ideasofmarch

Writer's Block: My Dream Job

Mon, 14 Sep 2009 16:01:32 GMT

What is your dream job? Do you think you'll ever have it?

Anyone who knows me would know the answer to this.

Sun, 16 Aug 2009 01:57:29 GMT

Whomever said writing your feelings out made you feel better was a motherfucking liar.

Unfinished buisness remains unfinished.

Mon, 10 Aug 2009 11:16:30 GMT

Man.

What the fuck am I doing?

Fri, 31 Jul 2009 05:42:14 GMT

Pot is overrated.

Hmmm

Sat, 13 Jun 2009 12:20:57 GMT

I should be a pretty good memory.

Writer's Block: Gamer's Choice

Tue, 14 Apr 2009 04:47:38 GMT

What is your favorite old-school video game?

Submitted By 2hated2care

View 503 Answers

Mega Man 2, no doubt.

Fri, 03 Apr 2009 19:58:27 GMT

...I'm relating to Green Day lyrics.
It gives me that same nostalgic feeling I get when I listen to Nirvana.

I feel 13 again. But, like, a more refined 13 year old.

Mon, 23 Feb 2009 02:39:47 GMT

I just want out, really.

Out of the maroon and white laden halls of Satsuma High School and into the orange and blue laden halls of Auburn.
I keep constructing absent minded situations where I don't get to go/leave and, fuck, it genuinely upsets me.

I don't dislike my surroundings. It's just that I've think I've grown to the point where I am ready for something new to my eyes. Honestly, it doesn't even matter if it's slightly the same. At least it'll be dressed in different skin.

My internal course of thought keeps on tediously stressing me when I should be pretty happy. It's absurd. I guess I've always been drawn to absurdities in an entertainment aspect, but it's different when it's looming upon you.

Sun, 22 Feb 2009 08:07:36 GMT

How strange.

Thu, 19 Feb 2009 02:41:35 GMT

Tea makes me feel better than any alcohol or drug could.

Tue, 17 Feb 2009 19:29:30 GMT

Today, my government teacher suggested that we all take time for ourselves to find out what we really think about issues.

I used to do that to find what I really thought about myself, people, and situations. I would lie down on my $15 couch, listen to music and think about my day and the choices that I had made throughout. Before that, as a kid, I would think about why adults acted the way that they did and why the things that my parents made me do were important to me. All of those times, I came to logical conclusions. Soon enough, I'll be back at my couch, only instead of thinking of why I feel lonely or why it was so neccessary that I get out of my bed and go to Mrs. Knight's 1st grade class, I'm going to be thinking about why I support stem cell research and what actions we should take with global affairs.

Perhaps growing up is the ultimate form of reversion.

Mon, 02 Feb 2009 06:14:16 GMT

   I always thought of Say Anything as a band too caught up in their own pretentions and self-involvment for me to like. Upon listening to their music further, I found my initial opinion to be true. That's not a big surprise, really; usually my initial opinion of a band sticks with me (Most of the time that is, I grew to like bands like Big D & The Kids Table and Bon Iver). Let me clear something up by saying that when I refer the the band Say Anything, I'm generally refering to vocalist/writer Max Bemis. I guess I don't have as much to judge the band as a whole on, but jugding from Bemis' songs I came to the conclusion that I was right and he is as pretentious as I thought. At least, it's my opinion that he is. Perhaps I have a different judge of character than other people, but that is just what he strikes me as.

   By the way, if you are a big fan of Say Anything, I'm certainly not trying to bash you or your musical choices. This is just a series of thoughts I've had recently.

   So, I came to the conclusion that I think Max Bemis is a self important dick, that's awesome. I've made that conclusion about many people, both pedestrians and artists, before. It's nothing new. These thoughts fermented for awhile in my head and I started thinking more about Bermis' lyrics.

   A lot of the time, they are what I would write if I had a band of that style. Y'know, a pop rock band (or, as Wikipedia chooses to label them "Rock, Punk, Experimental Rock, Emo"). So, by a simple process of thought and logic, I come across this conclusion:

Max Bemis= Dick
Me (in some lyrical cases)= Max Bemis
Me= Dick

   By the way, don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to compare myself artisticly to him, if that's what you think I'm getting at. I may have an ego, but I'm not going to compare myself to someone quite as sucessful. Afterall, he has to be doing something right, correct?

   The point I'm getting at is that if I was someone else, I probably would not like myself. However, lucky for me, I am me. Since I am me I can characterize myself as some sort of intellectually herculian figure and not as Max Bemis, even if I'm sure he does the same (sans the part about not being Max Bemis, I'm sure he takes huge pride in that most of the time). That's the beauty of the ego. If I did not have what ego I did, I would probably put myself down as I have put Bemis down earlier. Point being, ego is a good thing, sometimes.

   This is actually quite pointless, but it was a thought I had and I honestly just felt like writing something.

   Oh yeah, all of that being said, I still don't like Say Anything as a band. It's just not really my thing.

The Amphibian

Sun, 01 Feb 2009 05:30:55 GMT

      “So, where am I exactly, Mr. Rupert?”
   “You’re aboard the HMS Atlas, the finest ship in the fleet of old Mr. Weim,” said Rupert, standing upright, chest out. “We bring back the finest haul of oysters in this region, I’d say so. Or, that’s what the Admiral told me. I only been on this ship for a short time. I won’t be on here much longer, neither.
   “Is that so, Rupert? Why is that? This life not for you? Being fired?”
   “I guess bein’ fired is a way to put it. I jus’ don’t know what’s happening, actually. It kinda feels like I’m bein’ sent to a death chamber, really. This ship job looked to be the only way I can support myself. Luckily, I ain’t got no family to provide for.”
   “Oh. That’s… That’s quite unfortunate. If you do not mind me asking, what are you being fired for?”
   Rupert’s already hanging head sank lower towards the wooden floor. “The boys don’t like me too much,” he said through a filter of solemn. “They never did treat me right ever since I came aboard this ship. I guess…”
   Rupert stopped talking. Thoroughly confused (and partially curious), Ian interjected. “I do hate to interrupt your thought there, but guess what?”
   “It’s not important, Ian. Really. An old friend of mine told me I look like an easy target. I guess that’s true. He was jus’ a senile old man though. After he died, everything just got worse.”
   “Oh. Perhaps it’s best that you don’t work on this… anymore. I’m sorry what is this exactly? The nesia, you know.”
   Rupert’s face contorted with a smirk. “Well, this… this is a ship, Ian…” Ian continued to stare at him blankly. He had to learn about where he was somehow. Rupert continued.
   “It’s like a floating house.”
   A floating House. Ian sank back into his bed. A House. A brother of Leviathan, here was Atlas. Ian realized that the turbulence he was experiencing were the waves that rocked the escape pod. This was a floating house just as Leviathan was a sunken house.
   Instinctively, Ian asked, “who founded the House?”
   “Um, Mr. Weim. Boris Yakav Weim would be his full name, I b’ieve. He’s one of the members of the Oyster Board of Elite.”
   Instantly, Ian knew this was different. Everyone of his House knew that the House system was founded by the honorable James Washington II. Rupert seemed like an intelligent young man and even if their skin was different, Ian thought that they had the same brains. Plus, Ian did not want to believe that the Houses were still around. Rupert seemed like good proof that they were not. Ian relaxed. He finally felt out of the grasps of the House Leviathan.
   “Are you okay?”
   “Huh?
   “You kinda had a… well, I don’t quite know. Looks like ya had some sort of flashback. You a war veteran?”
   Ian, of course, had no idea what kind of war had happened in this world. So, he resorted to a childlike answer, “I don’t know.”
   “Well, if ya don’t mind me saying, ya look like you could’ve been. Your age and whatnot.”
   It’s true, Ian was a bit elderly. He wasn’t assisted living old, but he was not a boy anymore. He laughed.
   “Don’t worry about it, Rupert. Just consider it a comeback for my first comments. Listen, I’m still feeling quite horrible, so if you don’t mind, let me stay here for a bit until I’m recovered. And don‘t tell anyone I‘ve awoken.”
   Rupert agreed.
   “Thank you. I’m going to go back to sleep. You’re more than welcome to stay down here though.”
   Rupert said something silently and nodded his head.
   Ian reached with his good arm towards his Santex and slipped out a few, he didn’t really count. He swallowed them and then let the bed swallow him.

