Jennifer's Story Pick, Week 9

Wow, it's the end of week nine already. By next Friday, some of our participants will have completed ten stories.

That seems like a bit of a milestone.

A huge milestone, really. We're almost 1/5th of the way through the year.

I hope we haven't been too cruel.

Anyway.

Our Sunday feature comes from Madeline, who made me question everything I learned in Philosophy 101 this week a la:

Rene Descartes: I think therefore I am.
Madeline: What if you only think that you're thinking and in reality I'm doing all of your thinking for you?
Rene Descartes: huh?
Madeline: I made you think that.
Rene Descartes: You are queen of the world.

Nostalgically Disturbed

“That’s a very stupid thing to say,” she scoffed. Her eyes were a light grey. I had told her that once, and she just laughed. She said she remembered them being blue. She was obviously wrong. Dead wrong. Ironically, now she was dead. And she was still wrong.


“No, not really,” I replied very casually. I saw the injustice, but I didn’t feel the guilt. When it comes to sin, if there’s no guilt, you don’t really want to admit you were wrong. So I just didn’t. And she really didn’t seem to pleased about that.


I may of loved her, I may not of. There was no way to tell for sure, being that I actually had never really loved before. I tried to pretend I was okay with the biting uncertainty, the itching shrieking that always hummed in my head, telling me I didn’t know what I was doing.


She was pretty. She was an idiot, too. But pretty. Something about her made me want to laugh uncontrollably, we both knew that very well. She didn’t even seem to mind.


I knew I wanted to love her, if you wanted to put things simply. I also loved seeing her pain, misery, and sorrow.


And I loved getting small children to kill her. I loved getting small children to kill, period. And why wouldn’t you? Blood seems best when taken by the blameless.


“Well, if you really want to go that way with this argument. . .” she pressed.


“I didn’t say I was taking it there.”


“You most certainly implied by some sort, did you not?” Her raven black wrapped itself around her face, threatening to strangle and suffocate her. She pushed it away.


“You obviously aren’t hanging on to this conversation too well,” I said, laughing at her innocence, her taste for right or wrong.


She drummed her manicured finger nails against her tiny chin. “No,” she replied. I could see my words might of stung a little too hard. “No, I understand it just fine. It’s as clear as day.”


“Day? There’s no such thing here. Who are you?” I asked, my guilt suddenly washed away.


Tears began to make her grey eyes sparkle even more, mixing in with the slimy substance. “I don’t know,” she whispered.


I was immensely amused.


“Well in that case. . .” I could feel the disappointingly strange menacing smile creep up onto my face. I really
didn’t want it there, but I didn’t do anything against it.


She was obviously caught off guard by everything, even her own reaction. Dark tears were streaming down her dirty face. Mockingly, her agony was cleaning her face. Cleaning it quite well, too. Of course that made me all the bit more happier. “I’m sorry. Who are you?” She asked, her eyes seemingly hard, which made me uncomfortable.


“Me?” I asked, extremely surprised. “It’s a bit entertaining how this conversation got shifted from the fact of your unknown existence to my guiltiness.”


“Even more entertaining by the fact that the topic of your guiltiness turns against me in the first place. That was the beginning of this all, you understand?” She snapped.


I was a bit surprised by her sudden expression, but nonetheless, it was funny. “Well, you shouldn’t of lied. Now you’re in this situation. “I - by no means - am guilty. I don’t know how you could see it like that.”
I could tell she was a bit embarrassed by the fact that she was shrinking below my level, I was only growing higher in this conversation.


“You taught children how to murder.”


“Merely self defense.”


“Self defense?” Her voice held insulting astonishment that left me wordless for moments.


“Yes. What else would it be?”


“So, so much more.” She almost seemed to chuckle, which took me back even more. There was most definitely something behind her that I didn’t understand.


I suddenly realized that there was a third force in play.


She wasn’t in my world, I was suddenly in hers.


“What do you know?”


“Have you come to your senses?” She was very smug.


“I’m just curious,” I tried, playing my part with dignity, mixed with the higher knowledge I really didn’t have.


“No, you’re not curious the least bit. Your confused, I know everything,” her voice taunted abstractly.


“I don’t think you do. Why don’t you know who you are?”


She paused, and I felt instantaneously proud and elated by my sudden victory. That was until she answered, her words flowing together, gloriously intense, something I myself would of never thought of.


It was something that even scared me.


“Just because I really do know everything doesn’t mean I have to perceive it, I don’t think you’re fully aware of what’s happening around you, hence the need for callous murder. You know very well the rights from wrongs, do you not? Comprehension is different then knowing, you seem to be falling short already,” she scolded with far too much humor in her voice. “Now why you put that in the bottle, I’ll never ever be sure. But, it was most certainly a very stupid thing to say.”


I hung my head before realizing what I was doing, and I snapped it back up. “You already went over this.” I then tried to hold in my exasperated sigh.


“Well then, I guess we’re going to have to go over it again, because you obviously don’t understand.”


“I don’t think you know what you’re talking about.”


“Once again, I know everything. You don’t. So please, don’t embarrass yourself. I never really did like seeing you embarrassed."


I ground my teeth together, the noise making me shiver. I caught her shudder as well. “You still don’t like that noise, do you?” I asked.


She grimaced, winced, and tried to show toughness.


I sighed, suddenly relieved that the topic was off my dirtiness and her innocence.


She smirked. “Oh, but don’t think it’s all over yet.”


“But why not?” I had a feeling she knew something I didn’t, and I knew something she didn’t. Only, I didn’t know what it was I knew.


“What if I was to tell you. . .” She paused and stood up, suddenly swaying back and forth ridiculously.
I caught her before she could fall.


“Thank you,” she told me icily.


That made me smile.


“What would you do if I told you that maybe this isn’t real.”


“Explain ‘all this’.”


“This. Everything. Me. You. All of the small children you’ve turned into murders. Which - in case I need to remind you - was a stupid thing to do.”


“I think I’d have to laugh. I’ve seen the blood, I know what those children can do. And I still know it’s not wrong. They were made for seeking and destroying, to be put simply.”


“Oh, but it’s not simple. Nothing is simple at all. Now, I’d ask that you please get out of my head.”


Something crushed me. For one, agonizing terror and rejection seemed to hurt the worse. But some unknown force crushed me through the clouds.


She knew everything because I was just a figment of her nostalgia.