Monday, February 21, 2011

Serial Experiment Part 5

Experiment Part 4

"FUCK YOU!" he screamed at the light, the poetry, the hope, the mercy. She came to him lucky, about to rest, white haired, bloody angel. She came to him close to the quiet that was the best that men could hope for and he awakened her into the world of screaming and sorrow. He did not apologize for the things he did to people, no matter how loathsome and yet an "I'm sorry" almost crept past the wall of nihilism he had erected to keep out these and similar sentiments.

"Thank you," she said.

A lecture. A dismissive sneer. A derisive laugh. All possibilities. All in character. If there weren't a kind of blank canine sincerity in her brown eyes he would have thought that she was trying to mock him.

"You're welcome," he said. He meant it.

"I believe my name is Elsie," she said. She was proud. It meant something to be her, even if she could not tell what it was. He thought of the first time he called himself Robby Graves, screamed it into the microphone. Abrakadabra. Something else. An explosion of possibility. Not so much that she thought her name was Elsie, but that she knew this one fact and it deeply effected her beliefs. He trembled a little at the static charge of her assertion.

"It's nice to meet you, Elsie." It was nice to meet her. It was scary to meet her. He shouldn't have met her. She was dead. It was still nice to meet her.

"Do you have a name?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. He was hesitant to give it. He did not know which one to give or if either of them was right to describe what he was becoming.

"Is it a secret?" It was not sarcasm. It was perfectly legitimate question. If he were at the top of his smarmy, pseudospiritual depression junkie form, he would have said, "yes, but I'll tell it to you anyway."

"Robby. Robby Graves." She laughed at the pun. When she was done laughing at the pun, she laughed at another joke, one she kept private. It was cutting, truthful and funnier than the pun. He had an inkling what it was, but he would not have laughed at it. He did not ask what was so funny. She felt selfconscious about that.

"Is that your real name?" she asked.

"Sure, I guess."

She fell to the floor weeping and shaking as if kicked down by an invisible ogre. She folded her arms against her chest. He backed off, afraid to touch her, to do something about whatever celestial ailment left her in this position. He waited, knowing that it would pass, but that whatever had brought it on would linger.

She stood up straight, hugged him.

"We have to get out of here. Someone bad is coming."

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