Fiction Fragment Friday
I started writing this story and had no less than five ideas for who the main character was talking to. The answer though was less important to me than the conversation. Now that this story is out I doubt it will be one I go back to in the future to edit or rewrite.
Every year it gets harder and harder to shop for Christmas. When nieces and nephews are young, I am always the cool uncle who knows just what to buy them. As they get older though and outgrow all the things I think are cool, I find it harder to relate to them. Adults have always been harder to buy for, but I at least used to have creative thoughts about it. As I get older, though, the time between talking to those I care about gets longer and longer. Christmas shopping just drives home how little I actually know about anyone other than myself. It is not a pleasant feeling.
“You could just go with cash or a gift card.” My first instinct upon hearing the voice is to look around, but there won’t be anyone to see. There isn’t even a sound for anyone around me to hear. Her voice exists only in my head, and I still don’t know who or what she is. What I find most annoying is that she is aware of my thoughts while I only hear a disembodied voice in return.
“No, that’s so impersonal. It just screams that I know nothing about a person or what they might like.” People around me in the store stare at me when I speak, but that is why I keep an earpiece in. They all just think I’m talking on the phone. She has told me I can just think about my responses to her, but that just doesn’t feel like natural communication to me.
“You don’t know anything about them, though. That’s the problem. If you just admitted it, you could buy generic gift cards and be done with all the stress. Think about all the other things you could do with your time instead of wandering around a store that you hate, hoping something will jump out at you.”
She wasn’t wrong. It was miserable being out in the crowds the day after Thanksgiving, just hoping that inspiration would strike. I let out an audible sigh that was part frustration and part feelings of defeat. “The best part of giving gifts for me is seeing the look on someone’s face when surprised by something they didn’t know they wanted or even existed. I don’t get that when giving a gift card. No one remembers who gave them a gift card, but when you find that perfect give that everyone is talking about.”
“So, gift giving is less about what they want and more about how it makes you feel?”
“It sounds kind of bad when you put it like that. Sounds selfish.”
“Does that make it any less accurate?”
I put the big fluffy blanket I was holding back into the bin. “No,” I say, not even trying to hide the frustration from my tone. I hate it when my own hypocracy gets pointed out. She was right, and I knew it, but that didn’t change how I felt at all. “There are so few things in life that bring me joy these days. Just let me have this one thing.”
I walk briskly across the store. The surrounding people could only hear half of my conversation, but the half they heard was enough to make me start feeling embarrassed. I felt bad enough about not really knowing the people on my list, but now I also felt like a selfish jerk making everything about myself. Let’s not forget I also feel like I am losing my mind, not sure if the voice in my head is real or a symptom of some kind of mental breakdown.
“Are you ever going to tell me what you are?” I ask like I have so many times before. This question is normally met with silence, but this time she answers.
“I could tell you, but where would the fun be in that? It’s so much more amusing to keep you guessing.”
“Why do you enjoy torturing me so much? Do you want me to question my sanity?”
“I enjoy it because you think you deserve it. Maybe I’m just some buried part of your psyche, an implanted alien device, or a ghost that’s haunting you. What do you want me to be?”
I actually think about what answer would make me feel most comfortable before answering. In the end, it doesn’t matter what I want though. “All I really want is to hear the truth. Too much of what happens in my head is lying to myself. You aren’t me. I just know that is true.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, but also right.”
I spin around, waving my arms in the air at nothing, and scream. “Enough of the damn riddles. What are you?”
“Sir, you are causing a scene.” An employee in a blue vest holding a walkie talkie is standing in front of me. She looks nervous about confronting me.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll just go,” is all I can think to say as I turn towards the front of the store, leaving my cart in the aisle. My face has to be turning red with embarrassment. It is better to leave now though before they get security and ask me to leave.
She is laughing in my head. “Oh, my, that is priceless.”
“Just shut up,” I mumble under my breath.
“Ok, how about this? I’m you, but I’m something you came into contact with as well. A little bit of you, a little bit of it, and voilà you get me. Aren’t you lucky?”
The answer leaves me with more questions, but I can feel that she won’t be giving me any more answers for the time being. I’ll just have to be glad to have gotten what little bit of an answer I did. It feels kind of like being given a cliffhanger.
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