<USS Avalon> D.A.B.D.A- Hand Over Hand: Epilogue by Lieutenant Alder Shimbrodus

D.A.B.D.A- Hand Over Hand

Epilogue 

by Lieutenant Alder Shimbrodus



Everything has a purpose. Every grain fills a sand, every drop to an ocean. 
Everything goes as it should be. The order of things, the way it was always 
meant to be; and nothing can change that. And just as the physical world has a 
purpose, so does fate. No matter how unfair it may be. Nor how unjust it may 
seem; fate is always served. A man once said that fate is not the factor to be 
blamed, but it is the time and manner of how it came to be that should be 
looked upon. Part of me sees this and denies it. It?s like saying don?t blame 
the cause, instead look at it?s effect. And yet part of me sees a clarity I?ve 
never comprehended before. But when you lose a family, it is hard no to see 
this as an unjust fate. And frankly, I couldn?t agree more with this not being 
an unjust fate. Yet the harshness of reality looms over me tells me I have to 
move on, pondering what has happened won?t help me now. It may be slow, and I 
will get there, and I can learn to live with this loss.

My dreams have become more vivid by the night. Sleep has pulled me into a 
reality I have no desire to be part of, yet in it because I am given no other 
choice.

I now live in a world that is desolate. It feels like I?m all alone in a city 
filled with rubble. And I cannot help but see the faces of which- you could 
say- are the builders. Every city has a founder, and my city was founded by my 
parents. I look out from a window- my eyes, and as the view I command is 
disparaging, I don?t know where to begin. Nor do I feel particularly inspired 
to do so. I am lost in my life. Reality converges like a great tidal wave that 
is made impossible for me to swim through. And as I stand there in front of the 
window, there are no ideas of how to do this at all. To the right of me is 
endlessness. To the left of me is pointlessness. Above me hovers infinity. And 
below me yawns eternity. 

I have shed my last tear that I would allow. Having more fall from my eyes 
would do nothing but drop me further into the despair. I cannot do that, not 
while I expect to survive. Maybe that is my fate. To live in the rubble. To 
adapt to the devastation that is my new life. I now live in a universe where I 
am completely alone, cut from the only family I truly knew and loved. But I 
can?t let this distract me. Life goes on, and strangely- so do I.

The question now remains is how do I begin to rebuild a world I?ve grown so 
fondly of and depended on? The answer; one stone at a time. Reality is harsh, 
life is even worse. Two aspects that has little understanding of people and 
even less compassion. I?ve since begun to rebuild my world. I have spent my 
time in hiding and muffling the sounds of a howling wind that sweeps through 
what?s left of the landscape that is my sanity. It?s time to come out to this 
dust and rubble and begin a long process that even I have doubts can be 
completed.

Standing in the midst of this mess, I?ve compiled a safe ground for which I can 
always remember my family. It is a monument, a collection of memories pressed 
together filled with both the good times and the bad. It is a monument for 
them, and a testament that I cannot give in. Not now. I looked around and it is 
as if I have picked up one of those many "stones" on the ground and having it 
arranged to my fitting. Making sure that it would fit just so. And once I?m 
satisfied, I?d take another stone and work from there and begin the process 
again. Making sure that anything significant that recalls my memory is safely 
sound and not loomed over in tears in which the back on my head so desperately 
wants to do. Instead, it has become a new goal to find my new place within this 
world. Within this universe.

I was wrong when I drew the conclusion there was nothing I cold do, there is a 
whole lot more I can do. By moving past this, I have taken those first 
essential steps. It is slow, but like everything, eventually I will get there.

Looking into space has a new meaning. It?s not the same feeling. And absence 
that is lost in me sees things like a movie in which I have no control of. I 
stand in my quarters, the lights are off and the darkness has added to this 
sadness I felt since the word of their death. It may be ignored- my sadness- 
but even with effort, it?s never really gone. But then, I suppose it will never 
be gone. Like dreams, we remember everything from bad to good, and those good 
dreams most certainly marred by the nightmares. Reality is not that different. 
The only difference is that it is happening, here and now. 

I jumped a little; a hand had settled upon my shoulder and I realized it was 
Anthony. His way of reassurance. I spaced out- so to speak- and forgot that he 
was here with me. It?s been a few days after the funeral. And as all things go, 
I had help getting my quarters back to ?order.? I don?t particularly care about 
getting my quarters restored, but I can?t help to notice just how Anthony?s 
been supportive with all this rebuilding process. He resonates with a quiet 
strength that I?ve grown fond of and I understood that there was a helping hand 
in the midst of all this.

Two nights ago, I found myself hugging my knees crying more then I thought I 
could have allowed, or spill out rather. My muffled sounds in attempt to not 
wake Anthony did not go unheard as warm hands wrapped around me again and he 
whispered, "it?s alright Alder...it?s alright." My emotions took over and my 
shoulder felt a cool wetness. I turned to notice over blurred vision that he 
too was crying- for me, and I realized it hurt him as well to see me like this. 
But he didn?t say anything as he wiped the tears off my face and then whispered 
one more thing, "remember, you?re never alone." 

I wanted to take away the hurt I saw in his eyes. To hold him in my arms until 
the pain eased away. I realized in that moment it wasn?t me; just him, just 
him. He wanted to take away my pain, to take away that awful emptiness that hit 
me like a sharp blade. I looked at Anthony through a film of emotions- rather 
than memories- that I?ve never seen before. A patina of nostalgia for better 
nights, of love and joy and warm bodies in the cold darkness. All this he 
wanted to do, as he kissed me at my temple and murmured that he would be here, 
always. 

Love- it can make you smile and cry at the same time. He said I wasn?t alone, 
that I would never be alone. Admittedly, I think he?s right. He was here, as 
part of my rebuilding, and I there wasn?t a word or act worthy enough to show 
Anthony how much I truly appreciate all that he has done.

I looked out into the stars as Anthony just watched along with me. He reached 
over and wrapped his hand over mine and I instinctively squeezed upon his grip. 

When a stone becomes too heavy for me to lift, I try to remember to ask for 
help. 


                
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