Monday, December 10, 2012

Interview with a Dead Man

Mind: When did it start, these thoughts? What inspired them? I mean, where did they begin? Do you know if these were with you from birth or did you develop them? Was it trauma?

Zandia: It started where everything starts, the beginning. I was trapped in a burning building, it was either let the flames engulf me or jump. As horrible as the jump would be, I knew the flames would be unbearable. Life was my flame and that terrified me more than hitting the ground at full force. You should have seen it. You should have been there. My brain matter, my bones, my blood... it was a masterpiece.

Mind: But you didn't jump. You didn't throw yourself off a building.

Zandia: It's anything you want it to be. Afterwards, it's all fair game. To me, I had jumped. The rope seemed so boring. Just hanging blue and bloated. Like a fish flopping around on a pier. There's no art to that. The leap is proof. When I was little, my aunt bought me a porcelain doll. One day I was carrying her around, so proud of my lovely doll. Everyone complimented her. Suddenly her face smashed into a corner. It was a crime scene, shards everywhere, her face unrecognizable. I cried so hard. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever owned and I mutilated her. We couldn't glue her back together, so we threw her out the next day. She was garbage, useless without her perfect porcelain face. All my life I was told I had the skin of a porcelain doll. So pale and delicate. When I dropped, the crack of my every bone was not that of porcelain shattering.

Mind: That must have hurt you terribly. Your doll being ruined...

Zandia: You think I care about her? She was useless. Even with her face intact. Her arms were stuffed with cotton. She would just dangle when I held her hand. She would stare blankly at me. Hugging her offered me no consolation. That porcelain was cold and once it broke, as I moved my finger along the edge of the ceramic, my skin got caught on a jagged end and ripped off. I bled endlessly. I was certain I was going to die. The pain was excruciating. A week later it got infected. I lived. My mind had accepted my imminent death, I was ready for it and it never happened.

Mind: Did you understand death at that point?

Zandia: Do you understand death?

Mind: Would you like some tea?

Zandia: No. If you leave me, you will come back to an empty room. You asked me to come here. Don't-

Mind: No one asked you to be here

Zandia: Would you like me to go?

Mind: Wait. Please. I apologize for my rude gesture.

Zandia: I wanted to do it because of the reactions I got when I spoke of it

Mind: What sort of reaction was that?

Zandia: Pity. Sympathy. Guilt. Concern. Superiority.

Mind: How would you feel if you were them?

Zandia: My mother died several years ago. Everyone said she fought it as long as she could. That she was a fighter. She overcame so much and finally had to give in to it due to the agony. No one said that to me.

Mind: What was your mother like?

Zandia: She wasn't a fighter, she was a liar.

Mind: Did you two not get along?

Zandia: She gave birth to me. I will never forgive her. Before she died, as she lay there looking like a pair of shrunken jeans, she said not to worry, that I would see her again.

Mind: And your father?

Zandia: What does he matter?

Mind: I am trying to understand you and your life through your past. I am having great difficulty.

Zandia: Then you understand.

Mind: Was this your first time?

Zandia: No.

Mind: Was it always this way?

Zandia: I am more creative than that, I assure you. I tried everything.

Mind: What were the other experiences like, where you were okay?

Zandia: The only time I was "okay" was the last time. The other times were pleasant, though. Doctor Bosch gave me a prescription for four different medications. He said try mixing them for added effectiveness.

Mind: What were the medications for?

Zandia: So I did mix them. I mixed all of them. I was disappointed, for the first hour, nothing happened. At an hour and  a half, there was a deep, boiling feeling in my stomach. As if every organ had broke away from any attachments and was just floating inside me. Even my heart had detached and was moving back and forth inside my torso, slamming into every soft, fatty spot it came across. Until finally my organs crashed into one another with such force that I felt as if I was going to implode. My whole body was going to cave into itself. All this while being stabbed in the stomach over and over again. Slowly the knife's tip entered my flesh and layer by layer cut through every nerve, muscle, and bone and this kept happening for about another 30 minutes. Then I threw up.

Mind: What was your last drink to get the medication down?

Zandia: Bleach. It is so wretched that one's throat will hardly allow it down into your body.

Mind: Do you feel shame for you have done?

Zandia: Do the leaves apologize when they drop in the Fall?

Mind: You surely can't believe that the two are the same!

Zandia: I am here, aren't I?

Mind: What about siblings? Do you have any?

Zandia: There were two children born before me.

Mind: Anything you wish to tell me about your history with them?

Zandia: No.

Mind: Did you write a note or anything beforehand?

Zandia: Yes. I had it memorized, in case I woke up and had to do it all again

Mind: Can you say what it said?

Zandia: It was directed towards the world. I reminded it of all its greatest travesties. The war, the genocide, the hatred, the intolerance, the ignorance, the betrayal, the bigotry, the naivety, the idealism, the lies, the faking, the selfishness... I told it to reflect on that.

Mind: What about the good things?

Zandia: The good things come and go. The bad things stain our lives. It's black paint on your wall, you can't just coat it over. It has be destroyed.

Mind: When were you happiest in your life?

Zandia: If I had to say, it would be when I was in my early to mid 20s

Mind: Why is that?

Zandia: I had no orders, expectations, or prison...

Mind: Is that how you would sum up your relationship with your parents?

Zandia: I am referring to my peers. Throughout my life, there were people surrounding me. No matter how they felt about me, they were there. Whenever I needed to be alone, I was being swallowed by the crowds. My ability to breathe was hindered by those caving in on me constantly. There was always a desire to simply do them in.  It turns out, there will always be more. You just can't rid of every single one. This realization came to me after I took matters into my own hands.

Mind: Do you have any regrets?

Zandia: I suppose so. Upon further thought, it occurred to me that some humans enjoyed the misery. They were hopelessly brain dead and led to believe that success means they must play "happy". They don't allow reality to hinder their joy. They can pretend the war and genocide and hatred and all that doesn't exist. They are either idiots or geniuses. I feel "idiots" is more likely. What use is joy if you are so evil, so selfish, so brainless as to not care whether others suffer while you ease through life? They have no right to be happy. They need to be locked away. They are psychopaths. I cared. I cared so much that I wanted to help those desperate morons. Give them a free trip out of jail. My intentions were good. The happy ones want everyone to suffer along with them. When they walk around with their huge smiles, they are saying, "This is what happiness looks like. I pity you because you will never have this. You are worthless." They pass right by the middle aged parent with 4 children, no family, no job, no joy.... She wants that smile but she will never attain it and all those happy people tell her not to give up hope. Hope is a luxury that no unfortunate soul can afford.

Mind: Were you hated for your views?

Zandia: I rather be hated than pitied.

Mind: Did you ever desire happiness?

Zandia: Before I became conscious? Sure. When I was younger, I noticed all the other kids seemed to be in a perfectly simultaneous dance. They matured just as planned, they developed right on schedule, they had the friends, the smarts, the lust for life...

Mind: What did you have?

Zandia: I had a hunger than I could not satisfy. I had to understand more. Once I began learning, it completely enveloped me. I had no time for school or friends, I had to understand why everything seemed so... unnecessary. People were superfluous obstacles keeping me from the truth.


No comments:

Post a Comment