Things I'm thankful for

Dear Mother and Father,

I don't know what's going on. I'm not sure where I am anymore. Squeezy is threatening me, so I believe I am out of my mind. I can't say why that might be. I've gone to visit the minty spice crates regularly to help me fall asleep, and I've continued to fight against the darkness of my dreams. I don't know why this is happening to me.
I tried to go to the party at Miss Dreamscape's tavern, and I heard voices (Mr. Baron's and Miss Captain Nacht's and Miss Blackheart's and others), and then it all faded away. I'm not sure if I ever actually made it there in real life. Am I dreaming right now, or am I awake? Which was I a moment ago? Are those my only options, and are they mutually exclusive? The aether is funny colors, or maybe that is just my mind.
I'm being so negative. I don't know when Thanksgiving Day is, but that's no way to approach it. (I hope when it arrives that I will miraculously be home with you, in any case.) I am thankful for things, I really am. I am thankful to be alive, even though I have been in more than one truly bizarre form of danger in the past. I am thankful for my health, such as it is, and that my cheese gun works well enough to keep me alive. (I will need to find some more chalk to refuel it soon, though.) I am thankful that there are still edible dandelion leaves growing in this part of the continent. I am thankful that Squeezy turned out alright and is with me to squeeze when I'm nervous. I am thankful for my lovely Steamland friends who are kind to me no matter what profoundly stupid things I do, even though it often feels as if the entire Grid is about to tip over from the weight of my unpunished sins. Finally, I am thankful that I had a wonderful Father and Mother to raise me.
I hope you are well.

Love,
Your Shaqad

Cold awakening

Dear God Mother and Father,

I had grown so cold and numb as the weeks and months passed by. I didn't even notice the change. The Engineer family reminded me, though. I'm glad they did and I wish I didn't at the same time. It's the most curious thing. I say I love you and I say it unironically, believing myself. Yet this is all my responsibility. If I were a good daughter, I would have contacted every authority there is to contact. Oh, I wish you had a good daughter! I don't think any of my letters from that time period survived, but during the month when I was by myself beyond the Steamlands, I tried to build you a better daughter out of flesh and thread. I didn't try to build her brain because I figured a mechanic could build a better one. Thinking back on it now, I can see that although my intent was reasonable, it wasn't a new daughter you would want. I'm all you have, your own flesh and blood. It is I who ought to return.
I had a nightmare last night that was different from all the others so far. It was simply a memory. It was a fast-forwarded version of when I was wandering around in the park (yes, that's where I went after our quarrel), and I heard the typical explosion sound, and later in the evening when I had gathered the courage to apologize for everything I went back, except the building wasn't there anymore (It really was unreasonable of the fire department to give up on servicing our building just because the flat blew up a few times a week!) except for the doorsteps, and I waited until there weren't people running about panicking, and then I sat on our doorstep to wait for you to get back, and after only a few days I just got up and left as if you were nothing, as if you weren't coming home at all. I'm so sorry. Mrs. Engineer is right: You must be worried sick. It's all my fault for leaving and all my fault for not getting help sooner. I can't believe I walked off like that. You are my mother and father, my flesh, my blood, my heart, my soul, my guardians and teachers. I am yours alone and I always have been and I always will be...and yet I walked away.
I must do as they recommended and contact the authorities. I've met some very important people so far. Why didn't I ask them for help? (I suppose there was that time right before Halloween when I asked if anyone could take me back to America, but that hardly counts.) Mr. Baron is an authority. Do you think he would mind being asked for help with such things? The Jaegerpeople soldiers, too, must count as authorities. I should have asked Miss Dreamscape directly for help getting back to you! I had plenty of time!
I can't explain why I didn't. I suppose maybe I just gave up. Or perhaps it's that I'm not accustomed to asking for things, knowing how full well much grownups loathe being troubled by my idiotic "needs".
They have town hall meetings regularly, I believe. If I can get to them, there must be plenty of people there who can help me! I really need to get connected to these people. I have seen how kind they are. I cannot believe I have not yet acted on it! But I will. I promise you, I will.

Love, and I truly mean it,
Your Little Lady Shaqad

A quiet yet eventful day

Note to self: Mr. and Mrs. Engineer.
Sorry, just ignore that part. It's for my own reference.

