DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters
are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc and Viacom. The story contents are the
creation and property of Djinn and are copyright (c) 2005 by Djinn. This story
is Rated PG.
Confessions of a Construct
by Djinn
I am a woman, his woman. Though
you think I was never his woman, I was. I was enough to fill his paradise—although
you'll tell me now he never cared for paradise.
I'm his woman because the
others were too hard, too soft, too much someone else's women to use. I was the
perfect woman—faceless, formless, a silhouette on a hill, a name behind a
closed door. I'm voiceless, featureless. Worthless, you might say.
Lifeless, certainly. I took
no shape other than female. You don't know how my hair shines, or if my eyes
are more like chocolate or stormy seas. You don't know if I have lines from
laughing or frowning or at all. You do not know me. Only those who created me
know me. And they never cared for me; they only cared that I be his woman.
I captured him. I loved him. I
lived with him. We had a dog. His dog died. I lived with that damn dog. I
nursed him through his last days. That dog existed. Butler existed. And so did I.
Even if you hate me, I
existed. For a moment, a lazy, jealous, "We won't use those who came
before" moment, I existed.
I was Jim Kirk's love. My
name means "priceless." If I were a male, I'd be the one who stole
Caesar's woman. Jim is named for a Caesar. You see how it all comes together? You
see?
You never knew that he rode
horses, did you? Chris Pike rode horses. But Jim? You never knew that about
him, did you? He did. He rode horses. With me, because they said so, he rode
horses. Is it such a stretch? He climbed mountains. He was athletic and limber
and fond of tearing skin and shirts.
Is it so much to believe he
loved horses? Don't feel bad—I never knew that about him either. I never knew
him before the moment I woke up in his life. I remember nothing, and then I
remember him. I was formless, inchoate potential, waiting to be actualized. Waiting
to be given life and floated off fully formed on a half-shell for him to find. I'm
a Venus, but you can't possibly know that. You've never seen me. They never let
you see me.
They were afraid to let you
see me.
I'm beautiful. What else
would I be? This was Jim Kirk, they said. What other kind of woman would there
be for him? Make her beautiful. Make her a Helen. But they didn't let you see
me. So much beauty and they were still afraid of you, afraid of what you'd say,
how you'd tear me down and find my flaws. I should have been some other, you'd
say. You still say it. I hear the rumblings now just as I heard them then. Even
in my own head. I was given form, given movement, given no words to say. But I
heard the whispers.
"Ruth."
"Carol."
"Janet."
"Gillian."
"Spock."
And later, in paradise, when
Jim could have had anyone, I heard other names.
"Edith."
"Miramanee."
I hated paradise too, you
know. I hated being a prisoner. I hated watching Jim act that way. I didn't
know him and yet...
Even I could see that this wasn't
how he would have wanted to live his life. He wouldn't want to be a slave to
paradise, to anything.
He wasn't a slave to me. He
was going to marry me, wanted to marry me. He made Ktarian
eggs. He bounded into the bedroom and ended up in the stables. I wasn't there;
it was confusing. I watched from the shadows where they made me stay. I was
born in the shadows of the minds that would kill him, and I had to watch his
end from the same shadows.
You never heard me scream for
him. You never saw me cry for him. You never heard me whisper, "No,"
as I too ceased to exist.
I died away as easily as I
was born. A spirit only, never a real woman. You didn't believe in me. He
didn't believe in me. Even my creators didn't believe in me, not enough to give
me form. If they had, would I believe in me?
I don't blame you for hating
me. I hate me too sometimes. I wish I was one of those others. Those
Ruth-Carol-Janet-Gillian-Spock -Edith-Miramanees. I
wish I was someone you could believe in. Someone he could have believed in. I
wish I was worth braving paradise for.
I wish I'd been given a taste
of life outside of paradise. I wish they'd been brave enough to let me see you,
and let you see me.
You'll never know who I am. You'll
never know that when I'm amused, my eyes crinkle up and I cough sometimes if I
laugh too hard. You'll never know that I cry in an ugly way—my nose gets red
and my eyes water and I just want to be left alone.
You'd be happy if Jim had
left me alone. If I had never existed.
I know. I'd be happier too.
It's not easy being a
fantasy. It's not pleasant being hated. It isn't comforting to know I'm a
construct of frightened men who wanted nothing to do with the past except to
destroy it forever.
It's not easy being Antonia. But
I am she, and so will I always be.
I must go now. Paradise is
calling. A dog lies waiting. And a man chops wood and thinks about me,
wondering why he can't remember what color my eyes are.
I will tell him not to feel
bad. I don't know what color they are either.
FIN