Daylight Day 4: Science
“Ed, it’s the holidays. Don’t you feel a LITTLE happy?”
“No,” he said. “Bell, would it be okay if I drank you – just a little?”
“NO!”
*
“Exodermal Melanin Occlusion is spreading fast,” the news said. “Symptoms now include sparkling in sunshine, darkening hair, and whining.”
*
Ed tried to bite me, and I tripped over another EMO as I dodged him. Bruised my knees. Still not EMO, despite my black hair and long fringe.
——————————————————————
And, for those of you who want to know how it works:
EMO is a Retrovirus (i.e. a DNA-altering virus) which infects the outer layers of the skin. It modifies the cell’s Melanin genes so that the cell produces Silicate Crystals instead of normal Melanin.
This has the following effects:
1. It makes the infected very pale and sparkly (kind of like if they were coated in countless tiny beads of glass)
2. The Silicate crystals produced pass into the bloodstream and build up in the Brain – particularly in the Hypothalamus, Amygdala (Dysfunction of which is associated with Photophobia – aversion to light – and sometimes with compulsive biting behaviour), and the Anterior Cingulate Gyrus (disruption of which results in extreme apathy and emotional blunting).
THANK YOU to my writing group for coming up with “Exodermal Melanin Occlusion”, and especially to Ben Crispin who came up with the above.
Daylight Day 3: Apology
On the news: “The EMO subculture has now become a pandemic. EMO teens can be recognised by their depression, dark clothes, and bad poetry.”
*
I walked in the yard just as Mum set some weeds on fire. “Mum,” I said through the smoke, “Ed’s EMO.”
“That’s nice dear.”
*
My name’s pretty bad, but my brother is Pi. He’s ten and wears a labcoat. I told him, “Ed’s EMO.”
“Hm. Can I do experiments on him?”
“NO!”
———————————————————————–
The story is barely three days old and already I’ve discovered that the depressed emo is largely a myth (most emos TODAY just wear unusual clothes and hair).
Obviously (I hope) I don’t want real emos killed – or harmed in any way.
It’s important to note that the EMOs of “Daylight” are actually vampires. Not emos. They’re also not at all a fair representation of real emos from any time or place. Because what’s funny about reality?
I can certainly see why some people find the story highly offensive. That is not the intent of the story, and I am wholeheartedly sorry for causing anger and for using stereotypes. However I have decided to continue with the story because I believe that depression absolutely SHOULD be laughed at. If you look at my alternative blog, https://felicitybloomfield.wordpress.com you’ll see that I spend a lot of my time online mocking myself and my own mental illness (which I’ve now had for five years).
So, in conclusion – this is NOT a story about real EMOs. I borrowed a little from real life, a lot from “Twilight”, and even more from my own imagination (and the recent swine flu pandemic hysteria). If you are an emo, please take this chance to laugh at what could have been. If you are depressed, please use whatever strength you have to find a way to be a little less depressed.
Some resources for the mentally ill:
Your local doctor can prescribe you medication (depression isn’t something you chose – it’s something wrong with the chemicals in your head. So why not fix it, like every other sickness?)
If you’re a woman in Canberra, you can get free counselling from the Women’s Health Centre. Their number is 6205 1078. They’re EXCELLENT. And if you’re any Australian woman, I bet they can give you a number to call in your area.
Here’s a blog I wrote with some advice:
https://felicitybloomfield.wordpress.com/2009/06/23/advice-for-the-newly-insane/
And here’s a blog about someone else’s very funny misery:
http://hospitalnotes.blogspot.com/
And another funny blog about metalheads – who are also famous for being unhappy (but are actually normal people) – this blog is written BY a metalhead (a very happy, cheerful individual both online and in real life), who is currently travelling Europe (finding as many metal fests and shops as possible):
Daylight Day 2: “Am I an EMO?” quiz
In Civic, Ed kissed me and sighed. “Oh, Bell. Cloudy days are so deep.” “Oh no!” I cried. “Ed, tell me you haven’t been bitten by an EMO!”
*
He didn’t laugh once at our preview of “Saw VI”. I yanked him into a rare patch of sun – and he sparkled. My boyfriend had turned EMO!
