Perfect: Introduction

We are alone; all 13 of us. For once in my life I can say that we truly are alone. Our thoughts, our minds; ours to use as we please. At first, we didn't know what to think but we need individuality. Real individuality. We think of names to call ourselves. We had them from the beginning but they were lost or rather cast aside; no longer a necessity. We remember that they are James, Jane, William and Windy. What order and what gender these names possess, a distant impossible memory. But there are 13 of us and we have only four names. We make our own. It's better this way.
We have been at sea a few days now and with little event to speak of. We occupy ourselves with the water and the air and it all seems foreign and fascinating but we know we have known it before. The decay of memory holds any more from us. It's just this instinct. We smell and feel and see and its has been this way before. Only now, the echo of "I" is gone from our thoughts. An empty peace like the silence of morning before life begins. Matthias, one of three female subordinates is troubled by it, sitting quietly by the mast, reaching out like a confused child. Her recycling was imminent like the rest of ours yet some of us still yearned to serve the great purpose to at least be part of it.
We couldn't go back. We knew this. Life was moving once again as the great machine whirled and writhed with life to fill our old home. The barrier had only been down long enough to escape and even if we returned, our generation had expired its efficiency and those who had stayed were refunded to allow for an extra bit of energy. We will not be missed and nothing will come looking for us. Our path is for once ours. But we still looked longingly out over the horizon to city we once knew as Perfect.

Foreigner

There is this one
and she speaks strangely,
A curiosity for novelty,
Or something more?
Will I cast her aside?
Realizing she is nothing,
Draped in shadows of mystery and wonder,
Will I forget her words?
Seeing only beauty in their sound and texture,
Will I find her soul?
Or face instead the blankness of a wasted mind,
Or will she contradict my cynic's pride?
To at least bring me to be humbled
and mourning for the greatness I so assuredly cast away.