Fishbowl [Art and Story]

I've been playing around with new world and story concepts for Nyxis; around the same time,  Clockwork-Caribou made this wonderful piece that I thought really fit into the vibe of a new world I'm trying to create. I haven't done any creative writing in months, so this was a wonderful opportunity for me to just let loose with a few ideas again and put some of those stray thoughts on paper. Enjoy. ^^

Hmmm, PG-13 for swear words.

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Of all the people in the world, I thought she’d be the last who could ever feel like she were lost at sea.

And here I am, General Nyxis Joanne Pierce, ab-so-lute-ly useless to help. Nice job, General. It took a week to find this room, and there is nothing here. I wrench the boa from my shoulders and throw it at the ground. It defies gravity and me for a moment, fluttering, landing softly, gracefully length by length. The reflection of the water above and around us bounces upon it like a jester’s practiced dance.

Though there’s clearly a heavy division between the fishes and I, the glass is so clear it seems that I might drown if I took a deep breath. So I do—and then, I sigh.

Yeah, I’m a general, sure. General, of a fictional kingdom by the sea in a goddamned fantasy world. I’m in control like a child who feels almighty towering over a plastic fishbowl. My gaze miserably follows some fins and bubbles gliding past.

I’m a lie, and my Girl knows it. She hasn’t spent a day in the military, and with her short attention span, frail health, and technological and comfort needs, it’s the last job she’d ever, ever, ever truly consider picking up. So where does her knowledge for my job, my military come from? High school marching band, ha! Truly laughable! Ha ha ha... My eye begins tearing up, so I stop.

A wise boy once said, “Inside every cynical person, there is a disappointed idealist.”

He’s not wrong. She’s twenty-five, and still, she looks through rose-tinted glasses. She’s a people pleaser. She works every day to try to make the world a better place. She does it for the people who cannot. And she. Is. Disappointed. As. Fuck.
A quarter of her life gone, her efforts have all been in vain. To her, anyways.

I reluctantly pick up the boa and dust it off, leaning on a nearby table to re-think my strategy. Something crinkles under my elbow. Oh, really, of all things, it decides to show up after I’ve given up looking?

My girl keeps few secrets. This envelope isn’t sealed, but it has been forgotten. I gingerly take the letter out. It’s a memory, a note she wrote when she was in second grade. I glance over it and chuckle. Crayon art of dolphins, starfish, and orca whales adorn the 3-hole punched, blue-striped notebook paper. Smudged pencil, barely legible cursive scratches out that she wanted to be a sea world trainer and make the animals happy. My God, she wouldn’t want anybody else to read this now. The world sure has changed gears on this one... But let’s not get sidetracked, the main message remains the same. She may not feel like she has a purpose now, but back then, she was sure of it.

Tucking the letter and envelope into my wing, I turn to leave and find her.

Really, it’s a paltry little thing. The only one I could find tonight. It probably won’t cheer her up. But the Beacon has been dimmer than glowworms for a disturbing entirety of one week, and a matchstick of hope is better than no light.

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