*
Finally he confessed: “My mum bit me.”
“Your MUM!?”
He sighed, “Sad, I know.”
“Do you want to drink my blood now?”
“Er. . . no,” he lied.
—————————————————————————-
“Am I an EMO?” quiz
1. Would you LIKE to be an EMO?
2. Are most of your clothes black?
3. Do you like to share poetry about your feeeeelings?
4. Does your fringe hang longer than your eyebrows?
5. Do you find “Daylight” completely unfunny (along with everything else in creation)?
Bonus questions:
6. Do you have strong urges to drink blood?
7. Have people’s necks and veins suddenly become more attractive to you?
8. Is your hair turning darker without needing to be dyed?
9. Are your teeth unusually sharp, especially when you feel peckish?
10. Do you sparkle in an annoyingly pretty fashion whenever the sun hits you?
Answers: If you answered yes to one or more questions, YOU ARE IN DANGER!
Public Health and Safety Regulators recommend that you DO NOT drain your friends and neighbours of their blood – no matter how tempting it might be.
THIS MEANS YOU!
Writing Daze
Today is Friday, roughly halfway through school holidays. While I usually have at least an hour or so of work even in holiday weeks, this week I’ve had nothing. Nada. No-one.
This is sort of good, because it means there’s a lot less in my life to cause daily panic. On the other hand, an entire week of sitting looking at my carpet isn’t good for me either.
So I decided to double my writing quote this week – bringing it to forty hours. It’s been dreamy. On Monday I spent eight hours working on ONE CHAPTER. Is there anything more wonderful?
I’ve been craving some novel-editing work for a while, but knew I didn’t have the headspace for it. As a general rule, the longer I take to edit a small amount of work, the better my writing is going.
I’m running low on steam today, but right now I’m in my 36th hour, so the fact that I have any steam at all is remarkable. Today I’ll finish the chapter I’m on and do one more, then stop – probably until next Wednesday. That way, I’ll have built up plenty of enthusiasm just in time for the climax and end of the book. I have a bit of work on Monday and Tuesday, so I’ll work on short stories those days.
Today I also launched “Daylight” – my twitter tale mocking “Twilight” (and all emos*). I bet it’s more popular than “Worse Things Happen at Sea”, because it’s pure, unadulterated humour.
Altogether, a good week. And I’ve saved up a week’s worth of writing quota for when my husband and I visit China next year.
*An emo is basically a person who is proud of being depressed. It’s a recently-developed and HIGHLY unpopular subgroup.
Daylight Day 1: FAQ
EMO used to stand for ‘emotional’ – the teen subgroup that’s only happy to be sad. Now it’s become a disease eerily similar to vampirism.
My name’s Bell. I considered being EMO once, but then I saw a pretty butterfly and got over myself. Got bored and decided to save the world.
This is the documentary tale of the brave few fighting to find a cure for EMO (or, failing that, a quick and easy way to kill them all).
———————————————————————————————————————
1. What is an EMO?
In this story, EMO stands for Exodermal Melanin Occlusion – fundamentally, EMOs are vampires, but more whiny (thank you, Stephanie Meyer).
In real life, emos are a group within Western culture who are universally hated and mocked for their determination to be depressed – and to share their depression with the world by wearing predominantly dark clothes (often with one brilliantly-coloured item, eg red shoes), by mooching about with misery etched on their faces, and by writing the world’s worst poetry.
The fact of the matter is that the whiny, depressed type of emo is now very rare – today’s emos just wear dark clothes and unusual hairstyles. But this story is about the “historical” emos – and, since the “Twilight” book is so true to the historical emo vibe, I decided to make vampirism and emo the same thing.
Here’s the most emo picture I can find in my photo album (send me YOUR emo pics at fellissimo(at)hotmail(dot)com). Note the “deep” expression, the hair hanging in my eyes, the self-conscious pose, and the otherworldly clothing.
Bella and Edward (from “Twilight”) spend most of their time repeating things like, “I’d rather die than live without you” and “If you stay, I don’t need Heaven.” They (and the books as a whole) are brim-full of emo angst untainted by any trace of rationality or getting a life.
