sophie sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She stared down at her feet. “I just need a friend right now, James. Everything’s being complicated right now, can’t we just be simple?”
“Sorry.” James adjusted his glasses and smiled at her. “You’re my best friend, Soph, and I’m always here for you.”
“Thanks, Jim-Jams.” Sophie smiled back at him and watched him wince at the childhood nickname she’d given him long ago. “Now, what other food have you got? That cheese-on-toast was most certainly not enough to fill the gaping hole in my digestive system.”
“Your entire digestive is a gaping hole!” James teased. “A black hole, into which all snacks fall, never to be seen again! You know, when you went on holiday a while back, mum was still buying the same amount of food and she couldn’t understand why our cupboards were overflowing. It was because you hadn’t been round here raiding them for over a week!”
“Oh, shut your mouth and get me some cake, you silly boy.” Sophie stood up and pushed him out of the bedroom door towards the stairs.

Bob was searching his home, which was part of the church and yet wasn’t. To any normal human, it wasn’t there at all and most of the time, neither was Bob. To Bob, he was very annoyed by how often he had people being thoroughly bored in what was essentially his hallway.
He was searching for various diaries and personal effects that he would need for tomorrow. Sophie wanted to know the truth, which would mean he’d have to remember it all first. Oh, if only her mother were here! She’d remember it all. She’d always had such a good memory. Or at least it seemed as such. He’d let himself get old and he’d gotten forgetful. What was the point of remembering all these things that had no bearing on now? The price of eggs at the corner shop was worth remembering, the name of that Viking who’d gotten drunk and taken offence to Bob calling him a halfwit was not. Though he did remember old Oglaf, for some reason.
The diaries would have to do. Sophie’s mother had kept them while she had been here and she’d brought him a new one whenever she returned from her travels. He never read them. He’d been there for almost all of her original writings and he had no interest in anything new she had to say. He’d resolutely taken to just throwing them in a corner and forgetting about them. Right now, he was wishing it had always been the same corner.
A small grey cat sat and watched him at work. It mewed at him.
“Yes, Douglas, I had thought about that.” Bob said, in seeming reply.
The cat mewed once more.
“Well, I’ll tell her not to, won’t I?” He turned to face the cat and it cocked it’s head on one side, managing a marvellous look of withering skepticism. “Oh don’t look at me like that! She’s not going to want to go off looking for her. I mean, why would she? She’s a 16 year-old girl. They don’t do such things, do they? They sit and watch television and go to parties and court young men on that web-thing. 16 year-old girls do not go wandering off looking for mothers they’ve never met!”
The cat gave a final mew, before wandering off to the kitchen to find itself something to eat.
“The salmon in the fridge is not for you!” Bob called after it, knowing full well he would be ignored. He cursed his decision to endow Douglas with further intelligence than his normal cat-genes would have allowed. But then, he did serve as a decent sort of conscience. As long as the dilemma didn’t involve an outcome that would involve him getting fed, that is.
Bob went back to his searching and it wasn’t long before it bore fruit. He placed the two further diaries he’d found on the pile. The problem was, he wasn’t sure how many there actually were. She’d always managed to keep them fairly concise, he knew that. But even then, there was a lot of time to cover. And there’d be even more noteworthy events available to go into the more recent ones. He’d just have to search everywhere until there was nothing left to find. He looked at the vast expanse of mess and sagged at the prospect. There was no way he was going to get this all done before Sophie arrived tomorrow.
He decided a tea break was in order and retired to the kitchen. He found Douglas sat next to the kettle, with a plate before him and something a definite salmony pink hanging from his mouth.
“How you manage to do that without thumbs, I’ll never know.”
The cat gave him a smug grin and finished off the salmon. Bob opened a cupboard a pulled out a rather ancient looking mug. He hesitated a moment and turned to Douglas.
“A milky one for you, I assume?” The cat nodded and Bob grabbed a small tea cup from the same cupboard. He filled the kettle and put it on to boil and busied himself with putting tea bags in the mug and cup and adding sugar to his. He got the milk out of the fridge and set it down on the counter next to everything else. He pretended not to notice Douglas licking his lips as he did this.
The kettle boiled and Bob made the tea, making sure to make Douglas’ with about the same amount of milk as water. The tea bags were squeezed and went into the bin and the tea was stirred thoroughly before being taken back into what could vaguely be called the living room. Douglas followed along behind Bob and took up residence on the footrest, where he could easily reach his tea after Bob had set it down on the table.
Bob sipped his tea and vaguely stroked Douglas. “Do you think she’ll be happy with all this?”
Douglas mewed and lapped at his tea, making a face after discovering it was still a bit too hot.
“Me neither, old boy. To be honest, I really have no idea what she’ll think.” Bob sighed. “Maybe she’s just like her mother. Maybe she will go off to try and find her and these diaries will just encourage that. Maybe I’m just destined to not have a woman around this place.”
Douglas was too busy with his tea to give any sort of answer. Bob slurped at his and then looked puzzled.
“Oh, sod it all, I forgot to bring in the biscuits!”
Douglas watched him as he left the room and shook his head. He could tell what was going to happen and felt a bit sorry for Bob. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t excited at the prospect of tagging along on Sophie’s adventure. If she had one of course. But then, he was pretty sure she’d decide to. I mean, with his persuasion, why wouldn’t she?

