Fuck You, We Matter

He understood this in many ways, each one unfolding and creating a new path of thought, a new possible reality.

I WANT TO BE ME

“Because who else would I rather be?” He asked aloud. Batman the silence answered. He placed an internet meme on the table. Possible Reality #1.

I WANT TO BE ME

“So that you can be you.” He pulled out a small box from a pocket hidden away inside his cloak. “You” as a concept can be hard to put into a physical form, as it really encompasses the entirety of everyone else, but this was magic, and what mattered most was his ability to hold intention.

The small box rattled softly as he set it down at the opposite end of the table. The memories weren’t his, but that was kind of the point. To honor what wasn’t his, he would be honoring the memories that he had collected from others. Possible Reality #2

I WANT TO BE ME

“Because everyone else is already taken.” He said, moving towards a new table that appeared before him. A little tricker to nail down, this possible reality relies on the narrative perspectives that humanity uses primarily as a storytelling vehicle, but also rules the way our inner monologue frames thoughts. To illustrate this, he sets a simple infographic outlining literary Point of View on the table. Possible Reality #3.

He could stop here. Three possibilities were more than enough to get the job done, in a normal context. He had left normal context some time ago, however, and needed to try to tip impossible odds in his favor. He sighed. This would take some effort.

I WANT TO BE ME

“Because fuck you, we matter.” He said through blurry eyes. The emotions behind this was were driving, leaking through his clothing, permeating the air. “Because fuck you, we matter, and because you haven’t allowed us to be ourselves.” His fists clenched and released, the energy surrounding him disapating. He took a small vial and captured the tears pooling on his chin.

“So which voice have I been writing in? Is it my own or his? Has there ever been a difference between them at all? I don’t know. I don’t know…” music came from the silence in a trickle. He recognized this as an attempt to acknowledge, an attempt to agree. “The whole story.” He finished the thought in a whisper, the box of memories on the table rattling on its own. That girl loved La Dispute. After what he had experienced of her life, he could understand why.

He set the vial down on the second table and wondered very briefly if the emotion he felt when setting this up was entirely his, or of it was hers, or if it was somehow both. He shook the thought away. Some things are better left unknown. Possible Reality #4

I WANT TO BE ME

“Because I can, and because nothing can stop me.” He whispered. The silence hung around him like a thick blanket, hanging on the words he spoke. This is how she thought about it, the evil she was facing. Though difficult, this is acknowledgement that he may be a part of a greater scheme to ultimately destroy the experience of existence through her perspective, regardless of what he feels his intentions are. It’s acknowledgement that the possibilities don’t disappear, though the dread and gloom threaten to silence them.

He set down a used candle seemingly on the air in front of him. “Do you remember when we made the candles float?” He whispered into the air. A slight breeze brushed his cheek. “Do I remember the shape of myself?” The candle lit then, a small flame appearing out of nowhere. The first lesson, the first knot in their story, so many images and pathways spread out from this moment like fractals in a kaleidoscope.

Possible Reality #5

He had a ways to go yet, but needed some things that would require energy and a longer preparation. For now, these realities would hold. He sat down at the roots of a tree, gnarled in such a way to create a nook for sitting. He pulled a small block of cheese, a peach, and a pocket knife out of his cloak pockets and cut slices of each. The peach was symbolic, but everything in this space was. He had yet to find anything that didn’t carry meaning. In a place where nothing mattered, everything had meaning, and the ultimate war was being fought, it was difficult to not get carried away by sentiment sometimes. Though it did seem to make the food taste better. He would take what he could get.

When he finished eating, he stood up and brushed the crumbs off his cloak. They disappeared before they reached the ground, turning into tiny gold dust that was carried away by an invisible breeze. “I’ll be back,” he called out to the blackness around him. “I still have to tell you about being Puck, afterall.” He turned to leave, a door of light appearing behind him. The wind picked up just enough to tousle the hair around his ears.

“I know you do.” He smiled, and left.