2. What’s a twitter tale?
A twitter tale is a story written especially to be released on twitter. Mine are told in real time (so if the story takes three months for us to get through, it also takes three months for the characters – in this story, they also experience things like Christmas Day at the same time we do). Each tweet is like a tiny chapter. Day 1 is like a prologue.
3. Do you really hate Stephanie Meyer and/or “Twilight”?
No, I actually think she’s a good writer – I just hate her plot and characters.
4. So are you retelling “Twilight”?
No. I tell my own stories. The greatest similarity is between my Ed character and the character of Edward. They’re both whiny, annoying and fundamentally NOT worth going out with. And above all, they’re both EMO.
5. Why are you writing twitter tales?
For fun, and because it’s a way for the general public to get to know me before my books come out (I write adventure fantasy books for young people – strictly non-emo).
6. Where is this story set?
In Canberra, the capital of Australia (same time zone as Sydney).
7. Why are you victimising emos – shouldn’t you be trying to help?
I’m mocking them mostly because they’re an easy target. But, since I’m mentally ill myself, I have some claim to the idea that the best thing for depression is to laugh at it.
6. More info?
My twitter site is http://twitter.com/Louise_Curtis_ (you need to manually add the final underline – or simply click at the top of the twitter feed on the right hand side of this page). It’s a great place for new twitter users to join and automatically follow me. I only use twitter for stories, not for saying what I’m eating or how I feel.
My alter ego, Felicity Bloomfield (who writes predominantly for adults) has a blog at https://felicitybloomfield.wordpress.com. It’s still PG (like this one) but sometimes has links or stories that aren’t (those are clearly labelled). A lot of it’s about the experience of being mentally ill and/or the life of a writer.
New story, new blog theme
Do not adjust your screen. This is still the same blog – but a brand new shiny story begins tomorrow (“Daylight” runs from 2 October until 31 December 2009)!
PS what do you think of my new, emo* picture?
*Emos are sorta post-goth. They dress mainly in dark clothes, but often with brilliant red shoes, and they have dark hair and fringes hanging over their eyes. “Emo” stands for “emotional” but somehow never touches on happiness – just miserable (and loud) depression. You may have seen the “Cheer up emo kid” T-shirt.
Timing
I still haven’t heard back from either of the publishers who are late replying to my full manuscripts. But I came up with a cunning plan. The main one has book 1 of my young adult trilogy, and gave me an excellent critique of my children’s trilogy book 1 (“The Monster Apprentice”) earlier this year.
This week is school holidays, and suddenly there’s all this space in my head (that doesn’t sound QUITE right. . . ) so I’ve been launching a second major attack on “The Monster Apprentice”.
I realised that (a) it’s really quite good since my first post-critique attack some months ago (b) I should hit the publisher while they’re indecisive (rather than, say, immediately AFTER they reject one of my books).
So I emailed them today to offer them another look at “The Monster Apprentice” – and they said, “Yes, please.”
This is basically the interview stage – only the top 5% or so of unsolicited manuscripts are read in full. (The fact that I’ve been read in full almost twenty times is evidence of. . . something.)
So now I’m all nervous. But it’s fun, motivational nerves. And I’m proud of my cunning timing.
PS A friend pointed out to me on Monday that, while extolling the value of drugs, I failed to mention that the drugs I’m on are MEDICINAL. Zoloft, to be specific.
Kids, don’t do drugs. At least, not the BAD kind.
Worse Things Happen at Sea (whole story)
August 1.
Sun. Pain. I cracked open my eyes and saw land. ‘Sol!’ I said.
‘CAPTAIN Sol,’ she said – and crumpled.
‘We’re saved,’ I said. ‘Right? SOL!’
*
Sol awoke. She sat up, unsticking her tarred hair from the deck of our stolen boat. ‘We’re sinking.’
I leapt overboard and swam to save us.
*
I wanted to drink the sea, but I swam. The waves flung me upside down and the sea darkened as I drowned.
Sol grasped my neck.
I passed out.
Land August 2.
The sizzle of frying eggs woke me.
‘Yep,’ said Sol to a bald man beside us, ‘nasty pirates coming. Best hide your treasure. We’ll help.’
