The idea is simple – post an unedited stream of consciousness piece that ties into the weekly prompt – this week’s is to write a post that uses the word or theme: shape.
I thought immediately of this song, so I looked up the video, and then the story was born..
Shape of My Heart…
Trip Tucker heard the music before the hatch had slipped open enough to poke his head through – sweet, swelling notes, bouncing of the tubelike walls of Travis’s Sweet Spot. He thought of closing the hatch, but whoever was up there had to have seen it moving, and he figured it would be pretty rude to leave without announcing himself…
T’Pol was sitting, cross-legged and straight-backed, upside-down on the ceiling, watching him.
He wasn’t sure who he’d expected – but he knew it wasn’t her. He wasn’t sure where he stood with her, really – he was the only one on the ship who knew how close they’d come to losing her a few days ago – but he only knew because he’d poked his nose into her personal affairs…affairs, arranged marriage…
As if trying to figure out how to deal with the gorgeous Vulcan wasn’t hard enough without all that.
She was still watching him. Waiting. Why the hell did she always remind him of a hunting cat when she did that? “Want company?” he asked, not sure if she could hear him over the music.
As though reading his mind – good Lord, she couldn’t, could she? – T’Pol touched the datapad she held and the music cut off mid-note in a way that made him cringe a little. He never liked to turn off a song or a movie in the middle. “Please join me, if you wish.”
The ball’s in my court, then…Trip’s heart gave a ridiculous little throb as it sped up at the thought of sharing this small space with her- and he pushed off into the null-grav tube and aimed himself at the space next to her. Once he was settled, he looked at the pad she held. “You didn’t have to turn it off. What’re you listening to? It sounds familiar.”
“It is a selection from your gift,” she answered. “According to your notes, the performer is named simply Sting, and the song, although titled “Shape of My Heart”, seems to have nothing to do with anatomy, but rather with art, games, meditation, and mathematics.” She got that adorable little wrinkle in her forehead that said she was trying to work her way around to the real point.
“I think I remember that one – but I haven’t heard it in a long time. Mind starting over, so I can catch up?” Trip smiled at her, and a whiff of her citrus-and-sandalwood perfume hit him full force, reminding him of that damned Suliban cell and the way she’d been – would he ever get the chance to see where that could lead?
T’Pol said nothing, only touched the screen, which came back to life. Now that he heard the first few notes, he knew the song, and the video – he’d really liked this one in his early twenties- so he watched T’Pol watch the screen. She remained perfectly still and straight, but she got that look in her eyes again, and her face opened up, quick flashes of tiny muscle movements saying that she was feeling something intense, something she’d said she only felt with human music.
The song unfurled to a sweet ending – and then Sting snorted and laughed, the drummer lobbed off some random notes, and everyone guffawed.
“Why did they laugh? Is the song intended to be humorous?”
“I don’t know why – but it’s not a funny song. Maybe they just needed to vent a little after they played. Maybe they were laughing at a joke someone told that morning. “
“Human emotional responses are often erratic and ambiguous. I don’t understand them.”
“Wanna know a secret? Most of the time, neither do we. But maybe it would be better to explore what you feel when you listen.”
“He speaks of geometry, meditation, and probable outcomes. These are quantifiable terms, and suggest a logical mind and a level of self-awareness. And yet he speaks of luck and chance and the shape of his heart, as though those things are also logical and quantifiable. I feel that I’m intended to understand the message to be conveyed, but I don’t.” She regarded him with those almond shaped hazel eyes, and Trip knew she was looking for answers she could define – and that she expected him to provide them.
“Humans don’t necessarily make music to pass along a message, T’Pol – or at least, not like that. He might have been sharing a daydream, or telling a story, or just trying to evoke a mood. A lot of Sting’s music is like poetry – mood, imagery, deep thought, symbolism. I think he meant for everyone to take from it whatever they did – he was offering something from inside of him.”
“The ‘shape of his heart?’ ” T’Pol said, in that husky way she had when she was unsure of herself.
“I guess so.”
“Then – the ‘shape of my heart’ is what is contained within me -beneath logic and language?” Her scent was getting stronger, and her pupils were huge and dark, and Trip swallowed as she lifted paired fingers that quivered the tiniest bit- damn…
He could only watch as her fingers came for his; he knew what was coming, and he wanted it, was terrified of it…
And still, he lifted his fingers to meet hers, and, as her other hand began the song again, he felt the touch, and they melted together into a sharing that was reshaping his human heart to better suit hers…
Enjoy stream-of consciousness writing? Anyone can play, so long as they are willing to follow a few simple rules. See you next week, for another live-streaming look into the lovely chaos in my mind! =)