Dear Mother and Father,

I've learned to fight back with my dreams. It's the strangest and most awkward thing. For example, in the dream(s) where you burn away as soon as I come home, I tell myself, "This is so like my other dreams that it is probably a dream itself." Then at the moment you burst into flames, I force myself to turn around and walk away. It hurts almost as much as the dream in its original form, especially when the, "Where do you think you're going, little lady?!" starts, but when it ends I'm able to awaken with barely a whimper. (I do feel a little bit guilty in my waking hours that, without one hundred percent certainty that it's all imagination, I turned my back on the parents who love me and raised me. But I tell myself that this is vitally important to my health.) Although the probably-sent dreams still wake me up, I have been able to sleep with enough regularity to make the mirages go away. Inanimate objects no longer breathe, and Squeezy is no longer threatening to stab me. (Squeezy would never threaten to stab me, and in fact cannot speak. So, in the event that he does speak, I know to disregard his advice.)
I felt very confident today thanks to my renewed grip on reality and went look for food. In the forest outside the city, I was able to pick many edible-looking plants, and while I was there a lady by the name of Ms. Vervain pointed me in the direction of a store that had had a special on sewing needles. (I think the special ended before I got there, though.) She was very nice and thought I was clever for some reason. I'm sort of fuzzy on how this all happened.
It really was an eventful day. In one rubbish heap near a hair salon, I got a very nice, almost new hat! It has a fluffy ornament on one side that I keep unconsciously petting. I don't want to try to remove it, but I hope my continually touching it doesn't make me look childish.

Later on I met a couple who were visiting Steelhead with their young son. (He was considerably younger than me, so even if the family had great wealth and status, I do not think he ought to be considered a future suitor.) It's they whose names I scrawled at the top of this page. Just like absolutely everyone else I've met here, although they were not native to the area, they were friendly and helpful. But they went beyond that: They are the first people so far to show concern about my predicament of being away from you. According to them, this is because they are parents themselves. They were genuinely horrified that I was so far away from home and tried to think of what to do about it, although they had little power to do anything themselves. I remember that when I first got lost, for the first few weeks, that was my mentality. But have I stopped missing you? Have I stopped trying? I want to say no, but I realize I have been foolish. As the Engineer family reminded me, I should have involved the authorities. In fact, I should have contacted some sort of authorities right from the start. (When is the start? Is it the first day I failed to find you, or the first day I failed to find the place our flat once stood, or the first day I failed to find Boston, or the day I arrived in the Steamlands?) In any case, may God forgive my disgusting negligence! I just hope they aren't too strict on the "Children should be seen and not heard," policy.
There was that time in Winterfell around Halloween when I asked if anyone leaving might be able to take me back to the United States of America, but at the time they couldn't.
Anyhow, they told me to remember their names and contact them if I needed help, which is why I've defaced the top of the page as I have. I don't want to forget.
Mr. Engineer kept asking if I might want to adopt his son. His wife insisted he was joking, but I bet you would like a son. Isn't that what you always said, father? I wonder what life would be like if you had a son. I'm sure you'd be much happier.
In my whole conversation with them, I only said one thing that made them stop and look at me strangely. (It was about kissing and I shan't repeat it here.) Perhaps I am becoming a better conversationalist.
After they went on their way, I really wasn't sure where to go home to. The whole city was very, very quiet. There wasn't even a wandering strain of those songs Miss Blackheart plays at the tavern. I really wasn't sure where to go (back?) to. I ended up finally retreating down to the mines again. Since there aren't any monsters left that I know about, I feel reasonably safe down there. Shortly after entering, I nearly drowned in an underground stream because it looked shallow but wasn't. As you can tell by the existence of this letter, I did manage to get out.
Nearby I found a very cozy spot with some natural sheltering from the surrounding stone. There are two furnaces there, one in the stone-sheltering and one just beyond it, so it's much warmer than you would expect in a mine. There's not really any room to put my things down, but it's a nice little place and I think I feel comfortable staying there. Not too far away, someone else set up a sleeping mat, but I know better than to intrude on their corner. They can have their corner and I'll have mine. (I already swept it out, and Squeezy is all the pillow I'll need.) I just hope I don't fall in the water again when I venture back out! Or if the water turns out to be clean enough, I could perhaps give myself swimming lessons so that I'm not at risk of getting myself into trouble that way.
Good night for now.