August 3.
We ate bread and wine and milk, and a yellow fruit that tasted like chocolate. It was fun, pretending to be good.
I got a stomach ache.
August 4.
Treasure, I discovered, is heavy. But Sol wore a girlish smile so I didn’t say a word.
The locals thought we were just kids. But we weren’t.
August 5.
The bald elder missed his jewels, so our good times ended fast.
‘Ulandin,’ Sol grinned, ‘don’t waste our loot on food. Let’s steal a ship.’
*
A beggar took pity on me and gave us his crusts to gnaw. ‘I’m called Oldy,’ he said.
Sol said, ‘Ulandin’s my first mate. Wanna be our crew?’
Oldy gives Ulandin bread *
Oldy sang songs until the harbour guards left. We chose the best ship and crept past its crew into the hold.
‘Great,’ I said, ‘we’re stuck.’
August 6.
The crew was dull with sleepiness. Oldy rose like a grey ghost in the bridge.
Sol used magic to fell three men. The rest ran for help.
*
Oldy said, ‘Sol’s a quickener? She moves objects by just touch?’
‘It’s common enough.’
‘Not at sea. It’s bad luck.’
‘Sol’s used to that.’
*
‘The guards have swords,’ I said.
Sol said, ‘Want one?’
‘I want to go.’
She quickened the ship. We sailed away with every sail still closed.
August 7.
Sol slept, so we drifted. The sun weighed heavy on my shoulders.
‘At least I wasn’t a slave,’ said Oldy.
I said, ‘We both escaped.’
‘Maybe.’
August 8.
The ship’s old owners left tasty food in it – salted meat, squishy fruit and lots of crackers. Also rum.
Maybe I drunks a bit too muchness.
August 9.
Sol magically bellied out the sails. We were all surprised when we started going backward.
I tried not to laugh.
Sol broke my tooth anyway.
August 10.
Sol delighted in the burning wind and sun and the constant desperate clapping of our sails.
‘Look,’ said Oldy. ‘Is that a ship – or land?’
August 11.
‘It’s a ship,’ I said at first light, ‘so do we meet them – or do we run?’
Sol picked at her tarred hair and said, ‘Let’s take their crew.’
*
The wind tore at my eyes. Sol yelled, ‘Trim the sails!’ I actually thought she meant to cut them.
Oldy suddenly knew how to sail – somehow.
*
‘Pink!’ Sol screamed. ‘Stupid pink sky! And why is that ship still running?’
‘We’ll get them,’ I said.
‘Or they’ll get us,’ said Oldy.
The other ship August 12.
‘Sol – Captain Sol?’ I said. ‘Hit me if you like, but there’s forty of them and three of us. And Oldy’s. . . old.’
‘Poor them,’ she smirked.
*
The wind dropped and we caught them.
They laughed at us. I longed to hide behind Oldy.
Then Sol arose, grabbed a rope, and swung across.
*
‘Do you surrender?’ she cried.
They grabbed swords, but she still had her magic.
Their ship shattered.
‘We’re sorry miss!’ they wept.
August 13.
‘A captain goes down with his ship,’ said Sol – and tied him to his mast. His ship screamed as it sank.
He screamed as long as he could.
August 14.
I said, ‘I’m afraid of her – but I know I’m made to follow her. Are you the same?’
‘No,’ said Oldy. ‘I’m not afraid. And I’m following you.
August 15.
‘Stop cowering,’ Sol told our new crew, ‘I dislike it. Now, hows about we attack a real target – like an island. Who here wants to be rich?’
*
I asked Oldy why he was following me.
He said, ‘Sol has you. Now you have me.’
‘But –’
‘Everyone needs someone. I of all people know that.’
August 16.
My back and wrists ached.
The sword tutor asked, ‘Will this island have women then?’
‘I suppose.’
He cheered and toasted Sol – with my rum.
August 17.
A man muttered something to his crewmates while Sol was out of sight.
I crept up and grabbed his arm.
He shrieked – EXACTLY like a girl.
August 18.
‘But you ARE a girl,’ I said.
‘No I ain’t.’
