Subliminal

By Any Unborn Child

Spike fascinated Ed.

For the most part, it was as simple as that.

A big chunk of her time was spent typing furiously into her computer; for hours (sometimes days) on end, she aimlessly looked through the web, trying to find a lost soul similar to her own.

Sometime though, her attention would waver.

Her thoughts would contort themselves, bending over backwards, head on the floor and heels to the sky, to try to figure out what made the tall man with afro-like hair tick.

From what she could tell, he certainly liked the color blue a lot – a deep blue, an almost melancholy blue, to be precise.

From what she could tell, his posture changed – sometimes as sloped as the curve of a horizon, other times as straight as the billboards in the city. This usually meant that he had a lot on his mind, but not enough nerve to address it – perhaps too much, in order to leave it in the crevasses of his forgotten thoughts.

From what she could tell, he was never long without a cigarette in his mouth, Ed had noticed. There was something that he didn't want to let go of, no matter the circumstance – something that had both alleviated his troubles and caused them at the same time.

There were still many things that she had yet to figure out about Spike Spiegel.

In many ways, she owed a lot to him.

He had never treated her like she was anything other than normal.

If she was to get overly excited and start babbling, her words forming sentences that no one else but her seemed to understand, he didn't mind. Or if oftentimes she spoke techno jargon or singing with no lyrics, he didn't seem to mind.

He didn't mind her.

He didn't mind her at all.

Yes…there was indeed much to still figure out about the man in blue.

There was enough time, though.

Plenty of time.

The messages that he sent were subliminal, after all.

The nuances were endless.