- Books, Literature, and Writing
Six: Chapter One, Part 3
My home, constructed by my father now deceased, is made of stone all around, with fertile land surrounding it with which the remaining family grow our food. My mother and I continue to live fulfilling lives here. I say fulfilling for myself, as I cannot speak for her truthfully but rather in an educated guess. She finds spending her time growing our nutrition and knowing men that must be worth the while as I have not eaten a poor vegetable and have not met an unkind man at the expense of my mother’s relationships. And so I take assumption that she finds these actions fulfilling and does them accordingly as I do not know my mother to be passive in her discontent with life and its offerings. Should she be presented with a lifestyle she deems not up to task with her standards of life, she does not show hesitation to deny the situation and make changes as necessary. A quality that I, personally, find admirable and useful to adhere to. Not that I do.
It is the next day when I find myself admiring a tree that has a bird’s nest among its branches. Three baby birds are chirping away inside of it this lovely morning. I have a piece of bread I have baked not one hour ago, aside from the singing birds it is completely quiet, and there isn’t a soul in sight. To top it off the sun is being blocked by hydrated looking clouds, creating the most relaxing somber atmosphere one could ask for. My tan body feels the water left over from the previous night’s cold humidity soak into my pores. My strong calves feel at ease as my short black dress washes away previous weeks’ sweat and dirt with the ground’s generous bath of dew. A few raindrops lightly touch my exposed skin, causing me to smile. I roll onto my side as I observe the water begin to fall from the sky and sprinkle all around me. “Just fucking perfect.” Because when you’re late for work why not add a little freezing and wet to the day, right?
My hangover had not gone away and I wasn’t at all a rain person, or a morning’s person for that matter. In fact the only person I am is a person’s person. And yet I have no people. What a cruel world this is.
My boss, a fat white man with no sense of human decency, looked just as upset as usual when he saw me walk in late.
“Sarah what in God’s name keeps you from getting here on time?” he blabbered with his fat chin.
“I don’t have a car at the moment, sorry Mr. Rodgers.” I replied with self-pity.
“Oh yes and I’m sure you not having a car also makes you look like a hung-over drunk, hmm?
I sat down in my cubicle with a mixture of emotions inside of my chest. I wanted to cry to myself, talk to a friend, and kill Mr. Rodgers all at the same time. I looked at the stapler that happened to be next to where he was enjoying his daily meal of fast food.
“What a wonderful weapon that would make to use against him” I thought. I had many of these kind of sadistic thoughts run through my mind every now and then. I never gave them much thought. I mean, they are just thoughts, nothing more. And in any case I forget about them and continue on with my day within seconds. So I thought this one would be no different as I got ready to sell mundane items to bored people who have nothing better to spend their money on.
Moments later, without any rhyme or reason, my legs began to will my entire body to stand. I had a sudden fit of energy come over me as, almost unwillingly, I walked over to the desk where the stapler was located. With my left hand, I grabbed the top half of the stapler so that the bottom half swung open, leaving just the metal inner piece that ejected the staples when pushed exposed. I turned to my right to see blissfully ignorant Mr. Rodgers stuffing his face with burgers. I felt the sweat run down my horrifically smelling body. I felt my face become numb with excitement and awe at the situation I have presented myself with. I put the stapler into my right and, with my left, opened and closed my fist. Extending my fingers to their fullest length and tightening them once more almost as an exercise in preparation for what was to come next. My right hand stapler ready. My left, inches away from the back of Rodger’s head. With one fast, strong, determined swoop I extended my left hand’s index and middle finger while moving my left to the front of Rodger’s face all while keeping my right hand wrapped around the bottom end of the stapler as if it were a club. Within a millisecond, my fingers were deep into Rodgers’ eye sockets, pulling his head backwards so that he was facing up at me and my ready stapler. He screamed in agony as everyone stared in shock. One man closest to Rodgers threw up and fainted immediately. As I stared at Rodgers, my sweat dripping into his open mouth, I noticed his gums were exposed. I took the stapler with my stronger right arm and smacked it against his mouth again and again and again and again and again until I was rapidly and uncontrollably throwing the stapler back and forth between Rodgers’ mouth and the space above it. Plenty of staples were lodged within his gums. It was so painful, for one, to have staples in his gums but also to have no eyesight to find help with that Rodgers began hyperventilating in desperation. Scoffing and crying with not enough air in his lungs to scream. I began laughing hysterically when someone behind me said my name.
“Sarah?” It was a co-worker of mine that I was sort of friends with. I looked up to find that I was still in my cubicle, laughing to myself. Rodgers was still eating away on his desk and the stapler remained untouched. Fuck that felt good.
“Are you okay?” she had a worried look on her face.
“Yeah I’m fine. I’m just thinking about something that happened a while ago. It’s nothing.” As good an excuse as any.