‘Don’t the men know?’
‘Coz it ain’t true,’ she said, and picked her nose at me.
I gave up.
*
‘Li’s a girl,’ I told Oldy.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘she’ll be fine.’
‘How could anyone know that?’
He smiled, ‘I’m much older than I look.’
August 19.
Sol cheated at lessons, using magic to bend the swords – then the teacher.
Luckily Oldy was a healer. ‘Kindly stop breaking arms,’ he said.
*
‘Wanna be free?’ Li asked.
I said, ‘Sol already freed me.’
She hauled on a sail: ‘Do you really think that?’
I tied a knot: ‘Don’t you?’
August 20.
Night wind and stars. I shadowed men to Sol’s cabin, and yelled when they pulled out a knife.
She killed two in an eyeblink.
The rest fled.
*
I threw the bodies away, knowing Li had led them.
Sol and I kept watch in silence all night. Oldy slept on in his cabin.
I dreaded the dawn.
*
Sol judged us at dawn. Li confessed, and Sol threw her overboard.
The men vanished below like dust swept up.
But I saw Oldy steal the boat.
Oldy stole the boat August 21.
Oldy sauntered in and helped himself to salty breakfast stew.
‘Didn’t you go with Li?’ I asked.
He shrugged, ‘I came back.’
*
‘Who stole my boat?’ Sol screamed.
Oldy raised his hand. ‘You’re a fine captain. We won’t need it.’
Sol said, ‘You’ll live – for now.’
August 22.
I showed Sol our hold. She said, ‘We still have food for – what – two days?’
‘About that,’ I said, ‘and we’re out of soap.’
‘I’d noticed.’
August 23.
We reached land, searched empty houses, and found a child’s skeleton clutching at dirt.
‘Anyone want to leave?’ Sol said.
No-one spoke.
August 24.
The sun glared on something, and we sailed for it: a pirate ship.
‘Hurrah,’ said Sol, ‘they’ll have food AND treasure.’
The ship chased us.
*
I forgot my sword lessons and punched and bit. The real pirates slashed my arms and legs. We lost badly. Sol’s face was black with rage.
*
Sol ran her hand across the bars of our cell – tink, tink, tink. No-one else moved.
‘They’ll feed us soon,’ she said. ‘Then we’ll attack.’
August 25.
I woke slumped against Oldy’s fuzzy beard. Sol was gone. Only our bodies held us up. Then Sol appeared with her arms full. ‘Anyone thirsty?’
Sol appeared with her hands full
*
Sol brought us food and life all night. Our guard almost saw her, but she passed magically through the outer wall of the ship until he left.
August 26.
‘Do we fight now?’ I asked.
Sol said, ‘Anyone got a sword? No? Never mind. Oldy – come.’
We waited in silence, and heard nothing at all.
*
Sol said, ‘They’re all asleep.’
‘A healing sleep,’ Oldy said, ‘which I wish I had time to give you.’
We scoffed pie before we started work.
*
We locked the pirates in their filthy cell. Then we stole their cannons, food, and water. And soap. And all their boats. And LOTS of rum.
August 27.
Sol sat on the bowsprit in the dashing spray, frowning. ‘Why, when we won, did half our crew desert?’
‘They’re afraid of you.’
She smiled.
August 28.
I saw girls playing on a beach as we drew close.
‘Let’s attack some other island,’ I said hastily. ‘People with kids never have much loot.’
*
Sol politely traded a silver necklace for anchorage. She ordered our remaining crew to be good – no stealing, no killing – not yet.
*
I bought new clothes! Ones with no holes! And I bought myself a bright yellow hat, so I look nautical.
If only the ground would stop moving.
August 29.
No crew returned. Sol said, ‘We’re it? A princess, a beggar and a slave?’
I said, ‘Princess? Who’s a –you?!’
‘NO!’ she said. ‘I- shut up.’
*
One man turned up.
‘Hello Mal,’ said Sol. ‘Where’s everyone?’
He shrugged.
‘Fine,’ she said, ‘let’s burn this place and find a better one.’
*
Sol saw kids in a corner and had me take them outside. Once they were safe, we burned their home too.
