Mad Giggler on :
She gets around, doesn't she?
Wednesday, August 17. 2005Macon Craig
One of the elephants trumpeted; its call drifted up to me on the hot, heavy air, and disturbed my reverie. Things used to be so simple, I thought, and then smiled, a sad half smile. Listen to me. I sound like an old man. They were though. Simple, I mean. Everything used to be so much simpler. Why did she have to go and do that?
I heard something rustle in the grass. Turning, I saw her. "Hey." My voice seemed to come from an empty place deep inside of me. I turned back to watching the elephants. I don't know what makes the environments different. In real life, you couldn't drag me outside to sit in the sun. Here, though, it was different. Here, sitting in the sun and watching the animals seemed to be the best way to find peace. And I needed that. She sat down beside me, gesturing toward the savannah "It's amazing." Her voice sounded a little bit sad. I didn't reply. Here I was, sitting beside the most beautiful woman I'd ever met, listening as she talked to me, and all I wanted, the thing that I wanted more than anything, was for her to go away. Why did she do it? Things were so much simpler before, before THAT. Before THAT, I could pretend. Pretend. That's all my life was. I pretended about Lauren, I pretended about this girl, and when things went badly, I retreated into my pretend worlds to lick my wounds and pretend some more. Her hand appeared in front of me, pointing toward the elephants. "Did you make the elephants?" "Yeah." My voice sounded tired, listless. I knew that I would regret this later, staying in the environments so long. I knew that I would be tortured with splitting headaches, and that I'd have to take some of the pills that Brain_Stem had given me after he had put in my implant, but I couldn't face the real world. Not right now. I reached up to feel the rough edges of my implant, and was shocked when I felt nothing but smooth skin. It took me a moment to realize that I didn't have an implant, not inside of the environments anyway. "They're very good." Her voice brought me back.
"Huh?" "The elephants. They're very good." My puzzlement and pent-up irritation bubbled over. "Why are you talking to me all of a sudden? What happened to the stalking? Does all of this have something to do with what you did with Night_Watcher last night?" She blushed. "Oh, that's very nice. Blush about it. Pretend that you're the innocent. Very nice." "Howell's a good man." "Oh, so he's not Night_Watcher. He's Howell. How very special." I stood up. "I misjudged him. I . . . there aren't . . . He's not like . . ." "Go ahead. Spit it out. I'm sure that you found out all kinds of good things about him when you were stripping for him last night." Her hand shot out, and before I could react, I found myself flat on my back, her knee in the middle of my chest. "I didn't WANT to do that," she hissed, her eyes flashing. "My life is in danger. I needed his help, and I thought that the only way I could get it was to buy it." She relaxed, sank back into her sitting position, her head bowed. "But I was wrong. All I had to do was ask." I tried to think of something to say, something with meaning. I tried to find something mean, I wanted to hurt her, wanted her to feel like I felt inside, but I couldn't think of anything. I tried to find something consoling, something sympathetic, but she interrupted. "You're a good man, too. You're like him." "No," I replied, miserably, finally finding my voice. "No, I'm not." "Look at this." She held her arms out, gesturing toward the environment. "Could a bad man create this beauty?" I sat up. "You know how I learned to do this? You know how I make money?" She shook her head. "I draw pictures. Pictures that talk, and move. Pictures . . ." my voice faltered, "Pictures that look like you, but with less clothes. I'm a pornographer, OK? Is that your idea of a good man?" She didn't say a word, just put her hand on my knee, and stared off into the distance, listening as the elephants' calls drifted up towards us on the hot, heavy air. Trackbacks
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Mad Giggler on :
She gets around, doesn't she?
radar on :
Or you could have skipped our conversation last night and just written this! Good writting, for people like me. Good surface stuff.
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