   Rupert shook Ian out of his sleep. Gradually, Ian came back to the wakened world and came back to his sore arm. Ian hadn’t known how long he had slept.
   “We gotta go now. Ship’s docked.”
   Ian couldn’t see Rupert’s face fully because it had camouflaged with the dark room so well, but he could tell Rupert was relieved. Whatever had been going on upon the Atlas, it was definitely not good for Rupert. Ian felt happy for him.
   Soon, Ian began gather his things: his coat, his pills, and the pistol among other things. Originally, he had forgotten all about the pistol and, thankfully, the situation that had accompanied it. Once he saw the ominous tiny cannon, he felt burdened again. Some of the albatrosses from the House Leviathan came rushing back to him.
   “Why didn’t the crew take this?” he asked, vaguely pointing at the pistol.
   “Well, why would we, Ian? We ain’t thieves. Least, I don’t think we are. I’m not. Anyway, it’s your property, it belongs to you. Some would be happy to have that. At least it’s sumthin’. A lot of us people don’t got nothing. Hell, I don’t even got this job anymore.”
   Ian felt selfish. His problems were underwater.
   “Here, Rupert. Please take this as a gift.”
   Suddenly, Rupert backed up. Ian couldn’t tell why because it was so dark. Perhaps there was some look of fright on his face, the slight darkness concealed him. Ian was holding it with the handle facing Rupert, there was nothing he should be afraid of.
   “Rupert, Rupert are you okay? I’m sorry, it’s the nesia. I’ll keep it, I’ll keep it.”
   “No, no, don’t worry. I appreciate the offer, really, Ian. It’s just. I can’t be seen with that. Things are bad as it is. That damn hand cannon would only make it worse,” said Rupert. While Ian could not see his eyes, he could tell by his voice that there was something wrong.
   “What? Why can’t you have this?”
   “Find me a job, an’ I’ll tell ya.” With that, Rupert backed out of the room.
   Ian stashed the pistol into his coat and straightened his clothes up. He had to look presentable to this new world he was now apart of. He did the best he could by candlelight to straighten his tie underneath his vest. His hands glided through his hair. Despite the maelstrom that Ian had endured, his hair still felt presentable. His beard did not feel as disheveled as he thought it would. Ian’s pride in his aesthetic condition was only dented by his shoulder pain. Instinctively, he glanced at his Santex bottle.
   “No,” he exclaimed to the walls and any other audience member in the room. “I have to experience this with a clean head. Damn the pain.”

Writer's Block: Left Behind

Sat, 31 Jan 2009 20:10:13 GMT

What do you want done with your body after you die?

Submitted By crunch_crunch

View 501 Answers

I want my body to be stuffed by a taxidermist. I want to have it in some sort of pose that would be natural to me, like, me standing in the den with my hand extended for a handshake or me sitting in a recliner. Also, I imagine by then I could get ahold of some voice recognition software. So, before I die, I'm going to record various phrases and sayings that I say and program them to respond when they here the suitable words.

:"I've had such a bad day."
"Oh yeah, what's so bad about it?"

It'd be fantastic.

Or, I'd just be cremated and spread in a desert.

Mon, 26 Jan 2009 22:15:40 GMT

Clarity achieved.
I'm going to Auburn.

Damn the expense.

Sun, 25 Jan 2009 22:10:49 GMT

I'm still quite fucking confused.
Here's to hoping for some clarity.

Writer's Block: Robotic

Sun, 25 Jan 2009 20:08:14 GMT

Who (or what) is your favorite fictional robot?

View 500 Answers

HK-47.

"Explanation: It's just that... you have all these squishy parts, master. And all that water! How the constant sloshing doesn't drive you mad, I have no idea...""

"Translation: He requires proof of good faith. We must make a contribution to his people that shows we are not a threat. Shall I blast him now, master?"

"As you say Master. Would you prefer me to call you something else? Perhaps liquidous fleshbag?"

"I think he is making fun of you, master. Shall I proceed with wasting the meatbag?"

"You are a very harsh master, Master. I like you."

"I will do anything you command master. Even if it means... being *gulp* non-violent."

"Suggestion: Shall we find something to kill to cheer ourselves up?"

"I therefore make no claim to that designation, prospective buyer. I am a law-abiding droid. Yes, indeed, law-abiding, that's me!"

Technological misanthropy at it's best.

The Amphibian

Fri, 23 Jan 2009 03:16:28 GMT

Private Rupert Kline was assigned to monitor the ship’s new guest. He did not mind. Looking at a sleeping man was a fine alternative to lugging around barrels and ropes on the deck of the ship.
   “’isten here, Kline! Ya don’ work well, ya don’ cook, and ya got the arms of a lad. After this, yar gone from the ship! I’ll be speekin’ with Mr. Weim wence we get to shore.” said Kline’s commanding officer, Admiral Yolo. “Ya ain’t gon’ tarnish the deck of Mr. Weim’s ship no more now. Yer gon’ look after Moby ‘til we get to shore. Thems yer last orders.”
   Coincidentally, Rupert did not mind that part either. He hated the life of a sailor. More importantly, he hated the sailors. He’d rather take in company with a comatose man than the boors on the deck. He knew that it was mutual for them too. They did not like him since the day he boarded the HMS Atlas. Whenever he has scrubbing the deck, the sailors would kick over his buckets of soapy water into his eyes. Then, while he was blinded, he was picked up and pushed around by a circle of the sailors. When he gained his sight back, he saw their laughing faces; he saw their bright red uvulas and tongues contrasted with their black faces. Rupert started trying to push back, but it was in vain. The embarrassment of the situation finally stopped once one of them punched Rupert in the gut. The mob left him lying there on the wooden deck, bathing in soapy water and puke, thanks to the punch in the stomach. That was only the third day of his service aboard the HMS Atlas.
   Since then, the more of the same rituals have happened. Embarrassment mixed in with minor physical pain. One night, he asked Private Willie James why he was the target.
   “Kid, it’s simpel, you got that quality about ya. An, uh, an easy target type thing going for ya. Or against ya, I s’pose. Ya so damn skinny, I dun’ know how ya even got hired on this here ship.” Rupert knew Willie was not trying to be insulting, just honest. Rupert took both though. Willie was Rupert’s only friend on the ship, but he had succumbed to pneumonia during the last voyage, Rupert’s first one. He had never really properly mourned the death of Willie James. He was afraid that whomever was walking along the planks of the HMS Atlas would see or hear him and beat him.
   After Willie’s death, the festivities happened more and more often. His eyes, which were already dim with the hope of life when he joined the crew of the Atlas somehow became dimmer. Rupert believed that the only reason why he was stationed here, with Moby Dick, was that the Admiral felt sorry for him. Rupert did not mind though. While pity was to a spirit what a fist is to a gut, Rupert preferred it. Given time to think, Rupert even began to see the Admiral’s actions less as pity, but more as selfish. A death on board does not look good for any nautical leader.
   So, now Private Rupert Kline sat in the stiff wooden chair opposite of the bed where the man they had labeled Moby Dick lay. Moby Dick’s coat and other garments laid on the table beside him, folded neat and proper and his belongings beside them. Most importantly, a bottle of pills. Rupert could barely make it out as “Santicks.” Rupert stared at the bottle and Moby’s other belongings with a tilted head. The private minded his manners, though, and resisted the urge to pilfer through his goods. He didn’t go through Moby’s goods and he didn’t fight back with the sailors. He was simply afraid.
   The HMS Atlas was due back in four days when Ian Newmnbran finally awoke. Ian’s eyes opened as slowly as he remembered the pod moving. As his eyes bloomed open, he saw something that he remembered from the House. Fire.
   “How can there be fire underwater?” then, he realized other non sequitors. “I can talk. I- I can breathe!”
   He put his arms behind him to push his upper body up. Once he applied pressure, however, a maelstrom of pain engulfed his left shoulder. He fell back down with a grunt. Grounded again, he caressed his shoulder with his right hand and finally took the opportunity to look around at the wonder around him.
   It was hard to see, for it was only a candlelit room. Candles on the House were used for dining experiences, but there was no meal around, obviously. He made out what he could with his eyes. A tan blanket, wood, lots of wood. His desk was made out of wood, but he’d never seen a house made of it. His revelation only raised further questions for himself. Most importantly, whose home was he in? This was quite obviously a home, it bore slight resemblance to his old quarters (enough resemblance to remind him of the House, but the materials were not the same).
   “I can’t answer my own questions,” he said aloud.
   Ian eased himself up, being very careful to only use his right arm in this case. He successfully sat up and pivoted himself to the left. Once his legs were out from under the tan blanket, Ian finally noticed that he was nude. Thankfully, whomever his savior was had been nice enough to dry his clothes and fold them nex-
   “Dry clothes,” he said, interrupting his own thought process. “They’re as dry of water as I am of death! The water wasn’t toxic hah!”
       His entire struggle was coming back to him. The so-called “toxic” water, Melinda, the visits, his venture in the escape pod, the grayish green he had struck. While reveling in his journey, he had managed to get his pants on without noticing the pain in his shoulder. It was only when he remembered Officer Peter that the pain came surging back. Ian half-fell, half-sat back on the bed when he saw his beloved bottle of Santex standing proudly on the mantle. Ian managed to open in and slipped a few into his hands and down his throat without prodding his sensitive shoulder. He had only meant to dull the pain he had, but the dose made him horribly drowsy. As much as he wanted to see the world that he had earned, he knew he had to wait.
   Ian took a moment to himself then. He thought about everyone back in the House Leviathan. He wondered how they reacted the morning they found out he had left. He wondered how they were getting by without their precious doctor. He thought about all of them rotting in that tin can while he was here, really living.
   “Yes, this is the good life,” he said to himself.
   The good life, yes, but not the best life, he decided. Sure, he was out of the clutches of the House, out of the clutches of the faulty escape pod. Now he was in the clutches of this bed and in the clutches of this room. Looking up at the wooden ceiling, he knew the answer.
   “I’m still not quite free.”
   That was fine, too. Ian had waited 34 years to get out of the House and he had waited two days (roughly) to be out of the pod. He could manage to heal before he stepped into the great new world he had sailed into. He wanted to experience this world at his top condition with no sore arm to distract him. And once he was there, he was going to savour it.
   It was those thoughts that calmed Ian. Soothed him to the point where he forgot Officer Peter, he forgot the pistol he had, he forgot giving up hope on the escape pod. He was here and his prize was within arms reach. All he had to do was let his arm heal. Ian did not mind that condition. It was only fair.