The night sky turned grey with smoke.
August 30.
I could still see the smoke as we sailed away. At least we hadn’t killed any kids.
Sol was content, even when Mal burnt our dinner to ashes.
*
‘If you’re following me, does that mean you’ll help me – if things get bad?’
‘Yes,’ said Oldy.
After that talk, I was able to get to sleep.
August 31.
‘Why are all the islands here so black?’ Sol grumbled.
Oldy said, ‘When we take over an island, what will we do with it?’
‘Anything I want.’
September 1.
Sol and I practised swordfighting, and I noticed her hands were soft.
‘A princess ain’t much,’ she growled at me, ‘just a slave in a dress.’
September 2.
Rain poured until my clothes were rough as rocks. We sailed, but we couldn’t see. Sol made us stay on watch – staring into the stormy dark.
September 3.
Water spilled into our cabins and slicked the wooden floors.
Oldy paced the hold as the ship staggered. ‘It’s not time. Not yet,’ he said.
September 4.
At last I found my guts.
‘What do you know about this?’ I shouted at Oldy above the howling wind.
He said, ‘I know we all survive tonight.’
September 5.
The wind threw me into a mess of ropes and I was trapped. It tossed me around and dunked me under waves. A rope slipped around my neck.
*
Sol slashed through the ropes, saving my life again. ‘Lazy sod,’ she yelled over the thunder, ‘come help throw the cannons overboard.’
*
We threw away our weapons and our food, but Sol kept her treasure. The lightened ship flew over the ocean. We hurtled deeper into the dark.
We threw away our weapons and our food. . . September 6.
Rain. Hail. Rope burns on my arms and chest. Can’t see. Can’t eat. Can’t think. All I can do is hold on until the end. If this ever ends.
*
The sky was lit by stars instead of lightning. I hung out all my clothes, and asked Oldy how he knew we’d live.
He said, ‘I always know.’
September 7.
We lay in the sun and slept. Sol was naked, so I was careful not to look. Oldy snored.
When I stood, my shape was outlined in dark wet wood.
I was careful not to look September 8.
‘We were blown into unfamiliar seas,’ said Sol, ‘so I bet there’s a REALLY rich island nearby.’
‘Sol,’ I said, ‘look – land!’
September 9.
The locals wore purple and carried gold on their wrists and necks.
‘This is the place,’ said Sol.
Mal leered.
Oldy and I exchanged glances.
September 10.
We practised sword work below decks, out of sight of the people we spied on. Their guards were fat and sleepy, and the houses left unlocked.
*
Oldy didn’t speak to me, but I knew he was ready. And I knew he was more than he seemed. He frightened me more than Sol – who scared me too.
September 11.
A boy asked Sol for food.
She looked at him. ‘You want gold?’
‘No,’ said the boy, ‘just bread.’
‘Be one of us,’ said Sol.
‘Okay – captain.’
September 12.
The forgotten children came to us one by one – dark-haired, dark-eyed, and ready to fight as Sol’s army.
Oldy sang to them as night fell.
September 13.
Sol taught the kids swordwork. One of them slashed her belly open – then cowered in fear. ‘Get up, kid,’ said Sol, ‘Red looks good on me.’
September 14.
Kids kept cutting one another while training. ‘Can we just fight with knives and rocks, like usual?’ one asked, scratching his bloody chin.
September 15.
Sol and I watched the harbour. ‘That ship’s better’n ours,’ said Sol, ‘so when we rule here, I’m gonna make it mine. The blue one’s for you.’
September 16.
‘We’re under attack!’ Sol yelled. I ran to save the kids, but by the time I reached them our attackers had fled – bleeding and afraid.
*
Night fell over two rows of fighters – the guards standing between us and their island, and our own vicious pack lined up on our port side.
September 17.
‘Signals,’ said Sol.
I asked, ‘To who?’
‘To our other ships, of course.’
We signalled instructions all day. I don’t even know what we said.
September 18.
Finally most of our guards had left – to find our imaginary fleet.
‘Now?’ I asked Sol.
‘No,’ she said, ‘I want them more afraid.’
September 19.
