Journal Entry, Dated 04/02

Jasmine

Metadata

Reference Number: BICI/SSP/CRJ0402/002

Title: Journal Entry, Dated 04/02

Author: Jasmine

Date: Written approximately 04/02, Year 5607 A.o.W.

Extent: One journal entry, four pages long

04/02

The last fisher just went out to sea, giving me my first break of the night. I count them one by one as they take their lanterns and sail away. It’s exhausting and tedious, but I’d rather track them all and know when I can leave than have someone else disappear past the fog. 

I can see their lanterns extinguishing through the window. Soon, they’ll all go dark, and the only light will come from me. I don’t like the darkness. I hate being unable to see them; I never know what to expect. They insist it’s to not disturb the fish, but… I just don’t see why it’s worth the risk. 

Maybe that’s why I’m not a fisher. Even if I had the chance… no. I struggle to call the lighthouse a good place to work, but it’s far better than a rickety little boat jostled by choppy waters.

It’s quiet now. But not peaceful. It’s… unsettling. The birds haven’t come by today. I cleaned up all the blood, but I wonder if they can still smell it. 

Maybe they smell my dinner.

Spica tried her best, but our attempt at dinner was awful. Gull is a strange meat; I’m not sure if I’ll ever get used to it. Worse still, the meat was somehow fishy. It lingered in my mouth for hours afterward. How do you fuck up tasting like fish? I don’t understand.

Blossom took one bite of the meat and refused to eat more, not that I can blame her. Spica and I forced down as much as we could, then tossed the scraps to the village cats. Even they seemed disappointed to eat it.

We took the carcass and made soup. Without the fishy meat, it still wasn’t great, but it was tolerable. Even Blossom ate some of that. 

She didn’t yell at me for killing her friend. She saw the bird, plucked and headless, on a cutting board on our kitchen table, muttered, “Ugh, not again,” and stormed outside. When she came back, it was with Spica in tow. 

Spica will never read this, but sorry. For the trouble. And the shitty dinner.

And Blossom… I can’t stop thinking about our conversation earlier. I got the morning’s first batch of milk bread from the bakery for her breakfast. We had some leftover melon. I sliced the last of it up for her. 

Blossom jumped back and nearly screamed when she came down to see me in the kitchen this morning. She put a hand over her heart, trying to calm herself down. “What are you doing awake!?”

I sat at the table. The food was in front of me, and I had arranged what I had saved for her into something presentable. “I couldn’t sleep.”

She crept closer to the table. Her eyes kept darting towards the bread. “Sooooo… you got bread to wake yourself up?”

I pushed the bread towards her. “It’s all yours.”

She snatched up a piece and stuffed it in her mouth like a squirrel stealing a nut. “Really?” she asked, already chewing. Of course she didn’t think to ask that before eating. 

I thought of how Mom would scold her for talking with her mouth full. She hated bad table manners. Blossom picked them all up from me. 

“I already ate.”

“Yesssss!” She wrapped her thin arms around the entire basket and dragged it towards herself. The melon was abandoned off to the side. I should have predicted that, honestly. 

She spent the next few minutes tearing through as much bread as she possibly could. Even for her age, she’s tiny. How does she fit all that in her? I definitely couldn’t. After a while, talking became interesting again, because she asked me, “Are you sure you’ll be okay tonight?”

“I can take a nap and still be at the shore to count lanterns in time.”

“I can count lanterns for you,” Blossom said innocently, as if she hadn’t pitched this same idea to me two dozen times before.

“You have school,” I reminded her.

Scowling, she picked up another piece of bread. Her scowl deepened when she put it down a moment later. She must have been too full. “I don’t like school.”

“I know, and I don’t care. You’re going.”

She didn’t look any different than the day before, but something in her eyes had changed when she looked at me. They were still pale, still too big for her face. But they were empty. Made her stop looking like a child. “No one should have to be alone there.”