NaNoWriMo 2010 – Day 2

The room was empty except for Robin and the desk attendant. The morning’s arrivals had all happened bright and early, while he’d still been sat on the bus. His alternate was probably sat in the waiting room, leafing through old magazines with a look of awe on his face (in a world that’s so different from your own, even trash can be fascinating). He walked to the desk and gave his name.
“I’ll just go and get her.” The attendant replied.
Robin waited, a little confused. The message had told him that he was meeting an alternate version of himself, not just someone who held his position. “Maybe they got it wrong,” he thought to himself, “Or maybe it’s-” He didn’t get to finish that thought as the attendant had opened the door and was calling his name into the waiting room. He heard a female voice answer and then the shuffling of magazines back into piles. A few moments later, the attendant stood aside to allow her to exit the room.
“Miss Robin Ver of dimension ZZ9-221984.” The attendant announced. The woman standing before him was alternate version of himself. From a dimension where his father’s sperm had offered up and X chromosome instead of a Y. Robin studied her, trying to see where they were similar. They shared the same dark brown hair and greyish-blue eyes. Her haircut was even similar to his, short and somewhat spiky in an unkempt and lackadaisical fashion. She was at least a thought shorter than him though, and very much a woman. She had curves in all the right places and even the short hair didn’t send her looks too far in the direction of “boyish”. Robin’s nothing-but-black suit, shirt and shoes were replaced by a dark grey blouse, a pencil skirt, tights (at least by Robin’s guess, he couldn’t see the tops of her legs), some plain black heels, and one of those little cardigan things that didn’t even fully cover her arms.
“Um, hi…” the other Robin said, “I’m Robin.”
“Oh, yes!” Robin was ejected out of his ruminations, “Sorry about that. It’s just that I’ve never been a woman before, I mean…”
The other Robin laughed, “I get what you mean. I’ve met male versions of myself before. A fair few, in fact. There seems to be woefully few female Robin Vers out there. Or maybe they all just went somewhere else for work.”
“Maybe they did. Well, it’s lovely to meet you and welcome to ER7-724272.” Robin offered his hand and she shook it and smiled. “Shall we head up to the office? You do work in team 5, don’t you?”
“Yep. Arts researcher, just like you. Or so they tell me.”
“And they’d be right!” Robin (the original) smiled and led the way through the building. As they walked, they talked politely about things, such as how he didn’t really need to lead her as the building was almost identical to her own. She occasionally pointed out things that were different; a vending machine that stocked a different brand of drink, a picture that hung on an opposite side, a plant that someone had killed by pouring something rather nasty into the pot at a recent office party. They also exchanged brief life stories about themselves, mostly a snippet from one of them, followed by a reply of “same here, but…”. The stories had similar plots, a pleasant childhood in Bristol, before moving to London for University and finally ending up at The Library. She’d done slightly better than him, ending up with a 1st, rather than the 2.1 he just barely scraped. His musical career had mostly consisted of playing guitar in a variety of short-lived, local, metal or punk bands, whereas she’d been a blues singer who’d really had a chance of going somewhere, but she’d decided to focus on her studies.
They arrived at the office and made their way to the cubicle they’d share. “It’s even in the same spot!” The female Robin exclaimed. “So I still get that lovely view out of the window. Oh, but that church isn’t there.”
“Take your pick.” Robin said, indicating the extra computers spread around the circular desk. “I’m on 1, obviously, and some guy from RR6-565677 has been using 4 a lot recently.”
“One of us?”
“No, not another Robin. His name’s Terry, I think. Don’t think he’ll be back for a few days, said he had a lot of material to gather. All The Beatles are still alive and making albums where he’s from, apparently.”
“The Beatles?” The female Robin looked confused.
“Yes. Surely you guys have them?”
“Don’t think so. But maybe they’re just not that big and I haven’t heard of them…”