The horizon was red with fire, and the air tasted bitter with smoke. Our kids came back from their missions grinning and scorched.
September 20.
All the guards went to save their homes. We anchored off-shore. The guards returned black-faced with ash and rage.
‘Tomorrow,’ said Sol.
September 21.
Oldy stayed on board. We all rowed to shore in three boats. The few quay guards crowded one another, falling into the sea for Sol to kill.
Sol said, ‘See that house on the hill – the one with the turrets? That’s where we’re going.’
‘Yes captain,’ I sighed. Oldy was far away.
*
The kids ran ahead up the winding road, fighting anyone that got in our way. By the time we reached the castle, no one remained but us.
September 22.
Sol ordered a throne of gold, and we made it.
‘Bring me a slaver,’ she said.
We brought one – and she stabbed him.
*
Sol killed, and killed again. No one seemed to know why any more. Bile rose in my throat.
Oldy remained at the ship, so I was alone.
September 23.
‘Kid, what’s your name?’ I asked.
‘Hin.’
‘Take a message. Tell Oldy to draw Sol away from here – somehow.’
Hin ran straight to Sol.
I fled.
September 24.
I didn’t sleep or eat. The kids patrolled the streets, mockingly calling for me. ‘Come out, come out, Ulandin. Captain wants to see you.’
September 25.
I climbed onto a roof to sleep, but Hin saw me. Four more kids came running – but I had a sword. I slashed their legs and left them cursing.
September 26.
Even the guards served Sol now, so I couldn’t take a boat. I crawled down the beach and swam like a sea-snake toward the distant ship.
*
I heard shouts and swam faster, gulping water. The kids laughed and threw rocks. One smashed into my shoulder, and my arm stopped working.
*
Oldy dived into the water and saved me.
‘Burn the ship,’ I whispered.
He said, ‘Aye, aye sir.’
We fought two kids, and the rest let us go.
September 27.
Oldy healed my arm – or close enough. We poured oil into the hold, each cabin, and the galley. ‘This is it then,’ I said, and made a spark.
*
We sat on the galley tables drinking rum and pouring it on the walls. ‘How long will it burn?’ I asked.
Oldy shrugged: ‘She’ll come.’
September 28.
‘Um, sir?’ said Oldy, waking me, ‘should we go on deck now?’ Behind him a flaming wall bent inward then fell to bits, spraying fire.
*
‘Hi boys,’ said Sol; a glowing outline. ‘Thanks for trying to save my ship, but it’s over. And that lying Hin is gone.’
We dived to safety.
*
Sol walked aft as the flames grew. ‘She’s going below!’ said Oldy.
‘Not without me,’ I said. I climbed the broken wood to save her.
September 29.
Sol screamed at me from the bridge. ‘A captain goes down with her ship!’
‘It’s not your ship, remember?’
She paused. ‘Oh, FINE! Let’s go.’
*
We dived into cool water and blinked ash from our eyes. The kids lined the shore. Sol pointed at a better ship, and they went to fetch it.
Sol and I trod water. ‘I didn’t like ruling anyway,’ she said, ‘too much like home. Where’s Oldy?’
‘Gone,’ I said – but I knew he’d return.
September 30.
We sailed at dawn, weighed down with loot – and drinking water. The sun turned our new ship’s sails pure gold, and Sol re-tarred her hair.
THE END
Companion to Day Sixty-One: THE END
Captain Sol has a new, more violent crew and a better ship. Ulandin is alive (since Sol can pretend to be stupid when she pleases), and Oldy has wandered off into the sunset (probably walking on water too – the show-off).
A happy* ending!
*Well. . . unless you’re the rest of the world.
Companion to Day Sixty: Final Picture
Sol screamed at me from the bridge. ‘A captain goes down with her ship!’ ‘It’s not your ship, remember?’ She paused. ‘Oh, FINE! Let’s go.’
We dived into cool water and blinked ash from our eyes. The kids lined the shore.
Sol pointed at a better ship, and they went to fetch it.
Sol and I trod water. ‘I didn’t like ruling anyway,’ she said, ‘too much like home. Where’s Oldy?’
‘Gone,’ I said – but I knew he’d return.
Felicity Banks 