I don't know. I see myself. But it's not me. I'm different. The world is different. Things happen differently.
[He reaches up to touch his neck as though expecting to feel the cold bite of a metal collar he's never actually worn despite the gesture coming so quickly to him.]
[He slumps down the wall, letting memories of sunsets meetings and four hands on the piano linger in his mind as though he could might capture and keep them, like catching a butterfly.
He wipes at his face and just spears blood everywhere in the process.]
Yes. I know I my life would be completely different if I'd been allowed to go out in the world and make connections with others. But my environment is always tightly controlled so that was never possible.
On the road, I met people. We were all in a shared predicament, so we were forced to travel together. But some of them had priorities that were different than mine.
We wound up spending a great deal of time that I'm not sure we had to spare untangling problems for other people. And I complained, and resented it, but... if I must live in the memory of a world where I put my foot down, where we never made those same choices, where I was willing to part ways with them over their weakness in insisting on using our efforts to save helpless peoples' lives, I find it a dreadful world to contemplate.
That is a terrifying thought, isn't it? [smile.] Unless it's the truth. In which case, I'm more afraid that the real one made a mistake and threw away everything that meant anything to me.
It is... but based on our previous conversations. I don't think that's the person you are. You seem like someone who means well. Just a bit sloppy for an adult.
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[He reaches up to touch his neck as though expecting to feel the cold bite of a metal collar he's never actually worn despite the gesture coming so quickly to him.]
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[she kind of gets it. it's unsettling, to not be sure what's real.]
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[He slumps down the wall, letting memories of sunsets meetings and four hands on the piano linger in his mind as though he could might capture and keep them, like catching a butterfly.
He wipes at his face and just spears blood everywhere in the process.]
It always has the same ending.
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[too many possible endings, with no way to remember anymore which one was true.]
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So which one are you now?
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[what does he mean by that...]
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[He leans his head back against the wall, exhaling slowly, like someone trying not to get motion sick.]
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Don't you ever feel that if things had happened to you differently, you might be a very different person?
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What made the difference?
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Maybe it's that I did get the chance to go out into the world. Whatever those first connections you had were would matter, wouldn't they?
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[He leans back against the wall, letting his body go slack.]
Who were they?
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On the road, I met people. We were all in a shared predicament, so we were forced to travel together. But some of them had priorities that were different than mine.
We wound up spending a great deal of time that I'm not sure we had to spare untangling problems for other people. And I complained, and resented it, but... if I must live in the memory of a world where I put my foot down, where we never made those same choices, where I was willing to part ways with them over their weakness in insisting on using our efforts to save helpless peoples' lives, I find it a dreadful world to contemplate.
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Are you afraid that the real you might be one where you chose to say the same?
[He would be.]
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You're annoying for a child, so we're even. [...] Thank you for saying so.
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[You're not supposed to say that outloud!]
Besides even if you weren't the person you hoped you were, you can still change. Don't let fate become your cage.