Page 35
~*~
...You know?
Perhaps revenge is the wrong word. It's not exactly what I'm trying to express. I just know that I felt so hated at that moment, that I knew what it was like to be looked at as if I was some sort of monster. Maybe I took that into myself, embodied it in some way. Maybe I was a monster to begin with, but I don't think so. Just want to bleed that hatred out of me somehow, to stop absorbing it and let it flow back down like rain onto those who first poured it into me. I want them to see my pain, to feel it. I want them to know what it is like to lose, so that they will finally understand. I just want people, the ponies, griffons, zebras, every species, every people... to understand what I was tying to do. What likely still must be done.
If that is revenge, then yes, that is what I want. Because I think, once everyone sees and really feels what I feel, then they will know that I was doing what I had to do. For everyone.
I've been strong for everyone for so long. For most of my life. But I'm tired, now. Even while I sit trapped in this book, I feel so tired. So used up. I feel like I have so little left to give and I've stretched myself too thin.
I am here to learn. I know that. There were times ponies and maybe other creatures came to read with me, and I would pour out my words of anger and hatred and spite... and they would go away. I was supposed to learn the power of "just words" and what their consequences could be. I don't know if she was trying to get me to hurt myself over and over until I learned, but I realized that people stayed around longer if I tried to be happy and fun instead. If I made things move for them. If I played games. That's what they wanted from me, to seem nice and sweet and gentle, no matter what. It was do that, or be alone. That was my choice. But eventually I'd always slip up, and I'd be left in silence, sometimes by my own choice. Eventually, I started pushing them away until things were still for a long, long time. They always left me at some point, even when I was alive and whole.
But not you.
You're... here. You're still here, somehow, aren't you. I don't... really know what that means, to be honest. I think... I think this means there is at least one person in the world who doesn't hate me. You don't hate me, somehow, even after I've said all of this. I don't know how you feel for certain and I could be wrong, but for some reason I don't feel real, true hatred flowing through you in your touch. It may be the first time in perhaps centuries that I have not felt like I was viewed as bad or evil. I don't even know how to respond to that. I feel this sensation, an impulse, that I need to snap back into my former, cheery, playful self. That if I don't, you'll close this and put this down. But... I don't want to do that anymore. I'm tired. I've been strong for you. Now... if it's okay... do you suppose I could just be weak for you instead? Just for a little while?
The last time I cried on someone's shoulder, I think it was my mother's. I remember it felt nice. I feel like, if I could do that now, I'd like it. I imagine your shoulder is soft and comforting, soothing. And I hope... maybe foolishly, that you would offer it to me. That you could hold me while I went to pieces, fell apart. I've been alone so long, been strong so long, tried to give myself to others ever since I was little. I just feel worn out. I want to collapse. I want to cry, and not try to hide it for a change.
I want to cry. If I knew how, I would.
I want you to hold me, just for a little while, and block out everything that I've done, that I am now. To forget. I want to be there with you. I want... to be okay with wanting things for myself again. Like touch, and friendship, and trust, and affection. I want... you. As more than just a reader, turning these pages, but as someone I can sit eye to eye with. Someone I've shown even the worst of myself, knowing they haven't run or pushed me away.
And I want you to be happy. Even as I want to be selfish, for just a little while, I also want to know I've made you smile, made you happy, made you feel my companionship and that what I'm feeling is real. I want help carrying my burden. And I want to help you carry yours as well, whatever it may be. Do you think, if I was there, we could do that? Together?
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Another link. I wonder whose blood she took? Her parents'?
Hearing another blood comment I can see her having an odd obsession with it. From her recall of her friend's leg bleeding, to her work, to ideas of bleeding out her hatred, she sees blood as an answer for nearly everything.
9012300
I believe that it was her parents as well.
I can't not feel bad for the book.
I rarely use double negatives, but there they are.
I feel bad for her.
I feel bad for Muse.
It's not blood, is it? It's love. Or something metaphorical like that.
I am enjoying this immensely. Hope or love. Oh, it is one of those that she mistook blood for! And that I mistook for fear, all the way back on page ... *looks back* 11!
9015396
That's what I think.
9041631
Oooh, this thought gives so much more MEANING to that riddle back there! The author is a genius, and you're pretty dang smart yourself for noticing that. Ooooh
Man, this may be the most compelling story I've seen on this site.
Two what-I-think-are-actual typos: "tying" -> "trying" on this page, and "moves is" -> "moves us", um, elsewhere.
9012300
I can't seem to find the link, any hints for it?
9161913
It's hidden in a punctuation mark.
I wonder if Twilight is the one reading this book, going off my comments a few chapters ago re:format spoiler of Twilight being tagged. After all, she would never leave a book unfinished, would she now?
HOLY MOTHER OF AHHHHH!!!! I just realised something!!! the answer to the riddle isn’t blood, it’s love!!!!! omg!!!! I feel like an idiot!!!
hey, i'm always here to help. if i could let you weep on my shoulder...