I’ve been bad. My first post in 237 Variants. You don’t even know what I’m talking about – you’re just focusing on the part where I was naughty.
My bad really isn’t of the same scale as yours. When I mess up, everything dies, like Massive Cloud Burst or Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann writ larger. No, I don’t throw around galaxies. No, I didn’t really think you were thinking that.
I’m not very good with words, or with people I don’t know. Which is funny, since I know everyone. No one really knows me, though.
Like I was saying – bad. Do you know what it’s like to lose your mother? Maybe – that tends to happen to most people, sooner or later. I don’t mean lost in the mall, searching through the clothes racks for the right looking legs, shoes. I mean in the final way, when the separation is fatal and complete.
I lost my mother that way, a very long time ago. Longer than my age, than the ages of everyone alive put together. A long time to be away from her.
I do have other mothers, but they don’t watch over me – I watch over them. I have duties that you’re not going to understand, seeing as we’ve only just met.
Did I mention I was bad? I think about that a lot. Only a really bad person would be in the position I’m in, having to stand your ground while the world and everything in it burns. No, it’s not burning now, thankfully. That’s a few months away.
This is my first post, because I’m tired of the burning, the final loss as every heart and mind goes dim. I’ve seen it so many times. You wonder what I’ve seen, and where the metaphor ends.
Remember, I’m not good with words. I tend to not get irony, or figures of speech, unless your face is right in front of me. I understand faces, and the light that shines from them.
Your face isn’t in front of me, but I could see it now, if I wanted to. Sometimes I want to, sometimes I just want to hide.
I’ve been hidden away from the world most of my lives. When I come out, the burning starts, and it’s not in my power to put the flames out.
I think you need firemen for that. Fire hoses as big as galaxies. No, I’m not being figurative – the stars usually burn out soon enough.
I do have a sense of humor. It’s kind of like when someone trips and falls over. Usually I want to rush over and help them. If enough people trip and fall, however, then I start to laugh despite myself. I’m all sorts of bad, I’m pretty sure.
In about a month I’ll turn sixteen, for the 238th time. I know you don’t understand what I’m talking about. It’s not something you talk about. It’s just the groaning of the world, the lullaby that doesn’t soothe anyone when we sleep. I hear that noise all day, all night, for all of my lives.
I like my sixteenth birthday, because it’s always the last one. The last one of anything is precious, I’ve found. It also means that I have to go outside, to leave home and gather my friends. Yes, I have friends, but it’s like they were invited to my birthday party by my mother – I like them, but I can never be so sure about how they feel about me.
That’s a lie. I hate to lie in words. I know how they feel about me. They’re afraid of me, but they still love me anyway. I love them too, but in the end it’s just me and the flames.
Another lie. Me, the flames, and the other one. The only thing you can’t put into words. The two of us go way back. I hate to gamble, but we have an ongoing bet.
I bet that it can destroy everything and everyone, but never be free.
It bets that I can make everything the way it was, over and over again, but never claim my wish.
I wish that my mother was alive. My last thoughts before the last sleep, as I rejoin the White, are of her face, and warm arms, and not of her dead on the floor. Dead while the Nameless laughs. Have you ever heard the universe laugh? It has a terrible sense of humor.
Did I mention I have a terrible sense of humor?