(Fiction) Third Planet in the Gothic Constellation of Thanatos

The planet is called Eva and it’s the third planet in what they called the Thanatos constellation. Eva is the only planet that can support life in this system. The planet has the same name as a woman in their mythology. The story reminds me of Persephone from Greek mythology as I read it. There was a young woman who had traveled to a cemetery with the intention of killing herself. She was the most beautiful woman around, as far as she knew. The beautiful young woman removed her knife to slit her wrists, but Death appeared before her before she could start. Death found her to be a striking beauty and had appeared to convince her to reconsider. The woman protested and told him she would shortly be with him in death after she killed herself. Death said she wouldn’t be the same after Death. He was in love with her and would do anything to make love to her once. Reluctantly, Eva agreed to be his lover, but made Death promise that her relatives and ancestors would have long lives free of disease. Death quickly agreed and the deal was done. Death was not omniscient, however, and he had been tricked. The woman had planned to strike the unholy deal from the beginning. Her family had an illness that was passed on through the generations and her family line was in danger of dying. The woman herself was close to succumbing to the effects of the sickness even as she arrived at the cemetery. Death and the woman did become lovers and the child’s name was Eva. Eva lived a long life, as per the agreement, but when Death learned he had been tricked, he failed to remove Eva’s illness. She lived a long life, but it was eventually full of pain from her family’s genetic illness. Rather than go mad, Eva endured, and even prospered, despite her pain. The story was a symbol for the planet and surviving through hardships.

            This world hardly seemed harsh to me yet, but the only place I’ve seen so far is the friendly environment of my father’s house. He was taking care of my every need, but maybe I was becoming sheltered from reality. I continue my lessons, but I think of little Eva from the story often. 

            After lunch one day, I ask my father about the story of Eva. He tried to hide his disappointment that I was asking about something I probably should have learned about ages ago.

            “Well, it is a tragic story, but inspiring at the same time. She lived a life in pain, but she tried to enjoy and cherish an existence that she had every reason to despise.”

            “Forgive me for asking . . . my memory is still a little fuzzy, you know . . . but is Eva really that bad of a place to live?”

            He hesitates before he answers. “It is no paradise at times, to be sure, but a home is what one makes it. There are many beautiful things to be found on this world, or any other, if one knows where to look.”

            “You’re doing . . . fine with your lessons. Keep up the pace and you will be your old self in no time.” 
I know he’s lying, and I feel bad that I’m not moving faster, but there is little I can do but continue to try my best. 

A little better

Reading three books in three days and starting on a fourth the fourth day, but slept mostly today.

Trying to avoid thinking about things in life, trying to get lost in the words.

Some of the books help a bit with the life thing, but they serve to remind that there are things to be solved.

Not problems, really, I don't really want to call them that, but things that need a solution

Or that I want there to be a solution to.

Maybe there are no solutions to some things, and they are just how they are.

Things only have the power you give them, whether it is a broken heart or a broken sword.

I read that in a comic book sometime about a decade ago. I've read a lot of those.

The books I read now, or at least in the last few days, have been "book" books, though.

They take a little longer to read than comic books. I can read a 22-page comic in 2 to 8 minutes, depending on the story.

You can take your time and enjoy it, and I do, but once you've read a few hundred of them, you're able to even process the information in a comic book at breakneck speed.

I tried to count the number of comic books I had read in my lifetime before. It's definitely in the hundreds and may even be in the thousands.

After I read, or after I watch a movie, those things I don't want to think about are still there. Even when I write sometimes, those issues are still there.

I'm not sure I can call them issues, but things I'm thinking about, things that even now are on the edge of my mind, but I don't want to think about.

My life is only what I've made it right now, but I'm going to make it different.

I certainly can't say that it's bad, but there are things I am going to change.

The world wasn't created overnight, though, and neither will my life be changed in a day.

There are things I can change, though, and now.