Love,
Your Shaqad

This is home

Dear Mother and Father,

Because I feel so wonderfully safe in the city now, and because inanimate objects have yet to start breathing and wandering around, I wandered across the city until I found Miss Dreamscape's tavern. (Actually, I was afraid to go, but Mr./Miss Bermann politely reminded me that there was a party and I'd probably be welcome. And I was!)
At first I wasn't so sure I would be welcome, but Miss Steamweaver (the Jaegerperson, not the honnio-fairy-I-don't-honestly-know-what-she-is) noticed me outside and invited me in. Then I slipped and fell in the water before I managed to get myself inside, but nobody minded having a soaking mess in their midst. (I'm glad the water is safe from monsters again!)
It was a quiet evening, but people I knew were there. It was very, very comforting to see them again. I should try to see them more often if it's possible.
I got a bit of a start from Miss Captain Nacht tonight by dancing on a table, though I promise you it wasn't a condemning sort of start. I would have danced on the ground like usual, but I didn't feel sharp enough to fiddle with the knowing-how-to-dance machine at the time, and I figured that in light of how often people do the table dancing thing, it must be an accepted part of their culture. In fact, Miss Blackheart was doing it right then. I also couldn't forget that Miss Dreamscape had done the same before, looking so elegant in her peacock trouser-dress and top hat. (The feral aspect of the Jaegerpeople's appearance can be gotten used to. It's true that they don't look like humans, but they don't need to. They don't need to look like anything.) So I must confess that when I got my awkward, worn-out, raggedy little self up onto the table and tried to imitate her graceful movements from memory, for that brief time I felt so close to being pretty! I'm sure I sound utterly ridiculous right now, but it was a very uplifting moment. I wish I could feel like that all the time. Mother, you are a lady of noble heritage. Do you feel like that all the time?
Someday I promise you and me that I will be pretty for real, both in appearance and behavior. You may have to suffer a slow transition, but I will get there. There is loveliness in this world and I want so much to be a part of it. That's what you always wanted for me, isn't it?

Yours foremost and forever,
Shaqad

Good news and bad news

Dear Mother and Father,

This evening I woke up at a most unearthly hour, which has unfortunately been the norm for me since making camp between warehouse boxes. It's hard to keep track of the time when one spends most of the day and night near something that makes one sleepy. (Yet even though I always feel as if I'm risking my life, I do try my best to get out of the building when people are going to come in to move things around. It's kept me out of trouble so far, and I've not died either.) I realized first of all that I had missed both the Winterfell poetry slam and Mama Miss Dreamscape's party. But there were other things--possibly things of greater magnitude--to take in. The aether felt completely different than when I fell asleep. It felt different in the same way that outside air feels compared to a little broom closet with funny cleaning chemicals in it--though of course aether doesn't have the same properties as air. I very strongly suspect that something happened to the evil alien--either it died, or it went back to its home dimension, or maybe it even repented of its sins. I'll have to ask someone, if I can figure out how to work it into a conversation, assuming I have conversations with people in the near future.
The other thing of note, which I think is even stronger evidence that something important happened to the monster, is that my dreams have reverted to the way they are outside of Steelhead. The mint boxes may not be of help anymore. It was a nightmare that woke me up. In fact, it was the same one whose many variations have been haunting me ever since I ran away from home: It's where I come back--finally--and try to apologize for running off in the first place, and you both are trying to help me understand how sinful I've been so I can repent properly, and then the place explodes just like it always does every few days, but in the dream you both catch on fire and just slowly burn away like squidgey Yule logs right in front of me so that you're unrecognizable lumps of ash and bone before you can finish talking. I was almost immune to that one before sea alien brought on the decapitations-and-mild-apocalypses series of dreams. I used to wake up a tiny bit sniffly and then go back to sleep, but I've lost the ability to get back to sleep after that, and even after my month in the middle of nowhere I've not regained it. This is all to say nothing of the others, though I haven't had time to have those again yet. They did, as I mentioned in my earlier letters, all come back in full as soon as I ran away from Steelhead the first time.
Mrs. Lowey said that nightmares can be blocked, but only if they are "sent". I don't think very many of my non-Steelhead-monster nightmares are sent. The ones where the Egyptian Sparkperson who gave the lectures on electricity and psychology brings about the end of the universe may possibly be "sent", I still suspect. (I'm sorry, Father. I know I can be most dreadfully paranoid and irrational at times. I really do respect his accomplishments and hope you succeed in matching his notability someday.)
I'm really not sure what to do. I know I was able to grow desensitized to all this before, somehow or other. Do I only need to wait until that happens again?
I suppose time will tell.

Love,
Your Shaqad

Catniiiiiiiiippppppppppppp...

