The Girl And The Sea Once upon a time, there were several scientists who wanted to study the effects of living in solitary conditions versus a populated area, and the effects these conditions had on the humans' immune system. So they asked for volunteers for these projects, expecting mothers who did not want their children. The mothers signed over control of their babies to these scientists. They were to be raised in complete solitude, never to meet another person. The only supplies they had were dropped off while they were sleeping, by specially trained men in hazmat suits. These babies each grew up in different corners of the world, never knowing a mother's touch, or a friend's embrace. They were never given names, and were not allowed outside. This is one of their stories. I softly padded over to the outside viewing port, opening it. The rain that was drumming against the glass pane splashed into the house in a flurry if raindrops. The frigid wind whistled through the open panes. It may be cold, but at least I could see the moonlight more clearly now. The#moonshone like a drop of liquid silver in the sky. I smiled at the sight. The shadows of the house seemed to retreat a bit. I sighed. The wooden floors creaked beneath my bare feet as I walked over to the food preparation area to prepare the daily evening meal. I coughed into my sleeve. That was the third time this hour. I didn't want to look at my sleeve. I reached up for some spices from the food storage unit, my arm coming into view. There was blood from where I had coughed on it. I winced at the time, and nearly dropped the thyme. I fumbled for the small bottle. I carefully placed it onto the preparing surface. I gently knelt down onto the ground, and reached into the cold food storage unit, pulling out the fish that I knew would be there. But there was no fish there today. I paused and sat back on my bottom, contemplating this unusual predicament. There had always been a fish in there at the evening meal time! There was never not a fish there. It just simply did not make sense. The sun rose after the moon, the air I breathed was full of sea water, and there was always a fish in the cold storage! It was... A fact! I calmly stood up. I mechanically turned to the stairs. I walked up the creaky structure, went into my bedroom, and stared at the small glass box on my wall. The words 'in case of emergency' had been painted there ever since the day I had the capacity to understand them. There had never been an emergency before. The instructions for how to use it had been removed the day I learned what a phone did from the viewing monitor. But that day was different. I had woken up at dawn, feeling quite peculiar. I had expelled waste from my nostrils in a particularly violent method just after I had made my sleeping unit neat again. I turned to my trusty dictionary again for this phenomenon. It was called a sneeze, and usually signified that the person doing it was getting sick. Then later on, I had begun coughing. That had been even more painful than the sneeze. And finally, the fish was gone. My only source of food. Was. Gone! If this wasn't an emergency, then I didn't know what was. Instead of breaking the glass, like I had seen on the viewing monitor, I just simply removed the front panel. I was breathing heavily, my chest rattling like that peculiar children's musical instrument that I had been given as an infant. I slowly reached my bloody arm toward the phone. I picked up the reciever, and moved it to my ear. I waited patiently for an answer. A mechanical voice informed me that, "We are terribly sorry, but the funding for 'Project Immunity' has been canceled, and therefor the project has been terminated. All subjects will be left on their own from now on." I gulped. I may have grown up without any human interaction, but I had never been completely alone before. There were always the people who came in the night when I was sleeping to deliver my food, and the possibility of rescue if I ever pushed my panic button. But now I had no one. I was left to fend for myself. I supposed I still had the people in my books and on the viewing moniter. So I went to watch one of the scenes on the vieweing moniter, only to find that it would not turn on. I noticed that it was getting colder in here too. I dashed over to the food preparation area. My dinner was late, but maybe I could salvage together something from the ingrediants that I still had. I checked throughout all of the food storage areas, but there was nothing in them that I could even snack on, much less make a meal out of. I started another coughing fit. This time it felt as if my ribs were being crushed. I'm pretty sure that I felt one of my lungs move out of place, too. I doubled over in pain. So after that I decided to record all of these thoughts and feelings into a journal of sorts. Of course, since I have no blank books, I have had to write this in the backs of my novels. It has been four days, with no food, heating, or other commodities. I am still very ill, and I fear I may die soon. If I do, and if by some chance you are reading this, please dump my body in the sea. It's the closest I've got to a proper burial ceremony, and I do so love the sea. If I have died, please also give me a name. I've never had one before. I would also like for you to know that if you have found me and I am still alive, I love you. It's no joke, I really do love you with all my heart. How could I not? You're the first person to ever touch me, lock eyes with me, have a conversation with me. In fact, I love you even if I have never met you, and I am already dead. Everyone in this world deserves love. I never got any. So, if you are reading this, please do too things for me. Please accept my love for you, and please spread that love to every person that you know. This will be my last entry. Goodbye. Love, A Nameless Girl, 16 Years Old, The Floating House, The Middle of the Pacific Ocean You put down the book. Tears are running down your eyes. Gathering up the books, you show them to your co-workers. They all look grim after reading them. Staring at the rotting corpse on the bed and thinking of the young woman who wrote this are two entirely seperate things. After deciding that these journals should be published for the whole world to see, you and your co-workers try to name the deceased girl. "Morgan?" Suggests one. "Rose?" Prompts another. "Marin." You say. "It's French, meaning the sea." They all nod in agreement. You set to work giving the poor lady the burial she wanted. Someone decides to give a small speech in her honour. "I may not have known Marin, but I felt like I could identify with her. We've all lived #life alone, in some way. Friends may come and go, but solitude is eternal. Because we were the first to find her, we were also her very first friends. I think that this friendship might be the most important we will ever make. I hope now that wherever her soul is, or even if we don't have souls, that she is happy, and with people that will love and care for her. We are fulfilling this young girl's final request, and we will do so with dignity and honour. Gentlemen, if you please." You watch as they slowly lower Marin's body into the water. You think that this may be the first time that she has been outdoors. The house had no doors, and the windows were too small to climb through. You wished that you could have met her. She seemed very interesting. Maybe you could have hugged her, at least once, before she died. You are now openly crying. You turn away from the now finished ceremony, and you look back at the ship. You think that things might never be the same for you again. "I love you too..." You whisper to the sea.