a semi-story by Dot
I stare at the tinted, cracked glasses in my hands. Why do I keep such a thing?
Pain. Searing, hot, white pain. And someone shouting her name, over and over again.
Something wet splashes onto the glass. I am crying. Why? And why does it feel like I have seen tears before?
More pain. Something strange invading her body. The Thing which she does not understand makes Itself known to her.
I remember things, yet I do not remember them.
“You remind me of a mother.” He grins. Her face grows hot.
The tinted glasses reflect my face in a poor way, and my image in it distorts.
Her face twists in anger. “If the Commander told you to commit suicide, you’d do it!”
I know what will happen to me.
His grip on her shoulder is far too tight. “It is time.”
It is my duty.
The hands around her neck are far too tight. “You are replaceable, like me.”
Yet I am afraid.
Hands balled into fists pounding the floor, distraught. “I am as stupid as my mother!”
I wish to disappear, but he does not allow it. No, she does not allow it.
“If it’s a boy, we’ll name him Shinji. If a girl, Rei.”
Who am I? What am I?
“I think I am the Third.”
It does not matter. Not any more.
Unnecessarily Long and Tiresome Authoress’ Notes:
Why do most of my first-person narrative stories sound like the person talking is on crack? (On second thought, don’t answer that…)