She used to scare Mom and Dad whenever she did this. I remember overhearing a conversation I shouldn’t have, one night when I couldn’t sleep. Blossom and I still shared a room back then, with Mom and Dad taking the other, and they must not have noticed me as I pushed open our bedroom door.

Their bedroom door was also open, and I could hear them murmuring to each other in bed. About how Blossom insisted she learned her songs from the lighthouse, and Mom, after hearing that, told Dad to keep her out of there until she was at least my age. Then she sighed.

“Sometimes I wonder if we shouldn’t have let Dilsk convince us to have another child. That we should have stopped at one like we originally agreed. I love Blossom as much as I do Jasmine. Of course I do. There’s just… something not right with her. And it scares me.”

I’ll never forget that.

I didn’t think there was anything wrong with Blossom back then. I didn’t realize she was strange. Her songs were new and intriguing to me, sure, but that didn’t make her… wrong, or frightening.

Now, I know better. I know that her songs are just as strange as she is. But that’s just who she is. Besides, she wasn’t the only strange child in our family. I was strange, too, especially at her age. Why would I ever want to leave Seabreeze Shoal – my home, my legacy? 

Only Spica ever understood me. 

“Dad managed it just fine on his own before I was old enough to start helping.” I told her.

The emptiness faded from her eyes. Sometimes I wonder what unsettled Mom more: the moment when the emptiness came, or the moment when it left. “But it shouldn’t have to be like that! Besides, I know you hate it. If I helped, maybe you’d hate it less,” Blossom said.

Maybe I would. We could share the burden if she worked there. We’d also see each other every day, unlike now. Between her days at school and the nights I have to work at the lighthouse, sometimes we only see the other asleep. I don’t mind being by myself, but she’s my sister. Even when she pisses me off, I’d still rather have her hanging around, bothering me all day.

“I’ll keep going to school. I’ll even go today! Let me work with you tonight and skip tomorrow. Missing one day won’t be enough to make me fall behind.”

“Blossom…”

“Please?” Blossom asked. “Please, Jasmine?”

She looked at me so intently, and for a moment, I could see the future that she was hoping for. She’d get her hands slick with lantern oil and laugh. She’d sing her songs to the fishers, wishing them a safe trip and a hearty haul. She might not fill that dead place with life, but she’d love the ghosts there far more than I ever could. 

And seeing her so happy… maybe I could forget about them for a little bit too.

I almost gave in. Said yes. But I stopped myself. If I let her talk me into this, then she’d push and push. Missing one day would turn to two, then three, and before I knew it she’d be stuck at this lighthouse forever. 

I know she loves the lighthouse, but she’s young. She doesn’t know anything else. There’s an entire world out there she’ll never be able to see if she gets stuck here with me. School isn’t perfect, but it’ll teach her skills the rest of the world uses.  

Should she decide to work at the lighthouse at sixteen, then fine. She’ll be old enough to make her own choice.

But until then? She needs options, even if she doesn’t think she does.

The corners of her mouth crept upward as she waited for my answer; she was expecting a yes.

Maybe that’s why she looked so crushed when I shook my head.

I sent her off to school. Once she’s there, it’s hard for her to run off. She won’t come to the lighthouse tonight. She may sneak over here some nights, but she knows better than to try during the new moon. I hate calling that time sacred, but it’s the closest word I can find to the truth.

She didn’t take any of the remaining bread.

The fishers are still fine out at sea. No one’s lit their lantern yet. No one probably will for a while longer. The lighthouse is sweeping the sea as usual. I’ll have to shovel more wood into the furnace soon, but I have a few more minutes until I have to leave.

Blossom’s not strong enough to move an entire wheelbarrow full of wood on her own, but she could do it in two trips. She’d feel so helpful. She’d love to help spark that light.

We’d spend more time together that way.

Ugh…

Next time, I’ll tell her yes. She can help me. 

…Tomorrow. I’ll tell her tomorrow. She won’t shut up about it for the next month, but at least she’ll be happy.