   Rupert came into Moby’s room that morning to find it a bit different than he had left it. Most prominently, Moby’s pants were missing from the mantle and the bottle of “Santicks” was slightly moved to the left. Rupert also noticed that Moby’s legs were in different position than he remembered. That means that he must’ve moved.
   “Well that’s good. You’ve been awake an’ all,” he said to the sleeping man. “That’s real good. I hope ya do wake up again soon.”
   Rupert sat down in his stiff wooden chair and waited for Moby Dick to wake up again.
   Ian awoke silently in the room. The candle that greeted him the first time he awoke was still shining proudly amidst the dark room. He turned his head from the candle and to his left to once again survey the room he was sleeping in. At first, everything seemed the norm, the drowsy darkness shrouding most. He almost didn’t notice the dark figure sitting in the chair.
   Ian flinched at the slight sight of whatever it was and let out a yelp. As Ian slid off of the right side of the bed and onto his feet, the figure rose with him, as if he was as surprised as Ian. Ian attempted to grab the candle only to be met with the harsh pain of his shoulder. Ian fell to his knee clutching the inflamed socket.
   “Hold on now,” Ian heard. “You’re gonna have to let me help ya out.”
   Ian looked up to the ceiling and the dark figure was upon him. Before he knew it, he was in his clutches. The more Ian tried to wriggle away, he more he aggravated his shoulder. Ian hastily exhausted himself and gave himself away to the dark figure, once again accepting defeat just like he did on the pod. However, instead of the punishment that he expected, the dark figure lay him back down upon the bed, minding Ian’s sensitive shoulder.
   “Now you see? That wasn’t so hard, wussit?
   Ian didn’t say anything. He reached for the candle, which the dark figure seemed okay with. He grabbed the candle and began to near it closer to the dark figure.
   Ian began thinking, he looks as if he’s a man. He seemed to be a biped, homo sapian, but there was something off about him. He needed a cleansing. He seemed filthy, like a child after playing in mud.
   “You really should wash up,” Ian said to this new man. “You’re covered in dirt.”
   “Hah! By God, some of you folks sure got the humor! Normally, I’d be upset at ya joking, but I’m sure you just afraid. Name’s Private Rupert Kline. I’d been assigned to look after ya here.”
   Ian was perplexed at Rupert’s choice of words.
   “Upset? But, it was just a suggestion. You’re skin’s covered in dirt. I can’t even see your epidermis.”
   Rupert’s smile dropped from his face.
   “You sound just like one of them damn shop keeps in town. Or those sailors outside. T’all the damn same. I’ll go let the Admiral know you’re up.”
   “Wait, uh, Rupert. Wait, stay here.”
   Rupert stopped his stroll to the door and turned back.
   “Let me talk to you a bit,” Ian said. “I’m…” Ian began to think. He remembered a medical ailment that happened to a few of his patients he had. They began to forget the most basic things: names, places, things like that…
   “You’re?”
   “Rupert, uh, I believe I may be suffering from… I cannot remember the term. I can’t remember everything.”
   “I think you’ve got the ‘nesia.”
   Nesia. That was it. Now Ian had to control the situation. Doctors always control the situation.
   “Ah, that’s it Rupert! Nesia. Nesia, that’s it. That would explain my previous fit, which I’m most sorry for. I was just confused. And my words towards you. Just confusion.”
   “Ah, well, if ya put it that way, I guess I can’t be mad at ya. Do you remember your name?”
   Ian had to put on a show now. He paused, looked up at the ceiling, to the candle, and back to himself. “Fine show,” he thought to himself. Finally, he could muster an answer through his act, “I believe my name is Ian. Ian Newmbran.”

The Amphibian again.

Thu, 22 Jan 2009 05:06:51 GMT

The controls on the escape pod certainly were simplified by whatever lucky engineer had made the drifting rations can. So simplified that the steering control didn’t work at all. Ian was alone now, no Officer Peter, no Melinda, no Andross to occupy his time. Yes, now Ian certainly was alone. He had left one prison and promptly escaped to another. The irony was not wasted as Ian slightly laughed at his predicament.
“It’s funny,” Ian said aloud, returning to his habits. “Even now, staring into the murked green eyes of death it’s self, I can laugh. I had not one of those the House Leviathan. Not any real ones. That’s now what this situation comes down to, reality vs. deception. It could be that this is reality and the House was deception. Or perhaps I’ve deceived myself into believing this is reality while the House is.”
He felt satisfied. As if someone was finally listening to his soliloquies. It could be the idle steering controls or the mudolphins lurking outside, it didn’t matter. Ian now knew that this was reality; such a feeling was lost upon him in the House.
Basking in his emerald satisfaction, Ian almost didn’t notice the gradual slowing of the escape pod he was camped inside. Regardless, he did, in fact, notice. Like a child fiddling with a terminal for the first time, he began awkwardly pushing buttons; gently turning knobs to see if they coincided with the velocity of the chaff now just drifting in the ocean. Ian didn’t believe that it would help the situation because, recalling the incident with the steering controls, this escape pod was made for a comatose child apparently. A comatose child Ian most certainly was not. His ego would never allow such a label to be placed on him. He gave up on the comatose controls and sat back.
“What if Andross was right? He always did tell me that the escape pods were faulty. Every morning. Every fucking morning he told me. The steering doesn’t work and now the propulsion engine is dead. Pretty soon, I might be dead. I may be as dead as that engine soon, as stiff as the steering controls. This was a mistake. Oh, this was a horrible, horrible mistake. These visits, the visits I don’t even know to be true have driven me to suicide and almost murder… Officer Peter… He’d never done anything, but… I just lost myself. I lost myself to the House and then I lost myself to this toxic ocean.”
“I never really owned myself.”

Once Ian got the idea that someone was listening to his soliloquies, he could imagine the faces of the audience. They lit up at his proclamation of victory, his inference in the face of death. “What a damn fine soul!” they’d say. They would calmly leave the coliseum once the martyr got done drowning himself and go home (or wherever they went) with smiles on their faces and fires in their hearts (or whatever organ system they had, Ian certainly had no clue what he felt was listening to him). And as they turned, ready to parade in his honor, they heard the mumblings. The mumblings rose to montone, skulkly natured talks and stayed there. That’s the worst. Nevertheless, the audience would awkwardly meander themselves back into their listening posts. With each word of perdition, they would grow more languid with mutual sorrow. As Ian slowly slumped back amidst his address, they became more and more disappointed with their martyr and all approval stopped much like the engine behind Ian.
Ian knew it too. He knew he had besmirched whatever was listening and he recoiled in shame. That’s when he remembered his supplies. When he thought of his supplies, of course, he meant Santex.

