ash

@notnee

I have always thought that people can be a bit stupid, don’t you think? They form their own little stereotypes, and assume everything. But, who am I to complain; I should be grateful for their gormlessness. “Absinthe is such a sweet girl” they say, not knowing what actually lies behind my 8 year old self, not knowing what I actually am. And anyways, who would even believe me, when I would say I’m actually a zombie who can contaminate? 

My mom, Esther, has never seen me for who I am. She is too wrapped up in her silly little parties to get to know her daughter, and I’m glad she is. I can contaminate by touch, but I have always been careful to control my powers around dear mother. She can’t know my secret; yet.

I was sitting in bed, reading a book, when mom suddenly just burst in through the door. “Ab, I have a party to go to and I’m dropping you off at a daycare, you’ve got 5 minutes to put on something decent and get in the car.” she said, checking her makeup in my mirror and then slamming the door shut. I smiled to myself. Look at her, giving me the perfect opportunity to carry out my plan. Bless her, she didn’t realize what she’d done. I slowly put on a bottle green dress and got in her car “I’m here mother” I greeted her. She looked at me through the rear view mirror while touching up her lipstick “Good, put on your seatbelt Ab”. I gave a hearty chuckle before replying with “It’s not like I can die again” but she didn’t seem to hear me. Oh well, it’s not my fault she missed the hint.

 We reached the daycare in about 15 minutes, and I gave her a swift hug before walking through the door covered in colorful paintings. Ah, as always, the place was wrapped in a blanket of those vivid doodles too flamboyant for my liking. Then again, I’m not a human child who would understand the appeal behind those, am I? A dark young guy approached me and offered to take me to a room with loads of toys. “I work here” said the guy as he gently took my hand and led me to the playroom. “Yeah I surmised as much” I replied, only to hear him chortle and say “Wow, you sure know some big words”. I was used to people telling me this, so I said nothing. He dropped me off at the children’s room, and I smirked as I saw the amount of wee, little, naive children there. One of them seemed to have noticed, as he walked up to me and said “Hello! You’re new right? I’m Frankie, we can be friends!”. I hesitated a little, truth be told. On the one hand, this person looked a little too exuberant for my liking. On the other hand though, he’d be a great guy to help initiate the plan. I returned his warm smile and introduced myself. 

We became, for the lack of a better term, friends real quick, for I did not feel an ounce of affection for him. This was my only chance at fulfilling my dearest ambition, so I talked to him so as to get to know what children his age are like. He told me he was non-binary (well that was unexpected) and that their toy dinosaurs had bitten them once. I found it very hard to not fall asleep as they recounted all of their wild imaginations with their toys. I glanced at the clock and knew I had to act fast.

 I tapped them on the arm, in the pretext of asking them for a doll, but as soon as my skin made contact with theirs, their face fell, their body became loose, and their skin acquired a dull grey color, as if they were to rot. The other children were too absorbed in their own worlds to notice this, while my insides were burning with triumph. I swiftly locked the door, approached the other children, and contaminated them all. My own skin was starting to show its true colors at last, as it achieved the same dull grey tone. 

Imagine a stage where you had lights shining on you from all directions, making you feel like the center of attention (you know the loved) but not the kind that blinds you the moment it hits you, its the kind that makes you feel as if you radiate that energy. That’s exactly how she made people around her feel, she herself should be allowed to feel that way too but severe ego crush and non-existent self esteem has left the most loving the least loved. I just wanted to hug her and comfort her and listen to her talk about her life, Harry Styles and poetry all day because she did that with everyone but no one did that for her.

The words she writes they drip blood when she is attacked and spill tears in a stranger’s eye too when she is sad, but no matter what she writes words pour out of her in the most spectacular manner that makes you feel that she isn’t even trying.

Something should be wrong if all you know are ways to avoid speaking,

something should be right if you are found smiling all day,

something should be wrong if having a self-esteem is a crisis existential,

but it doesn't matter because all these cages are mental.

Something should be wrong if you are found only in your room,

something should be right if you are friends with everyone,

something should be wrong if thinking makes you tremble,

but it doesn't matter because all these cages are mental.

Something should be wrong if you can't remember the last meal you had,

something should be right if people compliment you all the time,

something should be wrong if the passing of time makes you even more sentimental,

but it doesn't matter because all these cages are mental.

Something should be wrong if having friends is an idea too ancient,

something should be right if you obey everything your parents say,

something should be wrong if being happy is merely accidental,

but it doesn't matter because all these cages are mental.

People don't understand that getting through the day is an achievement.

People have an opinion on everything even when it's unasked form

Just let me live and stop being judgemental,

because no, my cages are not mental.