Robin laughed “Maybe! I’d love to know what those guys did instead! Here, I’ll pull up something for you to have a listen to.” He sat down at his machine and started clicking away, scrolling through masses of music that had never and would never exist in his own dimension. Finally he came to what he was looking for. “Here we go.” With a click of the mouse, and a turn of the speaker’s volume knob, “Hey Jude” was flowing out of the tiny computer speakers he’d been provided with. The female Robin listened intently, a slight smile forming on her lips.
“I know this one!”
“Oh, so they do exist?” Robin looked a her hopefully.
“I don’t think so.” She gave him a troubled look. “I think it was churned out by one of those awful pop factories in the late 20th. I can’t for the life of me remember who was singing on it. Not that it matters really.”
“Oh dear. It’d be a real shame if they were reduced to that sort of thing.”
“It was probably a cover or something.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “Give me all you can on them and I’ll do some research when I get back.” She took a seat at 2 and started her voyage of discovery into the works of one of the most successful bands of all time, who were almost nobodies where she came from.
Robin watched her work and he smiled. She was definitely very attractive. He was sure he couldn’t look anywhere near that attractive if he tried. The more he studied her, the more he could see resemblances, but every one of them had a feminine bent that made him believe she must be someone else. But obviously the checks had been done. They had to be. The Library needed to know if you were going to be working with an alternate. The simplest way was via name and position in the company. They were both Robin Ver and they both worked as Team 5’s arts researcher. But that wasn’t enough. Names could belong to anyone. There was definitely another Robin Ver living in this dimension already who was in no way an alternate of himself (he occasionally got e-mails or online requests from people looking for the other Robin Ver, though he was unable to direct them elsewhere as his searches for him had also been fruitless).
Their work day rushed along and they got along well on that first day. They sat and ate lunch together and they were joined by another Robin Ver, this one being from TD7-454533 and instead being an historical researcher for team 2. He’d been visiting for a while and informed them that this was the last time he’d be there as his team’s project was finishing up and they’d be moving on to editing and publishing the data they’d collected. Robin (the original) had gotten to know him quite well and expressed his sadness at seeing him go.
“Well, you’ll have to pop over sometime!” said Team 2 Robin, “We’ll have a night out. Drinks will have to be on me, obviously.”
“Ah yes, no monarchy over there, so our money won’t even pass for good.” said Robin.
“And maybe the young lady could join us?”
“Oh, that sounds lovely!” the female Robin replied. “I’ve yet to experience the UK as a republic outside of research texts.”
“Good good. I won’t bring the wife. She seems very much of the opinion that one of me is far too many at the moment.”
“Ah yes, Jenny Saunders,” the original Robin mused, “I was heartbroken when she ditched me. Guess I dodged a bullet there!”
“You certainly did, my boy!” Team 2 Robin gave him a fatherly punch in the arm, despite their identical ages.
“Jenny Saunders? She got very drunk and tried to kiss me at a party once!” the female Robin exclaimed. They all laughed.
The rest of the day was an enjoyable one for Robin. There was pleasant conversation throughout the afternoon between him and the alternate Robin and he was sad to see her to the departures department at the end of the day. She assured him she would be back though. She had lots of surface data to sort through and compare to what they had back home. Then she’d be back to do some in-depth research and provide him with some data for comparison. He told her he’d be very much looking forward to it.
His bus home was on time and he spent most of the journey thinking of her. It was then that he first began to consider some kind of relationship between them. The thought shocked him at first, but it kept nagging at him. She was definitely very attractive and they shared a lot in common. It wasn’t unheard of for employees of The Library to begin relationships across dimensions, but with an alternate? That’s surely just a little fucked-up? Robin began making narcissism and masturbation jokes in his head and was still giggling when he got off the bus.