Thanks to his adequate preparation for the trip, Ian now slid down in the pod seat. He positioned himself to the utmost comfort: his head, nestled into the corner crevice of the starboard window, his arms folded, weaving in and out of themselves like mating serpents, and his feet propped up on the control center. It didn’t matter, they were practically nonexistent. After all, there was a great chance that Ian was going to die here due to this ship of malice, so he would take any opportunity he could get to demean the heartless machine. What better way than to trample it? The Santex did it’s solemn work and Ian closed his eyes. Dead? Alive? It matters not to the sleeping. They’re somewhere in the between.
As Ian slipped further and further into sleep, the pod continued it’s slow exploration in the water. The escape pod’s engines had died, of course, and now it was in the fickle hands of fate. The ever present sea currant carried the pod (and Ian) in it’s invisible arms. The sea has been around for a very long time though. One could not expect it to Herculianly sling the pod to whatever shore it saw fit. The currant was a slow process, but with great reward. It was the fermentation that would eventually reward Ian with the wine of life. Or so Ian hoped. As much has he’d given up on his expedition, that did not mean that he wanted to perish. No matter what they say, no man wants to perish. Especially not in the arms of the sea.
Ian slept for a while, and needless to say, his visit was of his exhange with Officer Peter. All Ian could do in the dream was focus Peter’s face as he tried to pull the trigger. Ian tried his hardest to pull the trigger, but physically, it would not budge. He had never been so thankful to fail. Of course, that had been counterbalanced by the escape pod situation he was in now. All of his inherent solace in failing with the gun were drowned with the perdition of the pod.
Ian woke up. The sea was so droll, uneventful that he could tell when something was happening. He had heard some sort of sound that was not the humming of the pod. It was still a hum, he though. Just of a lower pitch. Possibly an octave lower, perhaps two. It didn’t matter. He moved closer to the starboard window to take a look out, but all Ian saw was the same static green ocean that he had seen for 34 years of his life. The hum grew louder. Ian reported to the port side. The same thing.
“This sound could not be a mudolphin,” Ian said, to whatever was listening this time. They don’t make this sound. They squeak, not hum.” He finally went to the front window. He saw green, but it was diluting something else. Grey. It looked like grey wrapped in that toxic green, as if it were a badly wrapped gift for a child. Ian certainly did not want gifts, though.
Ian picked the starboard side, “right’s always right” he said. He didn’t have much room, but he got as close as he could to the port wall and launched himself into the starboard wall. Once. Twice. Three times. Ian was not sure at all if he was making any progress. Four times. Five times. Ian was screaming now. Nothing coherent, just screaming as he threw himself into the wall repeatedly in an effort to escape a grey and green death. Six times. Seven times. Time was winding down now. Eight times. Nine times. Ian’s shoulder was entangled with pain now. He launched at the starboard wall again, though. A dead shoulder didn’t compare to a dead body. If Ian landed the next attack on the wall, he may have avoided the grey mural that filled his front window. His attack was stopped mid air and when the pod slowly hit the grey in front of it, Ian’s head struck the control console. He went to sleep again, this time with no Santex. Sans the head injury that would ensue, it was even better than Santex. Ian got the best sleep of his life. And his last.

As far is Ian was concerned, he was dead. After all, in a totaled pod underwater, either the initial injuries would kill him or the water would, right? Of course. However, thanks to curiosities of humans, Ian was saved.

The Amphibian

Sun, 11 Jan 2009 23:27:43 GMT

Officer Peter was a mediocre old man, really. Boring, if you would prefer that. He had not the grandchildren to be the eclectic story teller and not the cantankerous old maid wife to be the House husband. He’d never married and his whole life had been dedicated to the House and furthermore, the security of the House. Yes, only the House. Due to his obsession with the good marine House, he had neglected the pleasures of life. Even if the pleasures in the House were contained and artificial, they were still pleasures and this old man had partaken in none of it. As Ian entered, the officer was quite still in the way only the elderly can achieve. For a second, Ian thought he was dead. Only with Officer Peter opened his eyes had Ian realized that he was among the living and that Peter had not perished yet.
   He saw Peter’s wrinkled mouth move a bit, but Ian heard nothing. Instead he was now focused on the eyes of Peter. No matter what his body suggested, Ian knew by the lack of luster in his eyes, Peter was dead. Then he realized the paradox in hand.
   To be dead, one would have to be alive and Officer Peter was certainly never really alive. Ian was certain that he could go back to any point in time, even to when Peter came out of his mother’s glorious womb he could find that lack of life in his pupils. He was brought into this world as a servant and he has been for around sixty years now.
   It was in his face that Ian gained further confirmation of what was in turmoil about this seemingly turmoil-less settlement. If Officer Peter was, in fact, living and living in the outside world, he may not last that long, he may die, but he would have lived. That’s what the House had robbed of Peter. Then, it was in his face that Ian saw himself. He saw what he would be in he stayed in this play pen of life. It was a harsh decision to make, but Ian made it hastily. He would rather be a corpse engulfed in the old worlde’s mist than a walking corpse in the House.
   Ian came down from his elation to see a pistol in his face with the archaic man behind it, out of focus.
   “What are ya doin’ down here, son?”
   Ian could barely contain himself, he was so proud. “I’m leaving.”
   “Is that so, son? I dun’ believe that to be true.”
   Officer Peter reached down for his radio, taking his empty eyes from Ian for a moment. Working on reflexes Ian didn’t know existed, Ian swung his fist.
   His fist clipped the ancient chin of Peter and the officer fell back into the chair that he was sleeping in only a few moments ago. Ian wasn’t sure if the strike had hurt Peter or himself more. His fist felt as if he had just punched a block of steel. As Officer Peter fell into his grave of a seat, his pistol fell to the floor and still feeding off of those absent instincts Ian quite gracefully picked it up and pointed it at the old man.
   “Give me your radio!”
   The old man was holding his adamantine jaw with one hand and undoing his radio with the other. Soon enough it was in Ian’s hand.
   So, he had the weapon and he had the radio. Now what?
   “Doctor’s always have to seem like they’re in control,” he thought.
   Ian couldn’t doubt that he was most certainly not in control here. This was a situation in which Santex would be of no help at all. This was not a cold or a sprain this was a man with a gun and a man without this was a treacherous situation. Ian stood still. The finger that had touched the bruises and scrapes of children was now on the trigger of a gun. He was sure Peter was as clueless as he was in this situation as he was shaking. Peter’s trend caught on to Ian as his hand began to shake and sweat due to the attention on it. Neither man spoke and neither man even moved.
   What could Ian do? This man was in the way of him and his salvation of truth. He couldn’t just let him go, because surely he would inform someone about his escape and he would be caught. That would not do. Could he take this man’s life? And if he did, would the applause of the pistol wake anyone in time to stop Ian? Ian couldn’t think and his hand was cramping now.
   Each man stayed still. That is, until Ian turned his head to the side, to look away from Peter, shut his eyes and held his teeth together in shame. His finger moved to the trigger, caressing it, then jerking it back into calamity.
   Or so Ian thought it would. In truth, the trigger didn’t move. Ian figured that it was just harder than it always looked and it needed more force, so he pulled back harder, but nothing.
   Ian realized the gun wouldn’t fire, so he was back in his instance of confusion as Peter still sat in his grave of a chair. Ian couldn’t think properly anymore.
   “Go! Get out! If I hear you do anything though, so help me old man, I’ll send a-”
   That was all he had time for, Peter was up and gone like a scolded child. Now Ian had to really hurry. After he put the malfunctioning gun and the radio in his pack, he went though the only other door in the room. Once he entered he found several terminals and, sitting along the edge like a council of kings, a grandiose set of escape pods. They looked perfectly capable, but Ian still didn’t know for sure if they were functional, but he was certainly going to find out.
   Ian remembered reading in his texts as a child that the escape pods were very simplified because they were designed for any head of a family to be able to drive. Ian hoped this had been true.
   He hurriedly opened one of the hatches to one of the pods, entered, and closed it as tight as he could. Even if the water wasn’t poisonous as it had been claimed to be, it was still water and the last thing Ian needed was to be drowned. Inside the pod was horrendously dark, so Ian guided his hands along the walls of the pod, but found nothing. Discouraged, he strained his eyes in the looming dark at the walls and windows of the pod, but there was nothing to be seen for Ian. As a last ditch effort, Ian gently ran his fingers across what he could only presume to be the control board. His hands were still shaking and halfway cramping though, so he clumsily knocked over a switch.
   Instead of the instant death that Ian expected, the glorious pod lit up, alive, and began moving forward at a sordid pace.
   Ian was in between the world of the dead and the living.

