Unexpected - GBE2 #63

GBE 2: Blog On

Week #63  :  Unexpected

“Mine!” Exclaimed one, then another “No! Mine!” 

She hung her head, dragged herself from the chair in front of her computer.  Heading for the kitchen, she dumped three round red pills from the vial.  “This ought to shut  you all up.”  She thought. “I shouldn’t take more than the three already in her hand. After all, I’m NOT ready to die yet”  Shaking her head and filling the glass with water, she gulped down the pills.   

Aloud she quoted a friend, “What are we, really?  The sum total of every essence we have ever absorbed. “  Shoulders rounded, with heavy feet she made her way back to her desk.

“If I had known then what every essence absorbed meant I certainly wouldn’t have read so many books!  And perhaps more of them would have been about Einstein than Jack the Ripper!”  Seemingly to herself, she added, “And you ALL know what those little red pills can do if I take more than three per day.  All of your voices would be stilled.  None of your stories would be told.  So back off and we can put your tales to paper one at a time.” 

“I’ve told you before, and I mean it, I start thinking I am really losing my mind and I will end it all.  You’ll have to find another sucker to write your biographies.  I need some time for myself.  I can’t always see your lives and not live my own.  We had an agreement and I expect you to stick to it.  We all know the pills will only last a few hours, but I expect you to give me a couple of days a week to actually LIVE.”  Turning back to the computer, checking through the social network page, she was looking for something, no, anything to make her laugh. 

Some days she wasn’t certain they were even real.  Sometimes she thought perhaps she was crazy and maybe she should check herself into the local mental hospital.  Years ago she had sought to confide in a therapist, and nearly ended up heavily sedated and institutionalized.  They had warned her, or rather He had warned her.  The therapist had left the consultation room to “make a phone call.”  They demanded she get up and leave. Finally listening to them, she had simply walked out the door and vanished into the crowd as the ambulance pulled up to the building. 

It was the first time He had come forward.  She seemed able to hear him more distinctly.  Most of the time, the others seemed to be arguing over who was going to get to talk to her.  They argued so loudly, it seemed a giant loud din.  So loud she couldn’t distinguish one voice from another, her head ached with the noise.  She fought desperately to block them all out.

He told her his name was Thomas.  He said he would try to help her quiet the others and let them tell her their story.  He seemed to be able to keep them “in line”.  They tempered their voices.  Together they had come up with the plan to put each story to paper for any and all to find as they would. 

In the beginning she had typed their stories day and night.  Not stopping for days on end.  After the second week, a friend knocked on her door.  Startled, she pulled herself from the trance like stupor she had fallen into.  Hazarding a glance in the mirror, as she lurched for the door, a gaunt vision looked back at her.  Her friend’s expression was a mixture of astonishment, revulsion and concern.  She had lost nearly twenty pounds.  Her complexion was so ashen, it appeared not only had she not seen the sun but she hadn’t seen a shower for quite some time.  Hygiene aside, her friend admonished her for not answering phone calls, e-mail messages or any of the other social network site call outs.  Her friend had come back daily to ensure she maintained her “awareness”.  After a few weeks, the daily visits slowed to every other day, then once per week.  Glad to have such a caring friend, she was also glad to see the wary watchfulness leave her friends expressions. 

That had been years ago, this was now.  Where was Thomas?  Why were they all clamoring again.  She hadn’t had to endure that for quite some time.  Where was Thomas? There seemed a panic to the din.  She began holding her head against the pain of the noise.  This sudden, unexpected attack on her psyche was overwhelming.

She screamed into her mind, “Where is Thomas?”

The answer only created more questions. “He has been called back.” They all seemed to echo the same response.  Clapping her hands to the sides of her head, she was going to risk speaking to all of them.

“Called back? Called back! What do you mean? Do you mean reborn? So reincarnation is true?”  Her eyes flew open wide, her mouth hung a little open.   Involuntarily, her hand flew to her breast and she took in a small gasp of air.  

The voice that came forward seemed a bit weak.  Frail but sure of herself.  The old woman began. “ No, we’ve never been born.  You are our first mother. “

“I don’t understand.  How could I be your mother?  I’ve not given birth to anyone.”

“Ah, but you have, my dear.  You have written our stories.  You give us life.  You hadn’t gotten to his story. He has merely been written by another author. “