Logically

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Logically, don't be afraid of the knowns. Be afraid of the unknowns.

Submitted: July 15, 2015

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Submitted: July 15, 2015

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Some-ones don’t know who he is. Who he really is. Sure, they all know of his intellect, and sure, they all know about his beliefs, but no-one really knows him. Maybe it’s because he’s too smart for them. Maybe, they can’t understand him. I don’t think that, though. I think he’s careful. I think that he’s too careful for them to even understand. He’s smart to be careful.

Gabriel Lowry Todd the fourth. That’s who he is. Gabriel Lowry Todd, alumnus of Exeter and Yale, and current researcher in the lab a floor above me. Also, currently, the prime suspect for the string of homicides around the city. Big guy like him, I can see why they would think he’s the killer. Each person had been launched off the top of a building, and they found bruises on their torsos roughly matching hand prints. Some of the dead were strong—like Todd—and fought back; that’s why they had narrowed their search to big guys like him. They’d then decided their suspect was smarter than them. Hence, Todd.

I don’t agree. Sure, he could’ve done it. He’s got the strength, and he’s got the intelligence, but he doesn’t have the motive. I’ve been watching him since they began suspecting him, but he’s got no reason to push someone off a roof. The police aren’t thinking straight or looking at all their options. I know it wasn’t him. No-one’s smart enough to listen to me.

Not no-one literally, of course. But no-one of importance to me, or, for that matter, the police. Not one the police recognize, anyway, and everyone knows that if you’re not recognized, you aren’t important. What I find fascinating is that the police are looking for their killer, but their killer is no-one to them. No-one to a lot of the world.

Todd’s grabbing his newspaper. For such a smart man, one would think he would remember an umbrella. That’s his fatal flaw, I know. He’s forgetful. How can such a gifted man be so forgetful? Is his memory trash? Does he simply not have the will to remember? That, I don’t know. I don’t understand how logical people can be so illogical. Think! He’s a top researcher in an innovative, incredible, lab, but for the life of him he can’t remember something so mundane as an umbrella? Honestly, does he really—what?

He fell. He’s gone. Right over the edge of the roof. But—no! No! He can’t fall off the roof! He can’t! He’s the scientist, he can’t fall! He can’t! Not yet, anyway! Not this building, not here, not now! Wait. He’s still here, hanging. His fingers are wet, clenched white. Good. The scientist is alive, and he hasn’t fallen. Not yet. His hand’s clammy. Mine would be too, if I were him. But I’m not him. I’m a no-one, and he’s a some-one from Exeter and Yale. He’s looking at me.  He’s seen me. Now’s the time.

The police have it all wrong. They think you need to be a some-body to be a some-thing to them. I don’t agree. Us no-ones should be the important ones to them. But I think that’d defeat the purpose of being a no-one, then. Wait. I want to be a some-one by being a no-one? That’s illogical.

Is it fascinating that for one moment, you can

 

The dashes between no one, someone, somebody, etc. were intentional.


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