The Amphibian- Post Three

Sun, 04 Jan 2009 15:07:09 GMT

In some rights, leaving would be very easy for Ian. The closest thing he had to a friend here was Andross and their communication was limited to a few half minded jokes and quarter minded conversations about the fictional threats to the House. Then there was Melinda, who Ian hoped would go back to being just another face in the House once she started taking her Santex properly. Other than that, there was no one in the House that he even bothered to have ties with. They were all just aches and sneezes, trivial things and he was just a pill dispenser.
   “It works,” said Ian as he was thinking the exact same thought on the House citizens and taking two Santex.
   Then again, it was quite a problem for Ian to leave the House. Just the sheer uncertainty of it began to wear on the good doctor. What if those visits had just been false in every sense? What if the water really was a sure fire emerald death trap and the shiplets were just a one way ride to desecration? And what if the world was still engulfed in the mist that forced us under in the first place?
   While it may have been a mind load for Ian, it certainly didn’t get in the way of his practice. He treated the normal patients for the normal calamities, the Janes and Johns of the House. He never saw Melinda again, except for when he went to the grocery store to purchase more goods. Every now and then he would hint to her condition.
   “Hello Ms. Melinda, how are you doing today,” he said to her across the counter
   “Just dandy, Dr. Newnmbran, just dandy! Except for this pain in my back. Ugh, I think I may have pulled a muscle in it or something picking up the boxes of beef.”
   The words floated across the counter to Ian, who swatted them away with a simple phrase he’d grown sick of.
   “Just take your Santex, darling.” Melinda was perfectly natural now, just like the Farm District fields. No longer was she disheveled in her manic royalty. Her hair was neatly tied up rather than hanging like willows from tree. She was a beautiful girl, really. She had on that cashier smile instead of a twitching mouth. Ian had met the real Melinda shortly before. Given enough time, he may have even fallen in love with her, but now, that was impossible. Ian picked up his groceries and walked out of the store.

   To describe the next few days of Ian Newmbran would be useless as they were all the same. Wake up, Santex, see Andross, give away Santex, Santex, come back to his quarters, Santex, read Melinda’s case report, sleep, have a visit that always referred to Melinda or her previous condition. Another constant of his days was the passcode, JW287T, which Ian easily pieced together to stand for James Washington II, (Proposition) 87T. Strangely predictable for something so grandiose and dangerous to the House, but who was Ian to complain, it was his ticket out of the House Leviathan.
    This cycle of days went on for a month or so. While, not driving the good doctor manic, it did worry him. Perhaps the whole endeavor is doomed. Maybe the shiplets really are malfunctioning and the water really was as corrosive and acidic as it had been suggested to be. Maybe the mudolphins would devour him on sight. Or maybe those ideas of malfunctioning shiplets, toxic water, and mutated animals were the false visits and Melinda’s were the real ones. Ian was certainly poised to find out.
   Ian was very lucky that no one bothered him and that he had no visitors. Otherwise, his plot may have gotten out, and who knows the consequences to be had for that. Sure, the demerits had been a farce (Ian had decided), but this wasn’t curfew violation or a minor vandalism case, this was much more grandiose. He may actually be punished for his, if it’s found out he’s attempting escape.
   It’s all changed now that Ian considered it that, an escape. It was an escape to something, if only an escape to death. And if he had to look another one of these numbered patients in their eyes, backs, or ankles, again, he just may have offed himself anyway. Over the course of his consideration for escape, he began to resent his housemates. For not venturing out sooner, for having their trivial and repeating problems, for being them. Ian began to resent the House itself. Ian wasn’t sure if he was thinking properly at this point, he was taking so much Santex, he was surprised he was functional.
   Ian made one of his last visits to his office that morning. He kept conversation with Andross to a minimum, he couldn’t stand to look at him. Andross was the exact problem he had with the House. It was circular, infinite. He dealt with the same problems everyday, and his sons would deal with the same problems and so on. He stopped at his office to write out a sign for his would-be patients.
“DOCTOR IS OUT TODAY. SANTEX WILL BE AVAIABLE SOON.
                                                            -DR. NEWMBRAN"
   Ian made a last visit to the store where Melinda worked. He distracted himself with the supplies, which he was getting in bulk. Mostly small things: bars, some fruits, dried meats, nuts and some candies. After sorting out what he could get with his dollars, he went to the counter, where he could distract himself no longer. He looked into Melinda’s eyes, the eyes that only a month or so ago were inflamed with unknown passion and vigor were replaced with the green eyes of a normal woman. Green just like the waters outside the House appeared.
   Ian didn’t bother making small talk with her.
   Shortly, he returned to his quarters and began packing personal goods. Clothes, books (most importantly, Melinda’s case study), and other trivial things, then he waited for curfew to begin.
   Ian looked at his watch.
   11:18 PM. It was time to move.
   His quarter doors opened and Ian stuck his head out and looked both ways like a cautious child crossing a busy street. The corridor was anything but busy at this point though. Not a light was on and the only illuminated parts of the corridor were the areas by the windows which were colored a sad green. As Ian walked the colour was cast unto his white coat. His eyes weren’t on the window though, they were dead set ahead. His footsteps made almost no noise in the abandoned hallway.
   And so Ian crept his way throughout the labyrinth of the House Leviathan, scurrying like a lab rat in a testing facility. That’s exactly what Ian felt like these days, a rat.
   The good doctor was, in fact, a doctor and not a military trained stealth agent. He would put his back up against the wall and peek around a corner, only to be met with blurs and general shapes. If there had been anyone there, Ian certainly would’ve been caught. He would crouch as he walked under windows to quarters and his legs would become tired after only a short while and his attempt at silent walking only hindered his pace. Thankfully, to quicken his pace, he accepted his role as a doctor and began striding with less caution.
   Ian couldn’t help taking note of everything as he was taking his possible walk to perdition. Each of the quarters he passed were the exact same. The doors, the windows, even the curtains were the same and Ian was willing to bet that they were the same on the inside too. All of the ones he had been inside were the same. His, Melinda’s, and the various quarters he had made personal medical calls too were the exact same. He cursed himself for not catching that earlier.
   Regardless, he finally reached his (possibly final) destination. He was standing at the gates of the House Shipping Network Hub. The metal gates stood there in all of their glory, half lit by the green water outside the House. It was mystical, really and Ian could not help but sigh and wryly smile at the glowing door. To the left of the door, cowering in the corner was the control terminal, buttons strewn across a keyboard and a sleeping monitor. After basking in the divine presence of the gates of the House Shipping Network Hub, Ian approached the terminal with great trepidation. Ian pressed the power button and the monitor came alive like an awaken leviathan of the deep that it truly was. Pausing for a moment, contemplating everything that he had done thus far and how he could just turn back now, he did.
   Ian turned around and walked away slowly. Then stopped.
   He had turned on the computer. Some officer would see that it had been tampered with, they would find the fingerprints and, in turn, they would find Ian. He had already made the dive of faith without even knowing. Being cornered, Ian turned around again, stuck out his finger, like God touching Adam, and typed in the sacred code.
   JW287T
   The door opened like the moon leaving an eclipse and Ian walked in. There, in a leather chair was Officer Peter.

