The alter-ego speaks

You do not understand, she says. Explain it to me then, I beg. It’s not easy, she whispers. It’s not impossible either, I say.

She opens her mouth, as if to gather her thoughts. As I know any thoughts on the subject must start from that incident that spawned this whole ugly train of events, I hold her hand, ready to hold her if she cries. But she takes a deep breath and leans back and looks towards the heavens, as if for support. A lone tear, unable to hide, escapes from the corner of her right eye. She quickly wipes it off and passes me a quick smile, as if to reassure me. Poor thing, my heart goes out to her. She’s reassuring me.

She looks up, all the helplessness in her eyes gone, now replaced by a strange fire. ‘Don’t’, she says, in a subdued yet defiant voice. Confused, I glance at her and ask,’Don’t what?’

‘i know what you’re thinking. That look on your face – on everybody’s face. You pity me, don’t you?’

‘ really.’

‘Don’t LIE.’

‘Well, not in a negative sense or anything…’

‘I just know it. Pity is all everyone gives. I know those looks – oh, poor kid, that’s what you must be wondering. Leave me ALONE.’

And she darts out of the room.

If I didn’t pity her before, I certainly pity her now. Caught between a raging helplessness and the need to preserve her sense of self-sufficiency, she’s trapped in a mirage that can claim people for its own in a very short time and deprive them of reason.

She blames herself for everything, I know. And I wish I knew how to help.


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