Kindred: Ch. 1 - Bad Start

I followed her everywhere, her fury, her joy, her love, and her suffering.

There was none who knew her better, none who listens as I do.

But she never glances my way.

Couldn't.

Lately I've found myself anchored to the Gerber she carries, clipped to the hem of her jeans and tucked safely under the layers.

One day it is taken from her, and my essence aches as it is torn away.

It would be a dreadfully long, long Time 'ere I felt such warmth again, and I long to feel something more than the fleeting brushes of warmth in the permafrost chill that had settled in and made me so sluggish.

My next shell, however, was not so conveniently sized. But I found I rather liked this new form.

Upon the seat she sat and to faraway places did we travel.

But the body too frail, and one day I was once more rend from my vessel.

The pain is dreadful, to be torn apart so, and I would have gladly took to the end were it not for the crestfallen visage that hovered above my worn shell.

The next is promising, a handsome metallic green road bike, and a quality brand no less!

But this too wears down, the axle of handle and wheel snapped, and then I was once more taken into the dreaded shop.

With no spare parts and the make no longer produced, I was severed once more.

Finally though, a metallic grey Rayleigh arrives. The warranty replacement for the green one, a better one, an upgrade for the parts they lacked. A sturdy thing of yet better quality. I hoped it would be like the Gerber, that it wouldn't lose out to the sands of Time.

And I am still with her today, her ever trusty steed. She whispers to me, thanks me for carrying her so far and so safely, and my heart swells with pride.

After a race through the rain, she pats me dry, heedless of the miniature mound of paper towels that gather beside her, or the grime on her hands as she gingerly dries my gears and bolts.

Lately though, it seems there is another.

On our outings I have come to notice another manifestation.

Lemniscate, I believe. For the symbol of infinity, that, that is without limit. Why they chose it, was beyond me and no business of mine.

This one carries the one mine own is oft with these days. The other shade notices my gaze and offers an amiable smile and wave.

I ignore it. Mere distractions in her light. The other manifestation doesn't make another attempt. Instead, nonplussed, they returned to focusing on running smoothly, as they should be.

There was no reason to concern myself with any other but her, and I assumed the same of them.

She is my world, as he is their's.

Years pass and the teeth of my gears have worn, the rubber handles rubbed to crumble, the chain replaced, and my body sore and aching. My rear tire had been worn so thoroughly that the green rubber inside was showing rather prominently. I wasn't able to stop properly, the squeal of my brakes piercing ears. The seat clamp had also worn out, and the paint on my underside chipped by the rebounding gravel and debris of a literal life on the roads.

So utterly worn by use and Time.

But though it pained me so, it was proof. She loved me, and loved me still. For she never stopped taking me out, never stopped taking me places, and places did we go.

But I could feel it. I was braking again.

Silently I begged my vessel to last. There was nothing nearby that she had become so attached to. I wouldn't be able to escape, not this Time.

The pain to be torn from my anchor was too much.

Was it the end once more?

Not yet, I still wanted to take her places. Every Time we were out she would tell me of all the places she wanted to go, the places we would go together.

Someday.

I wasn't ready to go.

Didn't want to go.

My sole thoughts as she talked with her companion of my worn state, "Maybe it's just Time." She had said, patting the torn cushion of my seat, "I have had this bike for over half a decade."

Please, even if it's just one more ride. I wasn't ready. Don't give up on me! I can still take you there! I still want to!

I plead with her, though she cannot hear my voice.

She doesn't take me out again for a long Time.

From the porch I stare at her as she leaves each day without me, the dust of disuse gathering as do the spiderwebs.

One day though, she comes back and dusts off my seat (I had been there a long, long Time.), and my heart soars, for that could only mean one thing.

She's taking me out!

She takes me out with the others, her laughter as brilliant as I remembered.

Together we sped down the streets, and I reveled in the rush of wind.

Until I realized where we were.

She walked me into the shop.

I watched the brand new bikes enviously. Which one would take my place?

How sleek, how shiny, how much better they were. The newest models designed for speed and efficiency. Art on wheels.

A last glance, and a lingering hand, and her warmth was gone once more.

No no no no no--

A horribly familiar ticket was slipped around my handlebars.

The last Time this had happened I had torn my essence away, floating without anchorage in the relentless fury of the swirling aether.

Would I be able to hold out until she returned?

I had been so very close to disappearing into the aether before, and the horror of having your memories, your purpose, stripped away, little by little, was something I hadn't forgotten.

Don't let go, please! I want to stay with you! I don't look pretty like the other bikes, everything is worn down, I'm creaky and my brakes squeal, but, but--

--there was no reason for you to keep me, worn out as my vessel is.