The Amphibian- Post Two

Thu, 01 Jan 2009 21:57:58 GMT

   The next few days, Melinda kept on visiting, Ian kept seeing Andross each morning to hear about the mudolphin problems, and Ian kept putting off seeing Mrs. Weatherly to fill out forms that were virtually insignificant. It was business as usual and unusual business at the same time. Over the next few days, he began to look forward to his non formal appointments with Melinda. In fact, that and the Santex was the only thing that kept him afloat amidst the sprains and colds that the noble House Leviathan would offer him. Every day Melinda would complain about the Santex not suppressing her false visits and each day she would describe another strange visit to Ian. Each visit grew in oddity as the days passed. And every night before he went to bed he documented these visits.
   “In conclusion: Subject has had visits if memories not only false, but impossible. Examples include: mass public medical treatment, sky flights in aeroplanes of the old worlde, meals in grass fields like our Farm District, but with actual solar light, and (most disturbingly), a mass gathering of people in front of the old worlde’s White House in disdain. Neither the subject or I am sure of what, but unsettling nonetheless. In the beginning stages of subject’s deliria subject seemed panicked with it’s lack of memory of visits and absurdity of visits, but over the passing days has grown more and more comfortable with them, even making jest with them. Subject seems to had visits of blissful moments to counteract the negative of the mass gatherings.” Read the summary of his personal documentation. He was convinced that that was the only part that would really be read by the Commission.
   Now Ian sat at his desk, this document in front of him, exposing Melinda’s false visits. Of course, he decided to keep her under the guise of “Subject.” For some reason, he felt as though he should, as if it would soften the blow to Melinda whenever he broke the news to her that he was not keeping her problem between them. Then, it occurred to Ian, he didn’t have to tell her.
   He had already lied, even to the benevolent Mrs. Weatherly, he had already deceived. What harm could one more do, right?

   Pretty soon, Melinda’s “prescription” ran out and she was thoroughly disappointed with it’s effects.
   “It didn’t work at all, not even one night!”
   “Melinda, I’m sorry, maybe you’re just immune to this strain of Santex, I don’t know. That’s happened in medical history, patients being immune to medicines, that is. I don’t know about your condition though. I have never heard anything like this in my classes or my books.” Doctors always have to seem in control, do they? Apparently not, Ian was so lost with her condition, it didn’t even matter anymore. He had become so enthralled with her condition that he didn’t care to solve it, it was interesting, it was unique. It was new.
   “It’s gotten worse. It’s been like a mountain of the old worlde. They started out distressing, then became delightful, and plunged delved back into distressing again, and even worse this time.”
   “Do you mind telling me about it, Melinda?”
   “I-I don’t really know. I don’t think this one is suitable for conversation”
   “Melinda, please. It’s important I know. It may lead to a cure for you.”
   “Well…”
   “Melinda, please!”
   “I had a visit that I left the House.” Ian was still, silent.
   “You did what?”
   “I left the House. Not only did I leave the house, but I got to the old worlde. I got to the old worlde and it was beautiful, doctor. The solar light was out, the sky was blue, and the water, the water was blue, not this emerald that we’re so used to a-and I tasted it and it was good! And I was fine! There was natural water, natural foliage, and no blasted Santex to be seen!”
   Then, it had occurred to Ian. Why had he never asked this before?
   “…May I see your quarters, Melinda?”
   Melinda led the good doctor to her quarters. On the way there, Ian thought about how stupid he had been for not connected the little blue dots sooner. Thirty minutes ago, he would not have even asked to do this because she was so interesting a case. But she had truly gone swimming now and she was drowning. It was up to Ian to put a stop to this, no matter how much it struck his intrigue. Sure, the next day it’d be back to the sprains and colds of old, but Melinda was going to get in major trouble if this went on.
   “Well, here it is, doctor.”
   The doors slid open and they walked inside her quarters. Immediately, Ian closed the door and turned to Melinda.
   He whispered, “Before I do this, tell me something. How did you leave the House in your visit?” Sure, he thought, if she kept on she would be in trouble, but he was already in deep, lying and deceiving, it wouldn’t harm him any.
   “Um… I think I took one of the escape shiplets.”
   “How did you get into the ship room?
   “Why do you want to-”
   “How did you get into the ship room in your visit? I’m just curious.” Curious, yeah, curious.
   “I entered the code. JW287T, I remember it vividly.”
   “Alright, thank you. Where’s do you keep your Santex?”
   She looked down, mouth crooked. “In the kitchen drawers,” she said, perhaps shamefully.
   Ian wandered into her kitchen. Her quarters were the exact same as his, the exact same as everyone’s so it was easy to find. He opened the drawer and there it was: numerous full bottles of Santex.
   “You haven’t been taking your damn Santex, Melinda. You haven’t been taking your damn Santex!” Ian was irate. All of this trouble, all of these damn moral problems because of her, because the cunt was too stupid to take her Santex. “Why haven’t you been taking your Santex?”
   “I don’t like how it makes me feel.”
   “Oh yeah, what does it make you feel like, Melinda? Does it make you feel like causing stupid problems for people with bigger things to worry about?” What a lie, Ian thought. Sprains and colds, what else was there for him. He knew that deep down, perhaps he should be thankful for Melinda’s neglect of her medication, but he couldn’t think about that. All he knew now was that Melinda had taken his normal life from him.
   “It made me feel like death.”
   “Death? Dead is what you may be if you keep neglecting to take your Santex. Here.” Ian poured out a rather large dose of Santex into his hand. “Take this. This larger dose will not only stop the false visits, but it should repair the damage you’ve probably done to your brain by not taking it.”
   “But-”
   “Take the damn pills, Melinda!”
   And she did his bidding. She took the pills. Shortly afterwards, she fainted and Ian caught her, just as he planned to do. Ian was lucky that Melinda was oblivious to any medical facts. Not only did she not realize that the “Santex” that she had taken earlier was just candy, but she also didn’t know that this big of a dose of Santex would cause memory loss. Particularly loss of memory for the past thirty minutes, he hoped. She also didn’t know that Santex withdrawal didn’t cause brain damage. Ian was like a child now, just making lies as he went along.
   “Stupid cunt,” he said as he laid her on her bed. On his way out, he wrote a note and put it on her refrigerator.
   “Take your Santex, Melinda. No matter what!”
   He had underlined the last sentence multiple times. To employ a more positive tone, Ian even left a depiction of a smiling face at the bottom of it
   He had saved Melinda from drowning, but now he found he rather liked the water as he left.

   The next few days were business as usual and business was usual now. He got to his office of perfect time and left on perfect time, each morning he saw his pal Andross and Andross told him of the constant plights that the House were enduring. Ian knew that the House would be fine, though. The House was always fine.
   “How strange,” he said to himself in his quarters one night after treating the numerous sprains and colds of the office. “Everyday I hear from dear old Andross how the House Leviathan is in semi peril from the mudolphins, but such peril never comes to fruition. Even when I see the mudolphins opposite of my window, they never make an aggressive move. Sure, they may not be humans as myself, but rage is evident in most any specimen. The assisted rage, thanks to all of the mutative toxins in the sea now should drive them into complete constant rage. I think they should be ramming into my windows trying to break in and break me.”
   Then he started to listen to what he was saying to the window as he did often
   “Wait, what am I complaining for? Mudolphins aren’t destroying my home or myself and I’m complaining about it? How very damn trite, Ian. I’m safe. That’s all I need.”
   Ian went to bed that night with a hint of doubt in his mind and plenty of Santex in his system. He was very conflicted.
   His visit that night was strange. “How can you have a strange visit if you’ve lived a perfectly pedestrian life,” Ian would say if he was told his visit was going to be strange. It was strange in that the memory of the visit only took place 3 days ago in Melinda’s quarters.
   “I entered the code. JW287T, I remember it vividly.”
   The entire scene played out again. Then again. His visits were going to make sure that he remembered it vividly too.
   When he woke up, he felt extremely edgy. He was the child in the grocery store trying to make it to the door with the candy under his jacket. Now he knew what he was going to do. He was leaving House Leviathan. That visit had pushed him over the edge, or so he thought. It was actually the false visits of Melinda that had pushed him over the edge and into the waters where he now waded.
   Ian sat down at his medical reports again one night. It was Melinda’s, the one that he never sent in to the Medical Commission, the one with the documented visits of a deranged (or just ambitious) woman. He turned to a familiar page now that he’d read over and over again. Regardless, he kept reading it, line for line, verse for verse, it had become usual business. This simple medical report had become a tome to him and one of his primary reasons for conceiving the idea of leaving the House Leviathan. Sure, he could achieve these experiences throughout Santex deprivation, but there were problems.
   A. Ian really liked Santex. 10, 2, and 4 and then some. It calmed him. Without the Santex, Ian thought he would’ve surely crumbled with Melinda’s case a long time ago. Ian was taking just the right amount at the time to be able to take interest in Melinda’s case; too little and he would’ve passed it off to the Medical Commission, too much and he wouldn’t have been conscious to treat her case with more Santex that she wouldn’t take. Santex; it really was a cure all, it just depended on how you use it. As of now, it had led to Ian’s cure of the House Leviathan.
   B. They were just visits. Simulations of the highest calibre. Ian felt that a simulation wasn’t enough for him. If he wanted a simulation, he could bask under the artificial solar light in the Farm District. What did simulations accomplish? Nothing. Ian had never been one to place faith in patients, but before Melinda, there was nothing to place faith in, just sprains and colds over and over again and those had nothing to offer.
   After rereading some of Melinda’s visits and trying to picture himself there as vividly as he could, he closed the tome of visits and placed it aside, next to his Santex, which he picked up hastily and swallowed a few. The blue pearls went in to his mouth and down his gullet to not be seen again. He hoped the same wouldn’t happen to him.