Dear Mother and Father,

I've had to return to Steelhead in spite of my apprehension about being murdered by sea aliens. The turning point came yesterday (or so I believe; it's difficult to tell time when the sun doesn't move, and I'm beginning to see why clocks are such a common motif in Steamland culture). An unpleasant incident occurred when I was unable to distinguish a mirage from a customer. Even now I'm uncertain. The creature in question looked unlike anyone or anything I've seen yet, but that in itself means nothing in the Steamlands. Perhaps "living shadow" might cover it in part. I might have called it a mirage due to its disregard for basic physics, but between my state of mind and the instability of Steamland aether in general, that proves nothing whatsoever. I would also like to call it a mirage because it frightened me--simply from the hatred that dripped from it--but trying to define all of reality based on one's feelings toward it is thoroughly ridiculous. The shadow entity was very interactive and tried to hurt me, which made me more confused as to whether it existed. I suppose I should explain: I was confused because it wanted to cut open my hysteria scar with a Sparkish sort of instrument so that it would put a little mechanical thing underneath my skin. You and I and the doctors at Crimson Falls who performed the surgery are the only ones who know about the scar. I have never disrobed in front of anybody here nor had any kind of medical treatment. Admittedly, people occasionally hear some of my thoughts during run-of-the-mill aetheric fluctuations, but I am not in the habit of thinking about my scar in public. In fact, I hardly remember it's there most of the time. So this is a major strike against the visitor's existence. Also, when it left, there were no marks from where it tried to hurt me. But the little mechanical thing did still need to be taken out and burned (so now there are marks). Or maybe I just imagined that as well? The whole incident was and is deeply unsettling.
After that happened, I could no longer handle not knowing reality from my waking nightmares. I could no longer handle visits by people who may or may not exist. I had to go find the minty spice, and maybe even the sea alien's dream-intrusions, that had gotten me to sleep a few days before Halloween so that the mirages subsided.
When I arrived in Steelhead, the aether felt different than before, and not simply from the cloud of madness I had been carrying with me everywhere. It felt as if it might be in flux, struggling with itself over whether to become cleaner, or maybe lighter somehow. I wonder if anything became of that wicked sea monster.
I did eventually find the warehouse I slept in before, and I was able to sleep again. It was beautifully dreamless and corrected everything. I love to live in the world of no mirages again!
Now that I am here, I am not sure what I will do. I mean, I know what kinds of things a proper and industrious lady ought to do with her life, but I have no plan yet to go about it.
I will keep you updated as long as I am able to hold a pen.
Love everlasting,
Your Shaqad

Still alive

Dear Mother and Father,

There was another poetry slam tonight, which was very nice because I was getting tired of being alone with the mirages. I haven't slept since leaving Steelhead (again), and the mirages started around the third day (again). But I am okay. I know not to listen to them. As much as possible will listen to myself and to real memories of those I trust (including you, of course), and never to mirages.
I was at first very confused as to whether the poetry slam was really happening, but the smooth way the people interacted seemed reasonably convincing. That is, up until near the end, when two of them (a Jaegerperson of high rank by the name of Szondi and a weasel Tinyperson with a pet weasel) confessed to nonexistence. I was a little bit disappointed, as I'd been treating them as though they were real. They seemed like delightful people, in fact.
I happened to sit next to Mr. Captain Veles again, and this time the mantle seating was by explicit invitation, though of course all these matters are of no consequence. I ought to be concerned that everyone thought it so important to get me seated properly. When I was sitting awkwardly on the floor at first, they inquired as to whether I needed medical attention for my legs. How awful that would have been!
Now that it's in mind, I shall need to do a check of my legs just to make sure they aren't damaged. I will confess that my perception of pain and injury has been noticeably distorted ever since the hysteria surgery. That hurt for I don't know how many weeks, and then nothing ever hurt quite the same way again. I thought that was a good thing, but perhaps not.
It's so very sweet that they inquire about my well-being.
It's funny, as much as I regretted causing them to worry, I also experienced a strange rush from the attention. (Forgive my self-centered vanity!) It seems almost probable that Miss Dreamscape asking about me when I tumbled out the window was less an emotion-fit of hers and more a deep-seated aspect of the local culture. I do believe I have come to love this place, not only in spite of but also because of its sheer strangeness. If you will permit it, I think it would please me to live here and marry here and study here and establish myself here when I'm old enough to be permanently on my own. Please don't be upset at my words; I'm not living by my "feelings" just yet. I do wish for your input before making any foolish commitments.
Some interesting topics were discussed tonight, though I won't presume either of you would find them to be such. I did learn that there are zombies in the Steamlands, but the only dangerous ones are in a place I've never even heard of called New Toulouse. (The Steelhead zombies, they said, are civilized. That's to be expected, as everything else there was quite civilized except for the brain-eating extradimensional alien monster that I've never even met in person.)
At the end of the evening, Mrs. Lowey thanked me for attending. (She's so nice to me!) But she really has no idea how little I've strayed from this place since last time! I "help watch the place" because I really have nowhere else to go at the moment. I wish I could help selflessly--and correctly, and well, and all those other lovely things--but I think I have psychological okayness issues to work on before that ideal is reached. I know, I know, it's not good for me to be so self-centered, but people worry when I'm not okay. Really, they do! I have experiential evidence!
I'm sorry, that's enough ranting for tonight. Do take care.
Love,
Shaqad