Attitude is one thing a person can change, though I've always had a great one of those.

I think I am generally happy, but there are things that have happened lately that I let make me less so.

Notice I didn't say the things that happened made me less happy, because I control that.

It's a fallacy to let yourself become upset, but humans having fallacies is what makes them human.

I don't strive for perfection; I only want to make myself a little better.

You Gotta Love Someone

"You can win the fight
You can grab a piece of the sky
You can break the rules
But before you try

You gotta love someone
You gotta love someone.

You can stop the world,
Steal the face from the moon
You can beat the clock
But before high noon

You gotta love someone
You gotta love someone

...

You can cheat the devil
And slice a piece of the sun
Burn up the highway
But before you run

You gotta love someone
You gotta love someone.

...

You can win the fight
You can grab a piece of the sky
You can break the rules
But before you try

You gotta love someone
You gotta love someone."

From Elton John's "You Gotta Love Someone"

Optimism Renewal

I had a renewing experience today. I was having some issues in my life (the details aren't important) and I found myself complaining about the state of life in general. I felt like I couldn't be alone with my thoughts and there was no where for me to go to be in a quite place.

I was trying to read a book and I decided to go outside. I was trying to finish a book in a day, something I had done before, but I had been struggling with reading quickly lately. I'm generally a fairly fast reader, but I felt like I had been in a funk and things weren't going right lately. Some things were going right, but I felt a kind of two-steps-back syndrome of progress about the things that were going right. Sometimes realizing you are going about something wrong can be a momentarily debilitating experience.

Well, I'm reading the book, and feeling generally upset about finding a quiet place to read, and feeling generally unhappy, when I came upon a quote by Abraham Lincoln in the book I was reading. "Most people are about as happy as they make up their mind to be." I just had to smile and look at the quote. It was exactly what I needed to hear and read.

I kept reading and continued to read until the sun was going down and until I couldn't see anymore. I kept reading and thought of all the things that were right in my life, as well as the obstacles that other people faced in their life, stories that I was provided by the very book I was trying to finish. I have heard and even experienced finding exactly what you needed, but this was a cool aspect of synchronicity. It just fell into place exactly as I needed it to.

I did finish the book within 24 hours (actually I finished within 8 hours, including taking a nap even) and it was just the book I needed, too.  

GCOT

This will be an explanation of sorts of Gothic Constellation of Thanatos. I'm just getting some ideas down.


The main premise behind Gothic Constellation of Thanatos is a down on his luck retail worker who dies in a car accident and is essentially reincarnated as a young girl on a distant planet in another galaxy.

He (now she) meets his kindly scientist father who has been watching his young daughter through her coma. The man now awakens as the young girl and lives out her life.

Young Vanessa learns about her new home through the computer immersion program that her father provides. Vanessa eventually meets the chatty Susanna who lives in a nearby cottage close to the large laboratory that her father lives in.

The lab is in a secluded spot in the middle of the woods, as is Susanna's cottage.

Susanna is a seamstress and makes clothes that she sells to vendors from the closest city. Vanessa is taken on as an apprentice seamstress and learns to manipulate fabric and design clothing.

Vanessa eventually meets Susanna's son Ethan who is a law enforcement organization in the city.

GCOT

I'm jumping ahead a little bit, but this is another segment from Gothic Constellation of Thanatos.

One day at Susanna’s, she has another visitor. When this large man enters the house, she gets very excited.

“Ethan!” she screams, “Why, come in!”

“I am in, mother,” the large man says quietly. He is tall and almost as wide as the door, but not plump like his mother. Ethan looks like an athlete. He’s wearing a blue and red outfit with a badge and insignia. I quickly learn that he’s a policeman of sorts from the city.

“Oh, tell me how you’ve been! You’ve been safe haven’t you? No dangerous raids or fights? I always worry about you, but I know you can take care of yourself, but you know how I worry.” Susanna is even more talkative than usual with her son.

