5D304I5
The Pallid Whale, and... Ahab...
They force their way into the cracks in our hearts.
Everyone has those cracks in their hearts. They're what makes us hesitate, what makes us waver.
Confusion. Loneliness. The anxiety of the unknown. The fear of knowing that the people... the things you cherish... will one day leave your side.
They tightly choke these fragile, countless cracks in our hearts to the point of breaking.
Before I even knew it, those cracks in my heart... were filled with a singular obsession. So much so that I was suffocating.
"I will kill Captain Ahab. The cause of all evils in the world that has brought me to this point."
That obsession has wrapped me so tightly, and in so many impenetrable layers, that I...
... I could no longer even recognize the times I've spent with everyone... and the choices I've made...
And all of a sudden...
I began to sink, even memories of my own shape fading into oblivion.
I'm lost here. I don't know where to go anymore.
…….
The hell are you doing in there?
Come out.
Heath... cliff...?
When... when did this happen...? When did it... I-I didn't realize...
No. I saw that very same look on your mug from the moment we first met.
Thought you might suffocate and kick the bucket any minute.
…….
The pallid membrane devours Queequeg before Ishmael's eyes.
I'm so sorry, Queequeg… I… couldn't save you…
No. I was. Too late.
Too late to think. About what is right and what is wrong. To think for myself. Too late.
I, I should have been more... I should have...
Hey.
Your name. Tell me. Once more.
The Great Lake might be one of the worst places in the City... but it sure has a pretty sunset.
…….
Your name. What?
My name? W-why?
Because, your hair color. I like it.
Whales. When they die, they turn to the sun.
And your hair color. Sunset-color.
So when I throw the harpoon, Whales turn to you.
We can be good friends.
Well... call me Ishmael, if you please.
... Call me... Ishmael...
…….
Queequeg disintegrated until she was no more.
…….
Ishmael limps toward Ahab. The Captain is on the ground, defeated.
In Ishmael's hand is the harpoon that has been whetted and sharpened for this singular moment.
<…….>
You're in my way, Dante. Again.
Why are you doing this? Why do you keep getting in my way? Why do you even turn the clock for me? What the hell do you get out of all this?
What, does pretending to be a good person help you feel better?
<I wanted to know more about you.>
<So I can... find you a path that doesn't go in circles.>
Do you... Do you even know?
Do you even know where you're going?
<I'm... constantly searching.>
Maybe I summon the flow of time to turn the hands of my clock...
... to find the paths for the endlessly wandering Sinners.
For all those who are lost.
So that I may not be lost.
<Ishmael, we're all Captains of our own hearts.>
<We just happened to be sailing the same path, and sometimes we'd let each other take the helm...>
<But at the end of all things, you still have to be the Captain of your own ship. You're the one who has to steer your very own path...>
<So don't you dare let go of your helm before the voyage is over. Because I... I won't, either.>