No Ship Without People

Content Warning: This story contains themes of death.

"Harry?" A distant voice ran over my thoughts, "Are you okay?"

"I... Yeah, I'm okay." But was I? What else could've been my answer? Maybe that was the insincere part of myself talking. Even worse; that could've been the real me.

"I asked you: Where do you think they'll go?" Her poignant voice was weary but curious; maybe a byproduct of grief. Unfortunately, I shared the same sentiment.

With a blow, the anxious wind of the sea made itself apparent. It rarely lured me in, but this time, something about it felt so authentic I almost gave into it. The austere weather felt natural to such a landscape as the foundation that held us stood still amidst the wrath of the ocean. As if they were sweating, the humid rocks clashed with the waves deep down. That's the northern way! Mother used to tell me, as if we were born from the land, inheriting its properties. As a kid, of course, I used to believe it. Not because it made me feel strong, per se, but rather that I belonged somewhere.

"...I don't think they go anywhere." I replied honestly, "You're talking about the ships, right?"

"What else could I be talking about?" Her answer held animosity to it, "And what do you mean by that? Everyone knows they go somewhere, we just don't know where."

"Why do they need to go somewhere? Just because they're distant doesn't mean they're gone. People jump to stupid conclusions based on what? Do they have trackers on the ships? Or maybe they've infiltrated it? Of course not. No one knows, and maybe that's for the best."

Normally quick to respond, she was silent. Shit, was I too severe? I inwardly added. She didn't deserve it, and my anger wasn't justified, but she was the one who brought the subject, so I didn't apologize.

"...Didn't know you had such strong feelings about it," She said with a smile, making me confused, "At least I know that you actually feel stuff."

"Oh, shut up." I replied, copying her smile.

"That's the best reply you could think of?" She narrowed her eyes, sizing me up, "I thought that you were suppose to be an author?"

"I normally use my thinking skills to things that actually matter, not some--you know--petty discussion..." I said, hands behind my back as I stared at the cloudy sky.

"Is that what this is? Is that what you tell yourself? Barry Lockwood?" Mentioning my pen name, she chuckled. In response, I gave a faint smile and looked away once again.

Capturing my attention, I saw a church, far away into the distance. It loomed over an edge as if it wasn't scared of falling. The ferocious waves implored for purpose as if they could sense the meaning that stood on the surface. Although nature was always right, this time it failed to see the oxymoron in the structure; a hopeless church. Dwelling amidst the gaps in the pews, the wind whispered to no one. Who knows for how long has it been abandoned? And that wasn't an exception; almost every other church had the same fate. It was to be expected since the arrival of the ships, but what scared me the most was how quickly people turned against their own faith. It was weird how the supposed discovery of after life made people give up on religion. There were still a few priests roaming around, preaching the word of the Lord, and I respected their persistence, but in reality, no one was listening, maybe not even themselves.

"...Bloody shame, right?" She pointed towards the church with her head, "Those were one of the only things that actually meant something in this... forsaken land."

"Did you know that, since last year, more than 50 million people committed suicide?" I turned to look at her, her gaze still drained, "That means one in each hundred and fifty people kill themselves."

She looked around, as if the lack of people in an otherwise touristic spot was answer enough for her qualms, "...There was a time I'd relish being just the two of us here, but now it doesn't look that important anymore. And hey, I've never seen you so interested in this story, are you writing something again? How many months since you actually finished something?"

"I-I..." Bombarded with questions, I stuttered. Should I reveal it?

"And you know what?" She continued despite my lack of answers, "If I was standing on the middle of a cliff side, in bloody Ireland, with these fucking clouds ominously hanging over us, a-and I saw a ship carrying mother, I'd jump as well!"

Don't say that. I closed my eyes, in hopes she'd give up the subject. What if I told her, and she actually jump? Would I be able to live with myself knowing I caused her death? Maybe I shouldn't be scared, for the evidence of her fate was right beside me, but it still didn't convince me. Where, or when, is the destination? Is it merely a collective hysteria? An illusion?

"Don't say stuff like that," I reprimanded her with a stern voice, then deeply sighed, "...Do you want to talk about it? Marie, I--"

"Of course I want to talk about it!" The wind stopped, as if it was giving room to both of us, "She was my mother too, Harry! I-I know you're not the most social type, but Jesus, I just want to talk with someone... Even if it means hearing about your boring ass descriptions of a completely normal thing you saw yesterday..."

