#decommissioned

Rattle of the lock stirs it back up. Crate door swinging open. Nina's waiting outside in her big t-shirt, hair all messy and eyes full of sleep, prettiest thing imaginable ever. Collar hanging loose from the fingers of one hand, other rubbing at her neck, as if she slept funny and got herself a kink in it again. Clicks her tongue, once-twice. "Up and at 'em, sweetheart," and Doe doesn't need telling again.

Slithers out on hands and knees, stretches all the way this time, spindle-supple play bow, joints pop-popping along shoulders and back. Crate's good, crate's safe, sleeps better knowing it's stuck in there and Nina has the key than anywhere else on Earth, but - a li'l small, just maybe. Knots worked loose, Doe kneels up and waits for her collar.

"What're we doing, today, again?" Nina says, as she slips soft sun-warm leather 'round Doe's neck. Fingers ghost across the place where Doe's implant isn't any more, and it's okay but only 'cause it's her. The thought gets spiked through by the little jaggy pleasure-shiver of Nina threading the buckle, same as it felt yesterday, same as it'll feel tomorrow, and Doe forgets about feeling bad. "It's, mnm. Tuesday, right?"

"As a matter of fact, ma'am, it is Wednesday. Takin' you to the clinic this afternoon. Bloods need doing."

"That's today?" Nina plays up her surprise, just a little, just so Doe can feel that extra bit nice about keeping track for her. God she is the best.

"Yes ma'am," Doe says, wins itself a tousling of its bed-scrambled hair, clever 'n' useful 'n' good-for-Handler playing in its gut like puppydogs. Nina, heading for the door, pats her thigh in the way that means heel, Doe, and Doe heels.

"Your turn to make breakfast, or mine?"

"Your turn, ma'am."

Views of USS WISCONSIN (BB-64) in the reserve basin at. Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. USS INTREPID (CVS-11) to the left and at right is USS IOWA (BB-61). These ships are part of the Mothballed Fleet here.

Photographs recorded on April 1980.

Life isn't fair. Why would death be any different?

Blaine Goodwin moves into the Lighthouse on Skyreef Refuge to save the old place. Their husband, Harvey, restores places to their former glory; Blaine is the one who preserves them, revitalizes them, bringing them into the light once again. There's something special about coming to an old home nobody's lived in for years and making it feel human again.

The longer they reside in the Skylight, though, the stranger things become. Words whisper on the winds; storms batter the island; saltwaters consume them in living rot; the day-to-day of their lives becomes swallowed by the something that never left the old decommissioned lighthouse. Uncovering the spirit won't satisfy her, however. She wants something more from them; she wants something she lost herself, long ago. Blaine's quest of restoration instead becomes one of searching, understanding, and reaching through the veil to the hands clawing out from the other side.

© EricBrazier.com

well SO HAVE I and SOON WE CAN

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