“Nothing much to talk about, Mom.” Ethan is quiet compared to his mother, but then almost anyone is quiet compared to her. He barely says anything to all of her many questions.

Susanna eventually runs out of questions and goes in the kitchen to prepare dinner and also to prepare Ethan a place to sleep. I’m eventually left alone with him. I take the opportunity to talk with someone who’s actually been to the nearby city I’ve heard so much about.

“What’s it like in the city?” I ask casually.

“What does a little girl like you care for the city?” He seems unusually cruel compared to the way he was acting around his mother. “It’s dangerous,” he continues, “Criminals own the streets and little girls like you are prey for monsters. The stores and houses are locked tight at night and no one goes out after dark if they don’t have to.” He must see the fear in my eyes, because he adds an explanation to his warning. “I hide the truth from mother, but there’s no sense in lying to you. The city is not a place you want to go to.”

            Of course, after this conversation, I want to go the city even more. It’s a forbidden place now that I had been warned against it. Ethan visits every once in a while after our first meeting. I’m hanging clothes outside one day and he approaches quietly. I’m startled as he starts talking. “What are they teaching you? You’ll be a matron in the woods like my mother. Can you even take care of yourself at all?” His cruelty seems out of place. As far as I knew, he hardly knew me at all. I’ve stopped what I’m doing and he is standing in front of me now.

            “Just try to hit me,” he commands. “Go ahead.” I hesitate, thinking him to be a bit of a bully at this point, but then I do as he asks and try to hit him. He easily dodges the blow and simultaneously trips me to the ground.

“Pathetic,” he says. “And you think you would survive in the city. You have to strike with speed and force, like this!” He hits me in the stomach before I can move. I fall over out of breath and near tears. I’m a third his size, but he doesn’t seem to be holding back.

            “Stand up, now!” he says. He seems to soften for a second. “Don’t be afraid, but get up and try again.” After I catch my breath, I get up and try to hit him again, but he simply moves out of the way again. “Ha! That was better, though. Maybe there is fight in you.”

            “Ethan, what are you doing?!?” Susanna screams as she discovers us sparring. “Stop roughhousing with Vanessa and let her work.” Ethan turns to go inside, but whispers to me as he leaves.

“You’re soft now, but there is hope. If you really do want to go the city, you’ll need a lot more lessons in taking care of yourself.”

            At home in my room, I practice trying to punch quickly like I had seen Ethan doing. I really did want to go into the city and maybe I was soft like he said. I imagine his cruel, quiet voice as I fall to sleep.

. . .

When I see Ethan a few days later, I had not forgotten our talk. “Hey, little domestic girl,” he says walking up to me.

            “I’m not a little girl!” I object. I try to hit him again right where he’s standing, but I still couldn’t touch him as he trips me again.

“Ha ha!” he laughs at me. “You have to plant your feet.” This time I get right back up, though, and manage to hit him in the stomach, though he barely reacts.

            “Better!” he admits, “but try hitting a little harder than that if you can.” Before I can manage to celebrate this small victory, he trips me again and I’m on the ground. I’m almost crying again, but more from frustration than pain.

            “Oh, don’t cry! Who’s not a little girl now? If you really want to learn, I will teach you.”

            After our first few brief meetings, I start taking fighting lessons from him. We always tell his mother we’re going into the woods on a hike. Apparently, Ethan’s a hunter and naturalist, too, so this is a good cover story.

            As for the lessons themselves, I’m falling down more than I’m not. Ethan’s not very patient either, really.

            “Get up!” he yells. “That’s not going to cut it!” He usually only raises his voice when he’s away from his mother. It’s as if her constant chatter replaced his voice when he was around her. Maybe he was used to not being able to get a word in growing up with her.

            “I’m trying,” I say, “but you keep knocking me down!”

            “Then evade me,” he says, as if it’s as simple as breathing. For him I guess it is. I finally manage to dodge one of his blows and even manage a weak counterstrike.

