Hanna totally hijacked the story.
A side story to a side story to 1000 Paper Cranes.
Veser and the Tree
A Short Story by Hanna
Veser … what can I say about Veser? He's got issues, but, I mean, we all do. And at least his are situational. Kinda like Donald's. Neither asked for their troubles. (Well, maybe Waldo did, before he died, but I sort of doubt that, since I can't imagine any plan involving being resurrected ten years after your death without any memory of who you were or any means to remember. But who knows. Maybe Oren's part of some complex organization and the whole thing had been planned since birth and he was destined to come back and the whole thing is way bigger than him haphazardly finding my business card.)
Anyway … What was I saying? Oh, right, Veser.
So he's a cool kid and all, especially considering his background and all, and even if he's the most frustrating teenage brat there ever was, it's kinda of good that he is, right? Better than if he'd turned out aloof and broken and reserved and shit. Irritating means normal. Irritating is irritating as all fucking hell, but still normal for a nineteen year old of the "me" generation.
But even if it's a good sign, it's got its limits. When he decides to call me "kid", for example.
When he decides that the girl from The Grudge every freaking corner of my apartment, and somehow convinces me of such, for another.
I mean, if you're going to suggest the scariest movie, like, ever at midnight, you should probably be able to stand watching the scariest movie, like, ever at midnight. Of course, I've seen the movie before (well parts of it, anyway … the trailer counts as parts, rights?) so I figure it can't be all that scary, despite what Veser is boasting.
So, when, at two a.m. we're both hyperventilating because what the fuck, how scary was that!, I blame the directors of the trailer for totally undermining that whole shebang. But Veser really has no one to blame.
Never the less, he decides to arm himself with a goddamn frying pan that I can't talk away from him. There are way better methods for ghosts that kitchen-ware, and trust me, I would know, so why don't we not destroy Pierre's stuff? But (and here's where some of that teenage, "me" generation irritation thing comes in) he doesn't seem to get the point that there is stuff in this world that isn't his, so continues wielding the old, heavy cast-iron pan that's likely to do some damage somewhere in the apartment before tomorrow.
I finally give up on trying to get the pan away from him, but it's not like I'm in much better shape. Still hyperventilating from creepy-as-hell-smoker-Japanese-girl-in-need-of-a-hair-cut, remember? So the kitchen lights and the bathroom lights stay on when Veser and I try to actually sleep, even though, I swear to god, we were both awake as a fucking awake and alert and fucking I-dunno-whats, sharks, I guess … Sharks don't sleep, right? … Right?
Anyway, I don't remember when I fell asleep, but, Jesus Veser, I sure as hell remember waking up, 'cause next thing I know Veser is screaming and he's still got that got damn frying pan, and there's something dark in the corner that I can't make out, and maybe I screamed a little too, 'cause I couldn't tell you if something ten feet in front of me was a a humpback whale or coffee cup without my glasses, and Veser screaming about how that fucking anime bitch is coming to get us didn't really help.
I actually only heard the first swing somehow over Veser screaming like a maniac and the people in 406 screaming at him to stop screaming and the dog over in 201 responding in kind. By the time I could actually see and the light was on, the tree was in pieces and the frying pan had at least two new dents (Veser swears on his life that the third I think are new was actually there before).
And, because all of the universe hates me and just loves to laugh at my misery, Elijah comes home two seconds later (which sounds like hyperbole, but it's not), and neither of us know really how to explain that one.
So yeah.
That's why Veser is never again allowed in our apartment.