Unusual

I don't know when I first realized that I was different from everyone else, but I remember a time when I didn't feel different, so I must not have been this way forever. I just don't know what to do about it. My parents would be disappointed if they knew the things I think about. My older sister already seems to suspect. I can tell from the way she looks at me. I'm not a fool. I'm just as smart as everyone else here. I just view things in a different light, or, like, in light at all. I wonder if there is anyone else in this place like me.

From a young age I was taught to conform, to be like everyone else. Normalcy was, well, normal. I should read the same books to others read, practice the same drills, adhere to the same philosophies. We are all after the same thing, after all: a world where we can survive and the unworthy are doomed to die.

My sister always seemed to revel in it all. She cherished the idea that she might have some control to make the whole world like our own piece of it. She wanted to bring our practices to the masses, if she could. Of course, it made no sense for everyone to know the things we did, for if they did, there would be little use for us in the end.

It's just strange, I mean, it's normal for everyone else, but for me, it's strange. I don't know why I don't feel drawn to death the way everyone else does, but somehow, for whatever reason, I see beauty in life. I try to hide my feelings as best as I can. I fear that if anyone ever knew what I was thinking, I would be turned away, and once I am turned away, I fear they may use the very things I've been learning about against me. I know the others aren't afraid to die, but I am. I'm not ready for that yet. I feel like there is something missing, something I'm missing, something we're all missing, and I want to discover what it is.

The enemy. So often, I wonder if the enemy has what I'm looking for. I know its blasphemous to even think it, to even contemplate that some part of what we do might be wrong. After all, we work for the greater good, for a higher good. We want a world of peace and happiness. It's just that to us, that peace and happiness is death and loneliness. But why do those words seem so bad to me? They are glory and great joy. That's what I've always been told. But somewhere along the way I stopped believing. Somewhere, I started to think that it was wrong.

It's the most natural thing in the world: death. And I've always been told that darkness is our friend. It makes so much sense in my mind, and yet my heart can't quite seem to believe it. Something is off, and I'm afraid to ask if anyone else has felt this way before. What if they haven't?

But why should I think I'm so special? Why should I think I'm so unique? I've always been average. Average at the mental assessments, average in the physical tests, average in every way. Maybe that's why I'm making up this alternate way of thinking about things, because I'm just not as good at this way as others. I'm not as good as my friends and I'm not as good as my sister. Sure, there are plenty who are worse than me. That's what average means after all. But those closest to me always seem to be better. Is it because I've started to view things differently, or have I started to view things differently because of it?

I wish there were someone I could talk to, but it's hard when you value loneliness and introversion. Sure, my friends are great, but sometimes I wish friends were someone you could actually talk to, and not just the group of people you choose to spar and mediate with. When my friends meditate, they look like they're getting something out of it. They seem truly lost in the darkness, like we all should be. Me, I just keep longing for the light. I wish it would stop.

Am I really so unusual? Am I really the only one of my kind who has ever felt this way? I wonder if anyone has ever gone over to the light side before, over to the enemy. I've never heard of such a thing, but of course, why would they tell me? Why should they tell me? Secrets are the key to success. We do what we're told, we trust in the darkness, and the power of death shall be ours. It's they way it is. It's the best way. Why does it feel so wrong to me?

I want to live, I don't want to die, and I don't want to kill anyone else either. I dread the day they send me out on my first mission. All the others seem so excited, especially my sister. She has her first mission next week. She can't wait to show what she can do, how her control over death is nearing completion. Me on the other hand, I'd rather not even know of this power. I'd rather be unaware than understand it all. I want to be like the ones she's going after, but I don't want to die.

I can't have it both ways. I hate it. I know the way things really are. That's part of being one of my people. I can't be both happy and free. I can't have both life and the power of death. If I am alive, I will be killed by those who have the power. If I have the power, I can hardly be alive. All those around me think death is life, but I think death is just death, and it's terrible. What is wrong with me?

Maybe someday before it is my time, it will all make sense. I hope it does. I hope I can be absorbed into the darkness like my sister, that I can take the joy in it that she does before the end. But at the same time, I don't want to be like that. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I see a better way, a way of happiness and peace in which the enemy does not have to die. But that is impossible. Our words can never persuade them. We have no choice but to kill. At least that's what my people have always told me.

I should not question. I should just accept what I am. I should be proud to know the truth when others in the world cannot. That's what they tell me, but it just feels wrong. I want friends I can talk to, not just prepare with. I want parents who love me. Love, now that's a strange word. I only know it because they tell us it is what makes the enemy weak. Of all the things we have ever studied in school, love seems to be the one thing I understand when my classmates do not, and the one thing I must be ashamed of understanding.

