Always Human story 1 (Patreon)

The box was smaller than Austen remembered.

As a child she’d thought it incredibly grand. The varnished wood had seemed ancient, the velvet lining so smooth and mysterious. She’d spent hours peering into it, sliding open each of the drawers, tracing her fingers over the links of a necklace or the engraved surface of a brooch. It had been a treasure chest of marvellous riches. It had been endless and enchanting and vast.

And now?

Now it sat there, on her desk, right in front of her. It was a normal box. A normal, ordinary, slightly smallish box. Not a big deal at all.

Austen’s fingers hovered over the clasp.

This had been a terrible idea. What had she been thinking, getting it out? Giving Sunati jewellery was such a ridiculous, mushy thing to do, Yasel would mock her forever. Sure, Sunati was a sentimental sap, but Austen wasn’t, was she? She should just wrap the box back up in its scarf, store it away, and pretend none of this had ever happened.

She glared at the desk.

She glared at the scarf resting beside the box, at the faded colours that had almost blurred into grey. She glared at her desk lamp, which was glowing an apparently soothing shade of peach. She glared at her hands, at her knuckles, at the rough edges of her nails – she’d have to file them later. Then with careful, considered movements she unlatched the clasp, and eased open the lid. And then just as slowly, just as precisely, she slid the drawers out, just so, until they were spread out on top of each other like the steps of some ancient pyramid.

She rested her hands, casually, in her lap.

The jewellery inside was more worn-down than Austen remembered. There were missing gems, broken pins, and the tiniest of scratches grazed lightly across the silver and gold. As a child it had all felt so magical.

Now it felt real.

She knew the story behind each piece, the history that was caught up in the tangle of necklaces, baubles and bracelets. She recognised the sapphire earrings that a great-something-grandmother had stolen. She saw the golden bracelets that an uncle, generations back, had won in an incredibly irresponsible bet. And there, sparkling in the lamplight, was the floral engagement ring that her grandfather had offered his love, the day before they eloped. It was a beautiful ring, the silver curling into delicate shimmering strands, with a tiny diamond at the heart of each flower.

Austen frowned, then slid shut the ring drawer. There. Out of sight, out of mind. She’d go through the other drawers carefully and she’d think about this. Carefully. But she did not need to look there.

When she’d gotten the box out, just a few minutes ago, Papá had grinned, bright and mischievous and oh so annoying, and suggested that a ring would be the perfect going-away present for Sunati. “It would be passionate,” he said. “So romantic,” he said. Austen had ignored him, even as his laughter followed her up the stairs and down the corridor. She’d slammed her bedroom door shut, just for the satisfaction.

She definitely wasn’t giving Sunati a ring.

Head in her hands, Austen scowled at the jewellery box. There had to be something in there.

Maybe the opal necklace? The chain was a bit old - she’d have to replace it - but the pendant still glowed like a bonfire, gleaming red and blue. It looked a bit like a nebula, when you squinted. And it was an Australian Opal, and it was at least a century old, and that was the sort of sentimental nonsense that Sunati would appreciate, right?

But the pendant was so big. And perhaps a bit old-fashioned. And did she really want to send Sunati off with something that would jangle around her neck and get caught on things? She needed something smaller, something that wouldn’t get in the way.

Perhaps the gold choker then? It was close-fitting, so it wouldn’t float around in zero-g. And it was beautiful, too. The chain was elegant, laced with tiny glimmering tear-drops, and it would contrast perfectly with Sunati’s now dark hair. Austen scooped it up, untangling the links, running it carefully between her fingers. The choker was dainty, almost weightless. It felt as though it could rip as easily as paper. She needed something sturdier.

Maybe the titanium wristband? That might work. Generations back a mother had given it to her soldier son, in the hopes that it would keep him safe. And he’d come home, so perhaps it had. The band was tinted a dark, dusky grey, and on the inside were the words Vaya Con Dios, each letter perfectly engraved. Go with God. It was an old phrase, and Austen certainly didn’t believe, but if there ever had been a god, if holiness was a thing that actually existed, then perhaps Sunati would find it out there, in some lonely and unexplored place.

Austen slumped back in her chair and groaned. Here she was, getting all philosophical. Of course she couldn’t give Sunati the wristband, it was bulkier than the pendant and would catch on everything.

In spite of herself Austen opened the ring drawer again.

She fished out a simple gold band, wrapped her fingers solidly around it, then pointedly shut the drawer.

When she was a child Austen had called this ring ‘the mystery ring.’ It wasn’t particularly exciting to look at - just a plain band with no gems, no ornamentation. It was the type of thing that could easily get lost in a box that gleamed and sparkled. Perhaps that was why its story had been forgotten. Papá insisted that it had come from Daidí’s side of the family, and it must have been in the jewellery box for generations. Daidí was positive that it hadn’t been there before Papá had brought all his junk over from Chile, and it must have slipped in with the other trinkets he’d cheerfully dropped into the box (without bothering to organise anything, which was just typical).

It was. Typical, that is. Austen had long ago resigned herself to Papá leaving everything everywhere, but that was beside the point, and Austen wasn’t going to think about either of her dads right now because it was none of their business if she decided to give Sunati a ring

And a ring would be the most practical choice, wouldn’t it? If she gave the mystery ring to Sunati it wouldn’t get in the way, it wouldn’t float around in low gravity, it wouldn’t break in a tumble or get tangled up with something else. And if Sunati didn’t like rings, she could always wear it on a chord.

A ring would be a sensible going away present.

And it wasn’t like Austen meant anything special by it. Okay, perhaps rings were particularly romantic, and maybe it felt a bit like she was trying to lay claim to Sunati while she was away, but that wasn’t a bad thing, was it? It certainly wasn’t as if she was trying to do anything permanent like pr-

Nope.

Nope nope nope.

Austen wasn’t even going to think about that.

She put the ring back in its drawer, closed the jewellery box, snapped the latch shut, and turned away.

She told herself, firmly, that she had the whole weekend to figure this out. She didn’t need to make a decision now. She’d go downstairs. She’d have dinner. She’d think about something else for a bit. She’d eviscerate anyone who made fun of her.

Tomorrow, she thought, as she closed her bedroom door.

She’d choose a present tomorrow.

But she knew, already, at that precise moment when the door clicked shut behind her. The certainty hit her in a wave of exhilaration and terror, warming her from the inside like coffee on a winter morning. She told herself, furiously, that she might still change her mind, and if asked she definitely wouldn’t have admitted it, but all the same - all the same - she knew.

She’d give Sunati the ring.

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And that's it! It's been years since I last attempted to write a short story so constructive criticism is very appreciated :)

(Criticism along the lines of 'hey you goose, you left out a word in the second paragraph" is also very appreciated XD)

I am 90% certain that the next short story will be called "the Nature of Hair in Microgravity" and will be about Sunati during the timeskip.