With an slightly agape mouth, I slowly closed it and gave her an apologetic smile. I'm sorry, sis. Perhaps, still hurt from the grief, I failed to see that her death shook many of us. Such a serious woman, she was, but intelligent, too! I guess one needed to be in favor of raising two children on one's own. And even though she was barely herself by the end, she was still my mother, and I loved her. I achieved success not because of fame or money, although the money part wasn't bad, but to impress her. Was that free smile, weeks ago, her way of telling me she was proud?

"...I'm guessing you and Ethan aren't on the best of terms...?" I carefully asked.

"You got that part right." She answered with a more calm and gentle voice. She sighed, "There's no order, is there? People told me that pain used to come in waves, and that was God's way of easing our suffering, but what about this? Two weeks after mother dies, I catch Ethan with that slut from work, a-and..."

Lashing out, the stomping of her feet on the soft grass raised a few bits of dirt. Startled, I resisted the urge of taking a step back. Marie grunted and picked up a flat pebble on the ground. I knew she wouldn't throw it at me, but I wasn't going to lie and say that the thought didn't cross my mind.

"Sorry, it's just... It's all to recent, and it messes with me." Throwing the stone up, she said, "But really, what kind of person cheats on someone like, two weeks after their mother fucking died?"

I escaped a laugh as I looked away and tried to hide it.

"Right?" Marie chuckled, "I don't know what I saw on that guy..."

"Me neither," I added, "I mean, you should've realized he wasn't worth it the second he peed with his pants down."

"Oh, right! Forgot about that..."

We both laughed as the wind stopped once again. It came and went, like the waves beneath us. For a moment, it felt as though the sun was slipping through the white crowd in the sky, but it merely was a mirage. For how long hadn't Marie and I talked? I mean, of course we chatted from time to time, but a talk? A real talk? That was a while ago. It was a shame that someone had to die for us to meet again. Though, I was willing to make these meetings regular. For how long would I be able to talk with my sister before I see her silhouette on the ship?

"...And you know what the worst part is?" Her smile became more faint as her eyes were fixated on the endless sea ahead, "He made me happy."

"There are a lot of ways one can be happy, Marie. Don't fall on that vortex." I replied, "Trust me, it's not worth it."

As the wind blew one more time, it struck the base of my coat.

"Do you want some?" I offered Marie, "Freddie Beans."

"I--Wait, do you still actually eat those?" She asked, dumbfounded.

"Y-Yeah, mother used to bring us every time."

"I..." She looked away, as if a memory struck her, "Oh shit, that's true. How could I forgot?"

"Maybe because you hated them?" I said.

Marie simply nodded as we kept staring into the sea, living in a weird world. Pieces of that infinite blue, those who carried our loved ones, were roaming around the ocean, untraceable. In older times, sailors believed the end of the sea to be the world's edge. Today, for those on the ship, that may very well be true. As if balancing itself on the border, it orbited humanity, making it impossible to get near.

Tired, she rested her new jeans on the grass, leveling herself to the horizon as if paying respect to... something. I remained still, watching over her and the sea.

I couldn't be sure what to do with the information I had. But one thing I knew: She was my sister, and she deserved to know the truth, even if it meant nothing at all.

In a stiff manner, my legs straightened through the green floor, its velvety texture hugging my tight muscles, "...I saw her on the ship, a couple weeks ago."

"...What?" Marie slightly turned her neck as she settled herself on the grass, perplexed, "Her who? Who you talking about, Harry?--"

The answer hit her like a truck, her eyebrow rising as she slowly placed a hand over her gaping mouth.

"Oh my God!" Her hand was off her mouth, and it revealed a surprising smile, "Are you serious? I-It was her? How as she? Was she waving at you? How did she look?..."

As she kept on asking, I closed my eyes in relief. Hammering questions onto my head as if I were a teacher, she eventually gave me room to breathe and continue.

"...So you're not mad? O-Or scared, anyway? Like, are you angry--or frustrated--is what I mean." I needed to be sure.

"Mad? What you on about?" She replied, "Oh... You thought I was serious when I said that thing about--you know--jumping and stuff...? Fuck, I'm sorry, Harry, I-I was kidding, okay? A-A joke."

"Oh, well..." Convinced, I relaxed and let the Earth devour me, "I was just... afraid of losing you too... Irrational, right? To think you would actually do that."