The Amphibian- Post One

Wed, 31 Dec 2008 09:29:36 GMT

   Outside of the window, numerous animals lurked. On the other side of the window, lurked the very same. Of course, Ian Newmbran certainly didn't have the aesthetic of an animal. He was a robe wearing, ship building, dormant man. Also, he was the resident doctor here on his excellence's Leviathan. What kind of animal can be a doctor, the closest human embodiment of God that this House had.
Ian sat down his cup of tea and sat himself down with it on his bed. Soon enough, with the help of the Santex he had taken earlier, he drifted into a nice sleep like the House Leviathan waded in the murky waters.

   "Mr. Newmbran, would you mind answering the question for the class," asked the old resident professor Mr. Terbenky.

   "Yes sir. The House Leviathan was founded in 2018 by the honorable James Washington II, president of the United Federation." Mr. Terbenky was obviously impressed at this point. "Please, enlighten your peers on the further history of this House."

   The young Ian happily smiled, "Yes sir, Mr. Terbenky."

    "His excellence, the honorable James Washington II, came into power and ultimately presented the citizens the environmental catastrophe that was happening before us. After numerous attempts to qualm the disasters that we've created, his excellence presented Proposition 87T to begin constructions of numerous House systems. House Leviathan for us-" "That's quite enough Mr. Newmbran. You're obviously very well learned. Speak with me after class." Mr. Terbenky gave Ian an encouraging nod as he returned to the plasma board..

   That was the end of Ian’s visit to his youth, however. Now it was 5 o’clock, which meant wake up time for him. Doctors had to wake up and set up shop earlier than the rest of the citizens. So did the store owners and a few others. Ian rolled out of his bed and went through the daily hygiene regimen: the clenser, the mandible brushing most noteably. As he slipped on his white coat, he made his way to his office across the complex.

   On his way there, he ran into one of his friends in the House Leviathan, Andross Rona, the chief of foreign affairs for the complex. “Andross,” Ian greeted him with a smile, wink and nod. “How are you this morning?”

   “Same old, same old, Ian. The damn mudolphins won’t stop ramming the hull. It’s just an inconvenience, really,” said Andross with the same look he’s had since Ian could remember, still dealing with the same problems he has been for as long as he can remember.

   “I don’t understand, Andross, why don’t we just man a ship and deal with them? I’m sure our arms can easily take out a few mudolphins.”
   “Ian, the pods are faulty. You can’t expect a tin can in a toxic ocean to stay fit forever, can you?”
   “No,” Ian said, looking at the ground, “I guess not. In any case, I’m going to be late, I’ll see you in the hall tonight though. Farewell, brother.”
   “Farewell.”

   Ian got to his practice and diagnosed the norms for his day. Kids with sprained ankles from jumping down stairs, Old Lady Magene with her headaches, the men with pulled muscles from moving things for Old Lady Magene, the norms of a doctorly day. He prescribed Santex to most of them, except for Magene, she just made due with her headaches, and odd case, but normal by now for Ian. When ever he prescribed someone Santex, he always remembered to get some for himself. Everyone knew about his habit, but no one seemed to care all that much. Besides, Ian didn’t care if anyone knew or not.

   Then came in Melinda. Melinda had been one of the resident store clerks on the good House Leviathan. Honestly, Ian didn’t keep up with her, she was a step below acquaintance to him. It was only by the grace of his glasses and her nametag that he knew who she was. Melinda didn’t look very fit to be working in a store now though.

   “Jin! Dear, what’s happened to you, Melinda?” That was about as much as Ian could squeeze out from beneath his white coat. The girl looked raving mad, like the bulls of the old world.

   “Doctor Newmbran, it’s wrong, it’s all wrong! I don’t understand, doctor. I can’t find it, I just can’t find it. I see it, but it’s not to be found! I’m lo-” Following his instincts (or his fear, he couldn’t tell) he had immediately injected her with a hefty dose of Santex. Ian caught Melinda before she hit the floor and lifted her onto one of the medical cots. Ian took off his white coat as Melinda drifted further into a daze and slipped into a daze himself, staring into murky waters he’d become acquainted with. Ian had another visit to his childhood.

   “Quite frankly, Ian, you exibit an understanding of the program I have never seen in a child your age! It’s remarkable, really. Quite a feat for a child of thirteen.”
   Ian couldn’t could barely contain his pride as he looked down at the floor and sneaked a smile to the tiles. “Thank you very much, sir. I guess it’s due to the teacher.”
   “Well, Mr. Newmbran, that’s exactly what I’ve decided to speak to you about. I’m afraid you’re going to have to resign from my class.”
   “B-but Mr. Terbenky, what did I do!?”
    “Nothing at all, young Ian, nothing at all. You’re simply too advanced for this commonplace class. I’m going to send a recommendation to the committee to get you enlisted in higher education classes. It’s reserved for the elite students.” Ian’s smile to the tiles was now fully upright. “I know you’re Resident Employment Diction test told you that you were best suited for a managerial position, but, believe it or not, the RED test is wrong sometimes.”
   “…The RED test can be wrong, Mr. Tabenky?”
   Mr. Takenky smiled and patted Ian on the head. “Oh yes, everything’s wrong sometimes.”
   Soon enough, Ian woke up in his chair. Poor Melinda still lay on her cot. After washing his face in the purifying sink, Ian looked at his watch.
10:42 PM
   “Only 18 more minutes until curfew, I’ve got to get her up and get her out of here. Damn girl.” Ian rummaged through his numerous drawers, sliding aside his scalpels and bandages until he came across the smelling salts in the back of the bottom drawer. Then he realized that he never used one of these things before. Of course, they taught him how to in med school, but that was just as an exercise, he’d never actually had to use one on a patient. Regardless, he cracked the packet under Melinda’s nostrils and was greeted with a retching sound and Melinda pulling her head away.
   “Melinda,” Ian said in the most soothing voice he knew how. He felt as if he was dealing with a child in the nursery. “It’s almost curfew. I’m going to have to ask you to head back to your quarters.”
   “Oh. I don’t know, I still don’t feel quite right… Could I stay here over night? Just to be under medical attention? Please?”
   “Um…” The good doctor was perplexed. Staying outside of your assigned quarters? The only time that happened was before the paperwork had been processed for unions, and even then it was only based on the kindness of the secretary in charge. “Melinda, I don’t think we do that kind of thing. You’re more than welcome to come back tomorrow, however.”
   “Right. I knew I couldn’t stay here. I don’t know why I asked. That’s what I have to talk about. I’ll come back tomorrow, yes, tomorrow.” With her peace said, Melinda left the office hastily.
   As Ian straightened and ordered the cot, he looked at his watch again.
   11:07 PM
   Demerits for sure.

