Thursday, 26 April 2012

Visiting Hours

Yesterday I visited Stella's grave. Vivi and Chester were there. I admit, it's relieving to see that the wipe has stuck and they both look like two perfectly healthy, normal young people in every respect.

It's hard, interacting with them both. Chester is my brother- flesh and blood kin that I was denied to chance to have a relationship with. I remember being really excited when my mother got pregnant- I was six, and the prospect of having a younger brother or sister was a exciting one. I wondered if it would be a boy or a girl, (I decided it didn't matter so long as they thought lego was cool) and what kind of a person they would be.

He That Is took me two months before Chester was born. I never even got to meet him until a year ago. I always have this sense of loss whenever I look at him. We're genetically related, we share parents and we look rather alike, but we're not really brothers. We could have been, but we are not.

They bought flowers, for Stella, and I chatted with them for a while. I can see why they were quite well-liked among the other bloggers- they're kind people. Warmhearted. Sometimes I feel I did the blogosphere a disservice, wiping them. I could have let them go on, let them die their heroic deaths the same way many others have done. But then they would be dead. 

Utilitarianism is a branch of philosophy based off the concept of the best choice being the one that is kindest. I tried to do the kindest thing, Sometimes in retrospect I wonder if my choice at the time really was the kindest possible thing, but the deed is done. You can't change the past.

The world needs a little more kindness. The blogosphere needs more kindness, I think. Vivi and Chester were well liked because they were kind, they treated others well. Some of the bloggers I have seen are in circumstances where they have nobody to turn to, where they can trust nobody, starved for compassion.

For those of you who need a shoulder to lean on, someplace to stay, to show you that small bit of kindness, I am here. 

Friday, 20 April 2012

Broken Record

I went through all the stuff in my house today, had a big spring clean. Wrong time of the year, at least in this area of the world, but I managed to find a whole lot of things that I can probably sell, which might make things a little more secure for me, financially, for a while. I should probably think about getting a job.

While I was cleaning, I came across somebody's iPod, plus a charging cord. I don't know who's it is- it's not mine, I've never owned one, but I plugged it into my laptop in order to charge it and it's doing that now.

It's Stella's. Nobody else I know would let Lady Gaga anywhere near their MP3 players. Adam used to ridicule her for it, and she used to hit him.

I miss the other H. I miss them a lot. Not a day goes by when I don't think of them, even though it's been getting near a year since their collective deaths. I miss holing up in Stella's hotel room watching british comedy shows and ridiculing politicians in the news and, just, everything. They were my friends.

Sometimes I think they'd be ashamed of me, Stella especially. I've lost my way. I've lost my kit and I haven't made any effort to replace it. I was somebody once. I was H. Healer, Helper. I tried to do good things and hoped for the best.

I'm nobody in particular now. Just another haunted guy. I remember when I thought I could be a hero, that I could help everyone. You can't help everyone, it's just not feasible. You'll fail.

I want to help, nonetheless.

Thursday, 19 April 2012

Old Wounds

Yesterday, against my better judgement, I went out to coffee with the Femme Fatale. For a given definition of coffee, since I had tea.

She left another note with a time and place in my letterbox two days ago. This time, I went. I brought my crowbar, concealed inside my shoulder bag, in case things got ugly.

We sat across from each other, silent, for a while before I said "I assume you didn't invite me here for the pleasure of my company."

She looked at me, unreadable, for a few seconds. "In August of last year, an old colleague of mine showed up on my doorstep, said she was going away for a while, and if she didn't come back before Christmas, to find you. I knew her as Two-Face.I've been trying to track you down ever since. I was hoping you would be able to tell me what happened to her"

"You mean Kristen MacIntyre?" I asked. "She's dead. She killed several of my friends, then went after another. He killed her."

She looked startled for a few seconds. "So that was her real name...I take it you're not Indoctrinated, then. If you don't mind my asking, who exactly are you? All I know about you is your address, the design on your mask, and that you don't drink coffee."

"I'm not anyone in particular," I told her, "I was Indoctrinated for a while, and I wiped people's minds to give them a fresh start for a while more. Now I'm just a guy with a lot of dead friends."

"I'm Evelyn Schoeman." she said after a while, frowning at the bottom of her coffee cup. "I'm an Indoctrinated, for lack of a better word, although He has little use for old ladies like me. I haven't had to do anything major in a few years. A bit of vandalism, intimidation, that sort of thing."

I spent a minute trying to process this, before I blurted out "You're not an old lady. You're what, thirty?"

Evelyn gave me an incredulous look. "Thirty-four." she said finally. "And you can't be much younger, by the look of you."

"Twenty-eight." I retorted. "Having Where's-his-face hanging around doesn't help you stay young."

She laughed. "Well, Sir-who-has-cunningly-avoided-telling-me-his-name, I have to be off now. I have to pick up my kids from school soon."

"Kids?" I asked. The thought of a proxy raising children, I admit, was a rather alarming one.

"Three boys." she said. "They're a gift, albeit a noisy and stressful one. See you, stranger."

"Not if I see you first."

Then she left, and I went home.

I don't trust her. She's a proxy, for one, although I'm somewhat thrown by the fact that she was forthright about it.

Well, she got what she approached me for. Hopefully she will leave me alone for a while.

Sunday, 8 April 2012

Femme Fatale

I went for a walk yesterday, and when I came home there was a woman leaning against the fence. She looked incongruous against the dilapidated fence and overgrown yard, reapplying her lipstick with scarcely a glance at me. I thought she was just a passer-by, so I didn't spare her a second glance.

"Where's your mask?" she asked when I walked past her. I shrugged and didn't respond, taking my keys out from around my neck and unlocking the door. I don't make a habit of talking to attractive women or proxies, as both are rather dangerous, and this woman was definitely attractive and probably a proxy, which made her at least twice as dangerous.

"You're going to invite me in for coffee." she said. She didn't say it like a request, or an order. She said it like it was a certain thing, an inevitability. She was assured, certain that I was going to do as she had said.

I turned around and told her "I don't drink coffee." before I went inside, locking the door and barring it behind me.

She stood outside my house for an hour, looking for all the world like a lost puppy, before she left. I found a note in my letterbox later that day with a time (11 this morning) and a place (one of the Starbucks' in the CBD) and also a smiley face.

Honestly, how stupid does she think I am?

I didn't go.