I just needed enough Time. Which one would it be? I needed something familiar.

They talked to the man at the front desk, and then we were taken into the back, where all the other worn out bikes were.

I want to take you to all those places we had yet to go, but maybe it's true.

Maybe it was Time.

Everything about me was worn down.

I wanted to go with her, I truly did. But I couldn't take it, not again, especially with no shell to jump into.

To be without a vessel to anchor, was to succumb to the currents of the aethor.

With her diminishing presence did mine own weaken. In this state I couldn't go through having my essence torn out again.

But I tried anyways, because she is my world.

But without anything to ground myself, my grasp slips, and I'm pulled back into this old rickety metallic shell.

Not enough affinity. Not enough Time.

I make a last desperate lunge for the sketchbook I knew she carried everywhere, but she had not had this one long enough to impart such affinity.

And so I watched her leave, crestfallen and staring long after she had gone out of sight.

As I resign to this development, in my mind I hold onto the one moment where as she left.

She had turned back, and I swore our eyes met.

Her fond gaze I would remember, until the moment my essence dissipated back into the aether.

Somehow the ache I felt then, felt more real than any of that in my metallic frame.

"Don't worry, you'll see her again. Trust me." There is a hand on my shoulder, one I am quick to remove.

It was my desire for her to be my everything, I had not a moment's memory to waste on a discarded manifestation.

Our essence would fade, but with mine I would ingrain her into memory, her last loving gaze, her warm brown eyes be the last sentient recollection.

After a while, though I knew not how long,  a few men took me off from the rack.

They hoisted me on a rack so that I was suspended, and checked my condition.

Gears were shifted, new wires threaded, tension adjusted, tire replaced, by the end of it I was a smooth, fine, quality, piece of work.

Oh, if she could but see me now. 

A few skilled hands and I was tuned and pretty, but though my parts were new, they felt heavy, and the ache remained.

The short rounds I was taken out for were but mindless as I was put through my paces, though I should've been grateful to have been at the mercy of such artisans rather than a brutal furnace or scrapyard.

What would my new master be like? Would I even still be here when this material shell has been passed on? Would I want to be here?

They stuck the ticket back on me, and I was wheeled back onto the rack, next to all the other old, but fixed up, bikes.

And I realized then, that I wasn't the only one, and in the same breath, that I wasn't special.

All of them had been so lovingly used, some even taken care of primly by those well versed in mechanics.

It made it much easier to accept the nothingness I would return to, and I felt myself slipping.

No. Hold out.

Defying the aether, pure and true, is no different than anchoring oneself bare-handed, to a smooth mossy stone amidst a frothing rapid.

Difficult, and almost impossible.

Almost.

So I held on.

It frightened me that I couldn't remember our first ride--or how gentle her touches were as she patted me dry from the rain. What did her weight on my seat feel like?

I could barely hear her laughter.

My world had grown dull, like the back of the store I was in. Days passed, and though I tried to remain grounded, the strain was showing.

A hand grabbed me again and I brushed it off, irate.

"Leave me alone."

"No." Came the firm answer, though I'm certain they were in no better a state, "Hold out just a little longer, or is your Kin so frail that you cannot last."

The rage that courses through me is beyond words, and my anger scorches deep. They lurch away, hissing a curse as their essence smokes.

"My Love for her is greater than you will ever know, never will I shirk aside that which is my world." I spoke slowly, "To be without her is to be without Life, and I will ever hold on, but if it be the end, let the end be with her memory."

The other grimaces and shakes their head, "It is not the end. Trust them to come back for that which they hold dear. Or do you not trust your beloved so much?"

A retort is well on my lips when a familiar voice calls.

"Excuse me..."

I turn, and she is there. My beloved, my heart, my world.

She is accompanied by others of course, and as always she is difficult to spot, diminutive little thing that she is. But it is not them I see but her. All her.

"Told you." Came a smug voice behind me. They cross their arms coming to stand beside me.

But I hear little and less as I am wheeled out, and I leap forth into the awaiting arms of my beloved, the sudden lunge startling the mechanic and my beloved both.

But she laughs as she catches my handles, and admires me.

The other manifestation sighs, shrugging, and patiently waiting for their turn to greet their master. As usual I don't bother with acknowledgement. 

My world was back, and I was her's.

She marveled at my tuning, and I preened at her praise and attention.

I am beautiful, look at me! Look at how​ smooth my gears are, and how shiny I am!

And she does.

She's laughing that laugh--oh how could I almost forget?

And soon, she calls out, as she always does, "Forward my trusty steed!" And we're heading out.

For another adventure, another ride, my beloved and I.