August 18th
Dear Diary,
I was reminded of Bubbles today. It seems strange to think about that humble little fish, long dead and flushed down the toilet bowl. Daddy told me that Goldfish we're the hardest pets to maintain. Ironic really, that such a simple, common creature could be so demanding in its upkeep. I wonder what becomes of the complex. Can they ever really die? Who holds the sword at the throat of the obscure being? And inturn, what becomes of the slayer?
I know why I thought about him. I loved that fish, and I killed him because of it. Just like what I did today. But love wasn't the cause of today's outcome. Or was it? I can hardly tell myself.
It's a funny thing, passion. I've never felt much in my life. Emotions, I learnt, swept logic off its feet, and I like to stay focused. I'll admit it's probably not the best way to live, But I have moments. Like today. Oh today! The most horribly today in face of all the runner-up yesterdays.
I've been with the Bureau now for over a decade, and I've killed people. Innocent people. Because I've come to realise, no matter how sensationalised crime is, no matter how black and white the law paints anarchy, there are reasons which lead to actions. Now I sound like one of them.
Noonan hired a psychiatrist a few months ago, and added to our contracts 'mandatory fortnightly sessions'. Selsby is his name, Edward Selsby with his atrocious tie and bowl of chalky home-brand mints. We're not allowed to see our own profiles, but I know what he is thinking. He thinks that I'm near-hitting a break point; that I've had too much blood on my hands to possibly cope with this new revelation that all people could be innocent if life had granted them that chance.
"Yes, Miss Starling, but life is about choice, not chance" He'd say
But all I can think is: fuck off and let me have my peace you obnoxious bastard. If peace is just a state of mind, let me have mine. If I do have to live with this blood on my hands, let me do it my way, not theirs. I'm not like them, and it has taken me this long to discover that. I never really appreciated what I didn't have until I couldn't have it, and now I'm feeling a deep sense of regret.
It seems futile to replay the event in words. Call it a day and let my thoughts rest in memory. Alas, thoughts are so much easier to tame than feelings, and I don't know that I want to forget what I became. Changed.
I'd been chasing him so long, but he'd caught me the very first time we met. I wish what I knew now, I had known then. I wish Dad had never died. I wish I had never joined the Bureau. And most of all, I wish I had never met him. I sound like a grieving widow, and it cheapens my pride to admit to such depression. What's done is done, and I am the doer.
Why didn't he see it coming? Graham won on whimsy, and this time I have. But I didn't really want to win at all. This victory will reap no reward. He should never have come back to the states. And I should never have been forced to fulfil my duty. One which withered in it's own corruption.
What is it all worth? I don't know which foot steps first anymore, if indeed I ever decide to get out of this bed, I won't get far. Though really, where can I go?
I wonder though, how is it where he is? I know I could never face him again, not after this betrayal. But I do wonder. What is he thinking? Now, would he kill me, given the chance? Because I killed him. Oh, he's breathing, but he's as good as dead when measuring life up to his own standards of living.
I killed Bubbles with love, and too much Fishie YumYums. I killed Hannibal Lecter with passion. Passion, however misplaced it may have been at the time. I was playing in the wrong den, with the wrong team. And for that, I have lost the one person credible dually as my equal, and my adversary.
I don't know that I'll ever be able to say more. I'm sorry.
---tbc
This chapter will join a series of upcoming diary entries, as well as feature chapters. Thank you for reading. Please review *Jalila
Dear Diary,
I was reminded of Bubbles today. It seems strange to think about that humble little fish, long dead and flushed down the toilet bowl. Daddy told me that Goldfish we're the hardest pets to maintain. Ironic really, that such a simple, common creature could be so demanding in its upkeep. I wonder what becomes of the complex. Can they ever really die? Who holds the sword at the throat of the obscure being? And inturn, what becomes of the slayer?
I know why I thought about him. I loved that fish, and I killed him because of it. Just like what I did today. But love wasn't the cause of today's outcome. Or was it? I can hardly tell myself.
It's a funny thing, passion. I've never felt much in my life. Emotions, I learnt, swept logic off its feet, and I like to stay focused. I'll admit it's probably not the best way to live, But I have moments. Like today. Oh today! The most horribly today in face of all the runner-up yesterdays.
I've been with the Bureau now for over a decade, and I've killed people. Innocent people. Because I've come to realise, no matter how sensationalised crime is, no matter how black and white the law paints anarchy, there are reasons which lead to actions. Now I sound like one of them.
Noonan hired a psychiatrist a few months ago, and added to our contracts 'mandatory fortnightly sessions'. Selsby is his name, Edward Selsby with his atrocious tie and bowl of chalky home-brand mints. We're not allowed to see our own profiles, but I know what he is thinking. He thinks that I'm near-hitting a break point; that I've had too much blood on my hands to possibly cope with this new revelation that all people could be innocent if life had granted them that chance.
"Yes, Miss Starling, but life is about choice, not chance" He'd say
But all I can think is: fuck off and let me have my peace you obnoxious bastard. If peace is just a state of mind, let me have mine. If I do have to live with this blood on my hands, let me do it my way, not theirs. I'm not like them, and it has taken me this long to discover that. I never really appreciated what I didn't have until I couldn't have it, and now I'm feeling a deep sense of regret.
It seems futile to replay the event in words. Call it a day and let my thoughts rest in memory. Alas, thoughts are so much easier to tame than feelings, and I don't know that I want to forget what I became. Changed.
I'd been chasing him so long, but he'd caught me the very first time we met. I wish what I knew now, I had known then. I wish Dad had never died. I wish I had never joined the Bureau. And most of all, I wish I had never met him. I sound like a grieving widow, and it cheapens my pride to admit to such depression. What's done is done, and I am the doer.
Why didn't he see it coming? Graham won on whimsy, and this time I have. But I didn't really want to win at all. This victory will reap no reward. He should never have come back to the states. And I should never have been forced to fulfil my duty. One which withered in it's own corruption.
What is it all worth? I don't know which foot steps first anymore, if indeed I ever decide to get out of this bed, I won't get far. Though really, where can I go?
I wonder though, how is it where he is? I know I could never face him again, not after this betrayal. But I do wonder. What is he thinking? Now, would he kill me, given the chance? Because I killed him. Oh, he's breathing, but he's as good as dead when measuring life up to his own standards of living.
I killed Bubbles with love, and too much Fishie YumYums. I killed Hannibal Lecter with passion. Passion, however misplaced it may have been at the time. I was playing in the wrong den, with the wrong team. And for that, I have lost the one person credible dually as my equal, and my adversary.
I don't know that I'll ever be able to say more. I'm sorry.
---tbc
This chapter will join a series of upcoming diary entries, as well as feature chapters. Thank you for reading. Please review *Jalila