            “You’ll have to do better than that, little girl.”

            I get mad at that and punch him on his hip as hard as I can.

            “Huh. Not bad.” I can tell he really is surprised and I’m happy for some small progress.

Sit down, old friend

I know what you're going to say before you say it.
You may be right this time as you have been before.
I don't want to listen to you, though.

Then a weird thing happens:
I split into two sides of myself and start giving myself advice.
It's often easier to give advice than follow it
Or so I try to tell myself.

He sits me down, myself does,
"Sit down," he says...
"You might not be ready to hear this," he begins,
"But you're going about it all wrong."

I give him a frowning look like he doesn't know what he's talking about.
"Don't look at me like that," he says.
"You've got to give this up, son. It's just not good.
All this poetry you're writing, all these thoughts you're having, all this time you're spending
And what's going to happen of it. Give it up."

Son? But you're the same age as me, I tell him.
"No, not really. I'm smarter so I figure that makes me older.
I'm your sensible side it seems and someone needs to talk some sense into you.
These thoughts you're having, trying to be hopeful, trying to see the positive.
Some times you do just have to accept that the world's not all candy and summer storms."

Well, I don't really like candy all that much, but I don't see your point, I say.
"Look you're not getting the point: All these optimistic thoughts you have, they're just not healthy. It's just not going to happen the way you imagine. I know. Trust me, I know."
I give him an odd look: Are you from the future? I venture to ask.

"No, no, no, you idiot. Not really. But trust me, I know. You'll be better if you just accept reality."
He grabs some pages and roughly taps them on his other hand.
"Look at this: It's just bad, really. What were you thinking?
Fire and burning and plays, computer programs that no one wants to read about."

Well, I was going to rewrite some of it, yes. The story, though, not the poetry.
I think it might be romantic if it was books and not a computer, yes?
"Romantic," he scoffs. "You and your romance. You make me sick."
I stand up at this.

Now listen here, I start, my romance that you make so much fun of has got me where I am in life.
You know I used to be like you, cynical and hopeless, thinking the worst,
And sometimes I still am, but I don't want to be like that all the time.
Being insecure doesn't feel too good, even though I am sometimes.

"You're insecure all the time," he says laughing. "You think I'm not in there with you, chum?
You second guess everything and think the worst as your first choice of possibility."
I'm silent at that and try to come up with a response.
Yeah, maybe that's my natural tendency, but I compensate with this optimism and romance that you seem to think is so useless.

Yes, I'm insecure, but I control my thoughts, buster.
I decide if I want to let something bother me, I decide to see the glass half full, and I decide when I'm going to give up on something, got it?

"Yeah, yeah," he says, "Don't get bent outta shape about it. Man, you worked yourself up. See, there is anger in you."
He had me at that, but I knew I was right, too.

I took the pages from his hand.
I can fix it, I said. I can make it better.

"Maybe you can, kid. Maybe you can."

I knew you were right in a way, and that he was trying to help just like you were, but I couldn't do the things I was being advised to.
I wanted to burn a little longer.
Or a lot longer, really.
I don't know why I keep choosing that metaphor, or word or whatever, but it seems right.
That month of poems seems like a blur and I was honest in a way that I hadn't been in a while.
Poetry is a way to write exactly what you're feeling without coming out and saying it.

I burn=I can't stop thinking about you.
You're a star=I like you
You think this poem is about you=This poem is about you.

There are times when all a poet really wishes he could do is give the poem he wrote to the person he wrote it about and let her read it.

There are other times he wants to lock them up in a casket and let them collect dust for a few decades.

But you see, this poem really isn't about you, and though I burn from the star that got a little too close
I think perhaps I'll remain a hopeless romantic 'til my dying day.
"Dawn died a tiny thousand deaths for you and she's till alive
So the least you can do is keep going.
Things only have the power you give them: a broken sword or a broken heart..."