A Story For Two

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: June 22, 2018

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Submitted: June 22, 2018

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Considering that the skies are blue and the grass is green, i have never really fathomed that it's winter over here in California. I'd never quite expect that winter could be so nice anywhere, not after the winters i've lived through in England, Denmark and Upstate New York. But there it is, the sun halfway through it's daily circle around the planet (or not, maybe it's just me), a warm 69 degrees fahrenheit with only a slight breeze and barely any clouds in the sky. The grass around my chair is as green as any i've seen in the summer and the birds flutter around without a care. Or maybe they do have a care, primarily survival i would expect, but if i was a bird, i don't think i'd have a care. At least i'd try not to. 
Of course, reality really isn't that simple. For as i sit here thinking about what i'd do if i was a bird, i know that i have all the cares of the world in the back of my mind, and as i stare lazily at a bird flying into the branches of the tree who's shade i'm utilizing for my own personal gain (Namely a place to sit and contemplate being a bird) i know that i'm going to have to solve all of the world's problems one by one. 
For I am, of course the eternal confidence booster, the humble problem-solver, and the one who resolves the issues directed at me by my subjects. Of course, they wouldn't tell if i didn't ask, but knowing that i am who i am, i have to ask, because if my subjects aren't happy then who knows how long i can keep them as subjects? 
Well, truthfully, they aren't my subjects, and i'm almost certain they wouldn't care to subject themselves to my domain if they had the choice, but it's my world, and i shall choose to do so with it as i please. 
I light up a cigarette, and think about whether i should include the unfortunate side-effects of smoking in my world. I decide that i probably should, since cigarettes aren't from my world, they're from a larger, better organized world that doesn't come under my command. Well. I'll leave the cancer to the other worlds and see how i feel about it in a while. 
Lazily i turn my head to look at the other. The one sitting beside me treating me to an unpassionate stare, like a husband might look at his wife's divorce lawyer. I flash a lazy smile back at her and try to think of something to say. I start to organize a sentence in my mind, and just as i line it up on my tongue i have another thought. Why is she sitting here with me? I'm sure she wasn't there last time i looked, and i'm certain she didn't come to this haven with me. Is she just a figment of my imagination? A desire made into an illusion by an uncertain part of my brain. Or did she arrive here with me, my contemplation having blocked her from memory? 
For certainly she is a well known figure, someone who's smooth features sit in my mind and bug me while i'm not too busy thinking about other, more important things. A sight that has been burned upon a part of my subconscious that chooses to reveal itself in times of boredom. An illusive sillhouette whom i can't decide whether to incoorporate into my world, or leave her in her own. For certainly, she doesn't seem well in her own world, and every now and again takes the arduous trip into mine. Or maybe i invite her. Who knows. Maybe she's just an illustration of dreams that i thought up and decided to solidify, just out of grasp, so as to keep me on my toes. 
I watch her while i take a sip of beer, to see if she'll make the first move, or whether i'm going to have to push it, as i so often do. I offer her a cigarette, another gesture i'm used to making, she accepts without a word and i pass her my lighter, while gazing off into the distant orchard. She takes the lighter and lights up, without making a sound. 
I let some ideas flit through my mind while watching the leaves blow in the breeze. The trees are mostly bare, standing 5 to 6 feet apart from each other. Each has a very dark brown, almost black trunk, with a foot wide ring of bare earth around the bottom of their trunks. I wonder how far the orchard stretches back, for it certainly goes further than my eyes can see. 
I idly blow a few weak smoke-rings towards the trees, but they're quickly swept away by the breeze, leaving only a slight whisper of smoke, and possibly a very minor dent in the health of all of the living things that are around me. At least, that's what i'm told by people. People who live in far off worlds, who communicate with me solely through anonymous medias, trying to brand their message onto my world, polluting my atmosphere with words that i don't care to hear, as i am now polluting their atmosphere with poisonous gasses they don't wish to inhale. Quid pro quo, i guess. 
I take onother sip of the cool, innebriating liquid that i call my friend, and turn various ideas around in my mind, not letting the nature around me unphase my clear and concise thinking. Every problem has a solution, and every solution a key. It's like the plastic blocks i remember playing with as a child. There was a square, a circle, and a star. There was probably a parallelogram as well. Or maybe it was a hectagon. How many sides does a hectagon have? Ten i think. But anyway, you had to fit the blocks into the box that came with them. Each block had a hole of the same shape and you had to match them and push them through, rather pointless when i think about it. But i imagine that it was good fun all those years ago. 
The problem i'm considering now wouldn't fit into a neat slot, like a plastic block would. It's multi-faceted and possibly spans into other dimensions, it would need a box of incredible proportions, crafted by the best multi-dimensional plasticsmith in the universe. I wonder if there's one of those in my world. I decide that there probably should be. He would be a short man, at least 50 years old, balding, yet with a full beard. He would wear beige overalls ontop of a white t-shirt at all times, and he would prefer candlelight to electric light. 
My thought process stops there, and i gaze at the girl once more. Why should i let her into my world? What do i stand to gain from her entrance? A smile here and now maybe. A nice thought every once in a while. Somebody to share my cancerous death wishes with. A confidant, a pretty face, an intelligent conversation? Hmm. Maybe not. 
Of course my initial thoughts are about what i stand to gain from it, i wouldn't be human if they weren't. Even though i know through experience, that in the end it's never i who gains anything from inviting people into my world. I can't quite seem to take things from people, and i have only my beer to confide in. So surely the question should be, what does she stand to gain from being in my world?
Anything she would want is the answer to that, for i am like a a super-virus. I mold myself to suit the person's wishes and slip behind their defences, leaving them caught in my embrace and slowly perishing under my intense care, because anyone who becomes a subject of mine becomes part of me, another piece of me to take care of and nurture to well being and happiness. At least as far as i can, before they invariably become bored of me and leave me on my own. Sparing me only a thought every few centuries, when i make an appearance in their dreams or social circles. 
Or maybe it's the other way around. Maybe i'm the one who fixes them up and then leaves them for dead, as a super-virus can do. Maybe i'm carving my way through good people, leaving only a trail of broken carcasses in my wake. In that case, surely i should bar her from entry, let her live her life oblivious to what could happen to her through associating through me. But then. that wouldn't be fun, would it?
But in this example i am generalizing. I haven't left anyone for dead, and i would certainly never abandon a subject of mine. And indeed, i keep on caring about people long after we've lost contact. But then who's fault is it we lost contact to start with?
I guess there's no answer to that debate, but at least by now i've figured out the answer to the first problem. My multi-dimensional plasticsmith has come through yet again and created a box i can fit my problem into, the block fitting neatly through the hole and dropping into the box beneath. 
I pick up my beer and take a long sip, take one last drag of my cigarette before dropping it onto the grass beneath my feet and grounding it into the dirt. I look at the girl and smile. 
"Maybe you didn't come here with me, but would you like to leave with me?"


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