It is watching me. The monster.
It appears to be pacing around, stopping here and there to rifle through crates and boxes, but while it does, it keeps throwing those glances at me, full of disgust and loathing. There is a lot of that going around these days, that much is certain.
"Where is it? What'd you do with it?" the monster asks, its anger palpable. It stops its prowl to search through an old three-legged desk (leaving all the drawers open, of course). It was there when I threw the knife away, but it seems to have forgotten all about it.
I try to ignore it. Hi omnes lingua institutis legibus inter se differunt.
"Where the hell is it?"
It half-heartedly kicks against one of the drawers. Its lust for wanton destruction is not what it used to be. It is broken. The monster. Not the drawer. It is not even wearing its true face. It stares at the desk for a whole minute, as if uncertain, but then it roars, picks the piece of furniture up and hurls it against a wall, causing wood to splinter and bricks to crack. What a mess!
I stop my rendition of Ceasar's conquests. Look what you have done. You broke it.
"Yeah, and it was fun."
We do not go round breaking things that do not belong to us, I tell it firmly.
"Oh yes we do," it smiles. "I do."
And that is exactly why we don't want you.
It squirms.
Nobody wants you.
Its face contorts with rage and hurt. "Wrong! You're the one nobody wants." It snarls and snatches a sharp piece of wood from the floor.
I take a step backwards. Put it down!
"Or what?"
I thought we had already established that it is no use, when I failed to cut you out, I say, annoyed with myself for trying to argue with the monster. Face the facts. You are not going anywhere without me. We are like Siamese twins, you and I . Connected. Through heart and flesh. Or as you might put it, we're stuck with each other.
It is still coming closer. "Oh yeah?"
Go. To. Hell! I say with great deliberation.
All I have to do is let go. Because when I do, it all comes back. Voices. Thousands of them. Crying, cursing, begging. Images. Blood, bodies, faces. Knowledge. Families, futures – all destroyed. And her… crying, trying to crawl away…
And the anguish and the shame and the guilt burn like fire.
"No! God, please…" The monster howls in pain and presses its palms against its temples. "Make it stop. Please, make it…."