"Yes, it was," Marie lay beside me, "But it was thoughtful of you... It's just weird, you know? To think that she actually made it. She's in the boat, Harry! S-She's literally going to heaven."

"You can't possibly know that, Marie," I asked whilst resting my eyebrows, "We don't even know why they happen, or how they happen. Some people get chosen, but others are simply thrown away."

"Still," She said, hopeful, "I believe there's something good on the other side, wherever it is that they go to. There's even a Greek God or something that's based on that, right? It's the ferryman--Charon! It's Charon, the ferryman! You used to love that shit..."

"I'm just saying," I continued, "Don't get your hopes up. Just because they're smiling, doesn't mean they're happy. As far as we know, they can be mimics. Although it does hurt me to see her smile as nothing else but a... facade."

"She was smiling? You saw it?"

"Yeah," I inadvertently curled my lips, "That big droopy smile she always had. What caught me on the moment was how she reacted to me, like she knew I was watching. I... I just wish we knew what happened after."

"I know, right? It almost feels like fiction."

Fiction. Why did I focused on that word? Something inside me was boiling as she said it. I opened my eyes, more alert. Looking away, I began trying to find the source of that boiling in my organism. I know, it didn't made sense, but I thought that maybe I was bitten by something, even though there were no rashes and other symptoms.

"Harry?" Marie asked, confused, "Are you okay?"

Fiction. Fiction. Why was that word on my mind? Popping from one side to another, it was ricocheting inside my brain like a tennis ball. Was this all fiction? What did it meant? How could anything be fiction? Maybe something was telling me that the ship was a fiction; it wasn't real. A creative work, an illusion. But then it hit me; Charon.

Was it the ferryman's work? How could it be? What did it actually mean? Taking souls from earth to... where? It truly felt like a fiction. And then it hit me again as I remembered what Marie told me; I loved Greek Mythology.

I remembered something long gone. But no, it couldn't be, it was impossible, and the implications were nonsense. Every fiber of my being was shivering. Perhaps it was a crazy man's first instinct to trust his hallucinations, but maybe it took an even crazier man to ignore them, for they were part of who he was. I remembered something; maybe a copy still remained in mother's house. There was only one way to find out.

"H-Harry, Jesus!" She exclaimed, worried after I abruptly got up and began running opposite of the sea, "What are you doing? W-Where are you going?"

"To mom's house!" I yelled as I panted slightly; I wasn't an athletic person, "...I'll explain later!"

Her old place was not too far from the spot we were. For many years, they tried to bring her house down just to give room to a parking lot. She did gave not up, thankfully, which raised my respect for her. After 10 minutes of running and another 15 minutes waiting for my taxi--I really couldn't bear to take another step--I arrived.

Instead of noticing utensils on the floor and dusty desks, I saw a cozy cabin. The house wasn't far from where we were, and there were at most a few other houses nearby. As soon as I entered, the window on the left was closed, and a large mountain loomed in the distance. The kitchen on the right, immaculate as mother always left it, was only lit by the dim light coming from the hidden sun. At the end of the hallway in front of me was a broken cabinet. With no way to lock it, I opened it without any trouble.

It was crazy to think, but if it were true... I inspected the filthy boxes, searching for the reason I'd come. Almost giving up hope, I spotted a pile of papers at the bottom. That's it! I thought to myself, I found it! And within the papers, I searched for one in particular, the one that would explain everything.

Besides being a man, I was an author. I respected my words just as I respected my integrity. Perhaps my flow of respect was circular, as my words often determined that integrity, but it didn't matter. I wrote only real, mundane stories. When I was little, however, I always strived to tell the most miraculous stories possible, and it was one of them I was searching for.

One night, while stargazing, mother told me that the lights of those stars represented a very distant past, and that these stars had probably already died or were much older than their light suggested. What if I replaced the stars with people? And the lights with ships? A thought took shape, and that way, I could tell a story my mother would be proud of.

Holding the dirty paper, which was barely hanging on, I read it. It told a story about illusive ships, and how two siblings, who hadn't seen each other for a long time, talked about their mother's death.

Quickly wiping my tears away from the paper, afraid of damaging it even more, I understood my role. As the author, I owed everyone respect.

I didn't know how or why I could do this, but I knew how this story had to end. For my sister and my mother, I decided to tell a fiction I'd never had the courage to finish. Looking to the left, a window opened; the sea stared back at me. Now all that was left was to get to work.