Robin had a dream that night. It began with him and the female Robin working in the office, like they had been that day. Almost instantly, it changed. Female Robin stood up and had a predatory look in her eyes. She pushed the computer terminals off the desk one by one and then leapt upon it. She pulled Robin towards her and kissed him deeply and passionately. They began to undress each other. Pulling at each other’s clothes, taking off only what was needed. He ripped open her blouse and pushed up her skirt. She was wearing stockings in his dream. She lay back on the desk and he removed her underwear, discarding it on the floor. He climbed on top of her, leaning in close to hear what she was whispering.
“Fuck me.” Robin exclaimed as he awoke. He felt dampness against his face and instinctively wiped his mouth, but it was dry. He realised it was sweat and sat up. His could feel the hardness of his penis against his underwear. “Fuck” he said again and fell back to lie on the bed again. He masturbated to the fading images of his dream. To the thought of fucking an alternate version of himself. To the sound of her whispering in his ear. To her stockings. To the look of hunger in her eyes when she’d taken hold of his neck and kissed him. He came to the fantasy of fucking himself. The euphoria subsided and he fell into a restless sleep haunted by doubts. But at the back of his mind hung that look. He wanted to see that look for real.

How did I make you cry?

I want to fall asleep in your arms. Every time I talk to you, that’s what I’m imagining. I’m imagining the smile on my face as I drift off to sleep with you holding me close. I always try to say things that will make you smile so that you’ll associate me with happiness. Maybe then you’ll want me around more as you’ll want to stay happy. Maybe that will help you decide that you want more than what we have now. I just want the chance to remove tears from your eyes whenever I can. I want the chance to paint that beautiful smile you have across your face whenever you see me. I’m not sure how to do this, really. I’m not sure how to gently persuade you that this could be good. How I could become that voice in your mind that says “Hey, why not?” I want to be the other part of you. The part that finishes your sentences. The part that takes you to the park and makes you lie on the grass, giggling to yourself on a sunny afternoon. I want to mean as much to you as you do to me. But really, I’d settle for a kiss.

-Alice

The girls that sway when you breathe

We fell asleep together. I had my arm around you and our fingers were intertwined. I couldn’t see the expression on your face, but I like to think that you were smiling. I like to imagine that this is where you wanted to be. It may be fanciful, but if every moment that we were together were anything like this, then maybe it could work. Maybe we could stay together and be happy. But I don’t think that’s going to happen, do you? I doubt we’ll find ourselves sharing many moments that come anywhere that’s even close to this kind of perceived perfection. We’ll mostly just argue and make each other feel like we’re worthless. That’s the way we are, it seems. We’re not perfect together. I’m not sure whether I should love that or hate it. I’m not sure what to feel about much of what goes on between me and you these days. Even now, as I lay here awake, wondering when you’ll wake up, I feel like it’s not right. I feel like maybe I don’t want you to wake up as it’s working so well right now. We get on so well when you’re sleeping. I’ll get the chloroform.

-Alice

The tell-tale sign that you’ve changed

Maybe I should tell you my origin. Maybe I should tell you where I come from and what motivates me. I should let you into all my little secrets. I should let you explore the deepest parts of my mind and have you draw conclusions. Maybe I should reveal myself to you. Have me lay (metaphorically) naked in front of you and let you pick through those things which make me who I am. Maybe then you’ll sympathise with me and what I do. Maybe then you’ll decide that I’m worth caring about. Maybe if I lay myself bare, you could finally come to realise that I deserve some sort of acknowledgement. If I let you know these things, would you reciprocate in any fashion? Would you give me anything in return? Would you take these things to heart and then feel something? Could I perhaps come to know more about you? Could I explore your mind as thoroughly as you seem to wish to explore mine? The ball’s in your court, really. I have no control over this situation. You get to decide what you want from me and what you’ll offer in return. Maybe I could tell you everything, if only I knew it myself.

-Alice

Sequential words that make little sense

Turn the lights off
I want to see you in darkness
I want to see with my fingers
Feel with my tongue
I want every movement
Accompanied by a sound
A sound I can hear so clearly
Without visuals to
Get in the way
As it were

I’m not really sure
What I should be feeling
At this precise moment
Inside, I mean
I know what
My fingers can touch
And my lips and tongue can taste
But I’ve no idea
No clue at all
As to what
My heart should be
Whispering in my ears

You’ve rendered me speechless
You’ve taken my breath away
Every word I might have had
Is long since forgotten

My mind
Is spiralling backwards
And forwards
Remembering the day we met
As well as
Envisioning the future
But then
I’m not so sure if we even have one

I can picture it
In my mind
Every little detail
That I want, at least
But I’m not sure
If I can see the path
That would lead us there

I’m feeling
You again
Feeling your words
On my skin
On my neck
Your lips
Your touch
I’m starting to wonder
If it’ll ever be enough

-Alice