People say that I am unattached to the world, unable to communicate with my peers.
Well, I'd personally like them to have to make sense of the millions of things running through my head.
To have to struggle to make others understand, because they claim "my words are too big".
And this is coming from people who say words like Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, a word that is ridiculously long, and has no real value or meaning.
I have sporadically wondered if Hitler didn't have the right idea to kill the less intelligent beings, and make a superior race.
But then I sober immediately at the memory of my graduate project—going with Dr. Brennan to Germany to help identify age and sex of the thousands of skeletons in the mass graves, some just recently found, they were hidden so well.
And that leads me to think of what exactly I did in Iraq.
God the horror.
It was hard to identify in Germany, but at least then they were just skeletons. Nothing could prepare me for the sights I saw when I was there. I was there to identify bodies in the mass graves near the "erased" villages. Some of the victims still had skin on them; they weren't that old, some just a little over two years old.
Fresh enough to still have clothes, to still have eyes.
It was horrifying, to see that he killed so.
Here I thought the school system was doing their job. To help us never forget the Holocaust, so it wouldn't happen again. Apparently, Iraq didn't get the memo.
When I expressed my feelings, my Iraqi guards just shrugged and told me that there would be bigger graves, this was a smaller village.
But the hardest part was when they asked me to come in and identify bones, severed from their corpses, to use my knowledge to get DNA off them so the could simply be shipped home.
But Cam wants to know why I won't tell her all about my travels. Temperance understands some; after all she did the same in Central America with Sully. But Booth gets it the best, one night when the nightmares became too much, I asked Hodgins to drive me there, and he did.
When I arrived Booth simply opened the door, and let me talk, just tell him some of the stuff I saw there.
And he nodded, and didn't prod because he knew the feeling. After that, I felt a little better.
Now they want me to go back, and even though it's a great service, I doubt I will.
Because I am a genius.
And geniuses apparently don't do war well at all. I mean, look at Einstein; he went practically insane after he invented the A-bomb.
And I don't want to be insane; it's hard enough to be a hyper-intelligent anthropologist.
A/N: I'm gifted like Zach, so it's easy for me to understand him. So little is really written about him, I'd thought you'd like a taste of what goes on in a idiot savant's mind (for those of you who just drew a blank, it means someone whos highly intelligent, but basic common sense and "street smarts" are very very low in ability) any one like his bonding time with Booth I added in there?