   Ian Newmbran decided to wake up earlier the next morning, so he could go to the Public Conduct Offices to fill out the paperwork. Better to turn yourself in than be turned in, right? As he got to the Public Conduct Office, he spoke with Mrs. Weatherly, the secretary and a dear old soul was she.
   “Hello Mrs. Weatherly, I need a form 9RR45.”
   “Oh, Ian, curfew violation, eh? What was a respectable man like you doing out so late?”
   Ian stopped writing. He had to think quick. “I had to do some ordinance on my office. Horribly dusty, my fault, really.”
   “Of course you would be out all night doing more work. You work so much, Ian. Perhaps you should take some vacation days?”
   “ Mrs. Weatherly, doctors don’t get off days. There are always sprained ankles, headaches, colds, those types of things to deal with. And where would everyone get their Santex from then? No, I need to work so that other people can work. If I take a vacation day, the entire House falls to sprains.” Then, Ian fell of the tracks on logical thought. The only patients he had ever treated had these trivial maladies. Sprains and pains, loose teeth and sore feet. Never before had he had a patient like Melinda seemed to be. Melinda had no terrible physical problems, it looked like, granted he didn’t get that good of a look at her. Perhaps upon further investigation he could publish a medical study for the Medicine Commission. Perhaps some time he could be the Commissioner of Medicine, if this went well. He would have to deal with Melinda very carefully. Once he returned to his busily writing body, he heard Mrs. Weatherly finish up whatever monologue she was saying.
   “-do good work, you know that Ian?”
   Going off those seven words, Ian constructed the best response he could come up with. “Haha, I suppose so. Thank you very much Mrs. Weatherly I’ve finished form 9RR45.”
“Oh, Ian, don’t worry about it. I’m sure that filling out that dreadful form was enough of a demerit for you. Go on to your office. You keep this House in motion, after all.” With that said, Mrs. Weatherly tossed the piece into a waste basket behind her. A full waste basket.
“Thank you very much, Mrs. Weatherly. I hope you have a nice day.” As Ian walked away, he began thinking. He’d only broken curfew a few times in his days, but never once did he get demerits for it. He just filled out form 9RR45. How lucky he was. He figured everyone else was just as lucky. Maybe there was no such thing as demerits, everyone was just too afraid of them to actually get them.

   Instead of going back to his quarters to take a nap, Ian decided to head to his office in order to make up for being out late last night. Even if demerits weren’t real, Ian was certainly going to detain himself from the possibility to getting more. He didn’t want to find out if they were real or not. He arrived at his office 30 minutes early and standing outside his doors was Melinda, looking a bit less disheveled than she was previously. The only thing that looked worse was her eyes. They seemed to be surrounded by a shadow of sorts.
   “Ah, Melinda! Feeling better this morning.”
   “Not quite, doctor.”
   “Well that’s fine, come on in and we’ll fix you up!”
   The two entered the office, which looked quite prim and orderly. Melinda sat down on the cot she awoke on. It was the same cot that she awoke last on.
   “I haven’t been to sleep in the past day, Dr. Newmbran.”
   “Behind on work, Melinda? Sleep deprivation isn’t the best way to make time for work. If anything it makes your work of low quality.” Ian had already started writing a prescription for Santex, taking his own at the same time. He’d been using Santex for a long time now. He even had a set schedule of it: one at 10 AM, one at 2 PM, and one at 4 PM. Of course now, he had been indulging in it more and more. Sometimes taking them before sleeping and now taking them even in the mornings. He was still true to 10, 2, and 4 though.
   “No, actually. Work’s become so boring lately. The same thing everyday. So trivial, so routine. It’s actually about my visits.
   “Visits?” Ian thought. “Interesting.”
   “Have you been visiting negative memories,” asked Ian, wanting to get the most pedestrian diagnoses out of the way.
   “No, in fact, I wish I had been visiting bad memories. Instead, I’ve been visiting memories I don’t remember. Remember when I asked you if I could stay here last night? A few days ago, I had a visit to a office similar to yours, except, instead of a cot, there was a full bed in the office. Some elder was lying in it. For sure, she was staying there, she was constricted by all sorts of wires and clear cables. In the office was a man like you, white coat, stethoscope, things like that. And outside, there were even more of them. More doctors, I guess they were. There were even more of the elders out there. Not just elders, even, men and women our age. Children too! A mass gathering of colds and sprains. And I was crying like one would after a visit of an embarrassing memory, but it wasn’t the stomach churning of embarrassment. Everything on me felt so heavy. Not just my limbs, but my mind too. It was strange. When you said that we don’t do that, let people stay in the office under supervision, I realized that my visits haven’t been of actual memories. It takes the ease off of not being able to recall, but brings up a new stressing question of where they are coming from.”
   Ian was silent, confounded even, but he couldn’t let that get to Melinda. Doctors are in full control of the situation. “That’s certainly interesting, Melinda. The only thing I can think to do now is to give you a certain variation of Santex I have. It’s supposed to suppress visits.”
   He walked over to his drawer and began to plunder through it. Thanks to his body and lush coat, Melinda couldn’t see his non idle hands doing their work. In the corner of one of the drawers, he found a packet of candies one of his patients had given him as a gift. Instead of eating it, Ian thought of it as a novelty because it bore a slight resemblance of Santex. Later he realized that to the untrained eye, it probably looked exactly like Santex. He was planning on playing a joke on Andross with it, but he decided this was a much more necessary situation.
   “This should supress your visits. While you’re sleeping peacefully, I’ll be consulting my medical library and further investigate your condition. We’re gonna fix this in no time.”
   This was just phrases he was spouting to cover of the noise of ripped paper and candies falling into an empty pill bottle. Melinda seemed convinced though.
   “The pharmacy is a real pain about getting these. It takes them forever and your condition seems pretty dire, so I’ll just give you some of my stash. In return, just tell me that you’ll keep your problem between the two of us.”
   “Of course, doctor. Sounds perfectly reasonable. Thank you so much. I’ll be back if I need to.”
   Melinda left the room and Ian sat down at his desk. He looked at his office. The drawers were open, the cot wrinkled. His desk was cluttered with papers, mostly Santex prescriptions. He had practically lied to two people today, one of them being a patient.
   His world was unraveling.
   He looked down into his lap, hoping to see what kind of punishment he was going to get for lying. Then, he realized, he wouldn’t get any. He never does. So, what’s the point in rambling about it to Mrs. Weatherly? She’s just going to let him off the hook, so why should he waste both their time? He wasn’t really doing harm, right? To the right of his lap, he noticed his pocket that he kept a back up pen in. The pen had busted inside the pocket of his medical white coat and had bled through. It was stained now and the stain had set.

   Ian went back to his quarters on perfect time that night. He slipped off his coat, got a cup of water and stood beside his window, peering into the murky water outside. The water outside was so unlike the water in his cup. His water was clean, pure, suitable for consumption. His water was perfect. The House Leviathan’s water was perfect. They had an insuperable purification system that had suited them for so long. It was as if as soon as water entered the House, it became pure. Simply put, the water inside the House was deemed appropriate and the water outside was not.
   “How do I know that,” he thought. “I mean, it’s assumed that the water outside is highly toxic, but I’ve never had the water on my palette, in my body.” Realizing he was talking to the window in front if him, and even posing it questions, he shut himself up and shut himself down on his bed. But not before taking more Santex to be sure he was shut down.
   That night Ian visited another memory of his studentry. Ian found himself admist a room full of bright eyed teenagers, all much like himself, in a perfect box pattern, sitting silent with a paper in front of them. Ian looked down at his own paper and saw his name scratchly written along a line at the top and a series of questions unanswered. He picked up his pencil and began work

   1. Who suggested Proposition 87T and what did it do?
The teenage Ian wrote, “The honorable excellence, James Washington II, then President of the United States of America. Proposition 87T ensured the safety of America and the rest of the world by providing a infinite shelter to people in defense of the Great Mist which would’ve wiped out the entire population on land.” Young Ian thought it best to be through.
   2. What is the condition on our House (Leviathan) and what is the condition of our sister Houses?
   “The House Leviathan is in premier condition as it always has been and always will be. The protective hull is made of the finest metals and is impenetrable by water pressure or mutated animals, be they dolphin or whale (as rare as they are). 7 years after the founding and nesting of the Houses, we lost communications with our sister houses, but they being as well fortified and nested as we are, must be in as prime condition as we.
   This was of course the Manditory House Exam, every student had to take it and every student passed. It was clockwork, in and out, no coming back. It was reflex to write the correct answer and Ian had magnificent reflexes, thus he remembers finishing the test first and even receiving more positive marks for being so delightfully through in his historic answers. Quite the student was he and Mr. Tabernky noticed that.
   That was the end of Ian’s visit to his brilliant childhood though, for he was whisked into another visit like an egg into a batter. Now Ian was in a grocery store, trivially shopping and he stood in line. Thanks to his experience that day, he observed poor Melinda as the cashier. Now she was completely different though, genial and bright.
   “Good afternoon doctor! How are you doing today?”
   “Good, how about yourself Melinda?”
   “Dandy, doctor! Just dandy!”
   Ian understood that he didn’t really know Melinda all that well, but looking back, he realized what a vast change she had made. In the store Melinda looked, well, “dandy” as she said. Now, now she was gone fishing.
   “Maybe going fishing isn’t such a bad thing after all,” Ian said as he awoke.