“Alright then, take it easy.”
She approaches me in a hasty manner, scoffing and screeching.
“THEIF!? THEIF! GAURDS!”
The surrounding area to which I live in is a smaller village within an ever expanding empire home to about half a million. While it may seem to be a luxury to have the security of an empire on your side, it can be a bit disappointing that someone can accuse you of theft when you were simply testing the quality of a product that seemed to be rotten and, upon being only able to think about being vocally accused guilty by a judge of questionable integrity and concern. I drop the apple that is in my hands and calmly allow the guards to apprehend me. Running, which I could have done mind you, would just lead them to believe that I was inherently guilty. I assume it would be better to prove my innocence and not have to live in hiding in some other province. Our government had ways of keeping wanted citizens on record. This process included the creation of a wonderful painting made through the guidelines and descriptions of witnesses who had seen the actual crime itself. The paintings, while great, rarely had enough accuracy to allow the confident arrest of a presumably wanted person. This led to many false arrests and also some unjust executions where the innocent citizen would face their hanging only to have the original offender to commit another crime days later, in some cases. I decide it would be best to avoid creating all this trouble for everyone and simply explain my reasoning and prove the manic shopkeeper’s insanity.
Of course, to my liking, this plan works perfectly and no further friction is created in my life. I enjoy this, though my subconscious undoubtedly screams for me to get into trouble.
I dwell on the fact that my own relationships are with things that I cannot speak to. If my favorite log could speak, would it say the right thing? Would I love it all the same? I think not. I think it would fail me. I think it would be unable to impress me as it has no experience with social situations. It would fail me more than any Andro ever could...
I need to find a person to fuck for the rest of my life…
This conclusion can only be reached out of a place of desperation. What do I even call this? Why? What good does it do? One person? What does this accomplish? I don’t know what others want. I only know what I think I want. And that’s to be eternally special to as many people as I can. This desire would take an unrealistic amount of luck and charm to become a reality. Since this is the case I suppose the best way to approach is to limit the amount of people I am special to in trade for greater probability of success in my efforts.
Two people. I approach two people and convince them that I am special enough for them to spend the rest of their life devoted to me sexually. How do I convince them? Assuming they aren’t going to be persuaded by a stranger simply on command I have to gain their trust and love. Eventually, hopefully, and with enough manipulation I will convince these two that I am worth the proposition I will lay before them. And what will they think? What would I think?
She is important enough for us to sacrifice expanding our love for others. To forfeit any happiness we may have had with others. And I am important enough for her to do the same, so my life is fulfilled. But rather, I am filling with anger and jealousy as I think about the fact that she has not one faithful partner, but two.
Of course I am.
So I have to reduce it to just one person? Two people meant barely anything to me in terms of fulfillment, now I have half of almost nothing. I can’t pretend that this person will do me any good emotionally. No, not even my mind can go this far for illegitimacy. I have to convince myself. It needs to be real, that way I’m not pretending.
Why do I need to convince myself? I’m not lying. It’s real. I know it’s real. It’s real. I know it’s real because I have a void in my life that needs filling. I’ve been getting meaning from meaningless things. These trees can’t give me children. This log cannot give me wisdom. This grass is only cold when I sleep on it. I want to cherish my partner. Everyone should have a partner. I don’t have a partner. Everyone should yet I don’t. How useless am I? It’s a necessity. It’s real. I know it’s real. I want my partner. I do. I’m lonely. I am. I know I am. It must find him. No, I have. Andro. Ando. Andro isn’t stupid. He isn’t I know he isn’t. Andro Is nice. He is. I know he is. He is. He talked to me once. He talked to me. He spoke to me. He wants to be with me forever. Subject himself to me because he isn’t stupid. Because he is nice. He isn’t stupid. He is nice. I know he isn’t stupid. I know he is nice. How have I not?
How have I not seen the obvious truth? My future will not give me time. Its destination is grim and futile, I must act now. I shall. I decided to tell Andrew that I want to be with him. The moment I left work after my little murder fantasy it dawned on me that my life wasn’t being fulfilled simply by working. I needed something more. And that more was Andrew. There was no denying that we had to be made for each other. From a young age we’ve had a connection that always seemed strong. It wasn’t like you could just force such a relationship. It had to happen naturally. It had to be that he was my soul mate. And I wasn’t keen on letting something so pre-determined get away from me due to doubt.
“It’s him…” I thought. “…it has to be him. I know it’s him.”
Andrew lived on the edge of Strawman, 30 miles away from me. I wasn’t sure how to go about asking my question, but I supposed it would have to be a slow realization for him. We’d known each other for my entire life, and hadn’t had any trouble communicating before, but I assumed it would have been a shock for him to take all that information in at once, which could lead him to make a rushed decision.