I DID IT. I WROTE ISHQUEG. NOT BETA READ NOT EVEN ONCE. UNDER THE CUT BYE.
Queequeg was gentle, in many different ways, even if she didn't show it. She was so devoted to her crewmates, her family, that it made sense, almost, about how she would treat everyone.
She held everything dear to her in an iron grip, and didn't let go, no matter the pains it caused her.
It made sense why she was such a good harpooner - she drove her stake into the crew just as deep as she could drive a harpoon into a whale.
Ishmael... could never quite be like her. Ishmael is still passionate, but she's flighty, she's obsessive, and she's challenging to work with.
She's everything Queequeg isn't, in many different ways.
It's like fate attempted to drive them apart even further, but they still reached out to the other with open arms.
Looking bad, it hurts to see how close they got - their paths were destined to meet twice, then never again.
At first, Ishmael pushed herself away from her. She distanced herself, tried to stand back so her obsessions and her harsh words wouldn't scare her off.
She was destined, almost, to live a life full of wandering, of moving out of her reach, that she didn't want to start a friendship.
A ship can never love an anchor anyways. Queequeg didn't need someone like her - someone always outside of arms reach. She didn't need to get close to her to get her by her.
Ishmael brings ruin to anything she touches, she burns so bright it scorches any ropes touching her.
So Queequeg made a sturdier rope, and fired again.
For many nights, she made sturdier ties and tried again.
One night, it dug into her and she couldn't push past it.
"Queequeg? What are you doing?"
"Did you... do that to yourself?"
After she was entrusted with Queequeg's coffin, she whispered into the wooden casket where she was supposed to lie one day in the future.
She whispered all of her regrets to her, and wished her a gentle burial.
Later, on the bus after they had left the lake, she said softly to that rope she always carried for her,
"I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry that my hands could never be as clever as yours,"
The sunset shone through the windows, and she breathed out slowly, measuredly.
She had a new compass now. Her path would never get turned again. She still kept that piece of Queequeg with her as well.