It just seems so wonderful, having someone who puts your needs above their own, and you wanting to do the same for them. Always looking out for someone else. If I had someone I could do that for, and know they were doing the same for me, I think I might be okay with death, but death by its very nature forbids such a thing.

I just want out of this life. I don't want the escape of death that everyone else so longs for. I want out of this life so that I can really live. I don't know how to explain what I mean, or if its even possible, but somehow, I know we're doing it all wrong. And there's no one I can talk to about it. No one here seems to have ever felt this way before.

Unless of course... Maybe, well, what if I'm not so unusual? What if others feel the exact same things I do, and are fighting so hard to hide it, just like me. They tell us conformity is true freedom, but I think freedom is freedom, and conformity is conformity. I want to think for myself and I want to enjoy my life, not the darkness and not the killing and dying. I want to feel truly free and happy. Maybe there are others like me, and if there are how can I find them? How can I find out whether or not I am really so unusual?

There's no more time to think about it now. I have to go spar with my friends. I hate it, but it's my duty, and if I don't show up, someone will know something is wrong and they will come after me. I hate our society. I hate perfection. I hate not being able to enjoy any of it and being told that I am enjoying it all. I hate being so unusual. Maybe I do want to be like our enemies. Maybe that is the only way. I envy our enemies. I want to be like them. Must that be so unusual?

Arrogant, ctd

"What an arrogant little prick."
"Yeah, no kidding."
Brittany sighed and shook her head. "What did Brady do now?" she asked.
Tiffany stared at her dumbfounded. "He has a girlfriend!"
Brittany almost laughed. "So what?" she asked.
Bridget just stared for a moment and then said, "No pretentious little brat like that has any right to a girlfriend."
"Yeah," Tiffany chimed in, "who does he think he is?"
"Well, who is she?" Brittany asked.
"I don't know," Bridge said. "Some nobody, I'm sure."
"Well isn't that good, that he would date a 'nobody'?"
"Oh my gosh, Britt, you don't get it at all!" Tiffany exclaimed. "Everything he does, he just does to get attention."
"You can't possibly know that," Brittany countered. And to herself though, "if that is his goal he sure is accomplishing it with you two."
...
"Well, he broke up with her," Bridget exclaimed.
"What an ass!" Tiffany chimed in.
"But I thought he was an ass for dating her to begin with," Brittany pointed out.
"Oh, Britt," Bridget sighed. This seemed to be her favorite exclamation lately. "Don't you see? Once he's dating her, he better keep dating her. He's just throwing her away like garbage."
"Like garbage," Tiffany agreed.
"He probably just wanted some 'experience' for some new song he's writing," Bridget pointed out.
"Yeah, probably," Tiffany agreed.
...
"OMG!" Tiffany exclaimed as she walked over to join the other two at lunch.
"What?!" Bridget asked, wide eyed.
"He's coming here!" Tiffany practically shouted.
Bridget stood as Tiffany sat. "No way!" she exclaimed.
Tiffany nodded, a frown on her face. "Uh huh," she confirmed. "And guess who wants to go see him."
Bridget and Brittany just looked at her, and Tiffany answered their blank stares with, "My kid sister!"
Brittany thought Bridget was going to shoot out the ceiling at that.
"And I have to go with her," Tiffany went on. "And if I have to go, so do the two of you!"
"What? No way!" Bridget protested.
Tiffany tossed the tickets on the table. "It's already done," she said. "If you have any compassion for me at all, you're going to sit through this hell right along with me."
Brittany picked up her ticket and looked at it. It looked like any other concert ticket.
...
When they arrived at the stadium where the concert was being held, Brittany was amazed at the number of young girls present. Most of them appeared to be about 12. "I assumed this guy was at least a real musician," she muttered.
"Well, you assumed wrong," Bridget told her, smirking at Tiffany, who was trying to restrain her kid sister, who was jumping up and down trying to see the empty stage better. "This is just the crowd he appeals to. He doesn't even try to do any serious work. He's a talentless slob."
Brittany didn't know what to expect of this concert, but she certainly didn't expect what actually happened.
Her first shock was seeing who walked onto the stage. At first, she thought it was just some lackey checking the equipment, but then the crowd of young girls went wild and a band walked in behind him. "He's just a kid," she whispered in surprise. In deed, he was likely no older than the youngest girl in the stadium, unless there happened to be a baby present, and even then he might not be much older. Tiffany would have guessed he was about 11, though if he looked young for his age, she supposed he could be as old as 14. He was ordinary looking, but cute in a childish way. She couldn't believe anyone that young had a girlfriend, or could be as malicious as her two friends seemed to think him to be. She looked over at them and they were just scowling, no surprised look on their faces at all. They clearly knew he was just a child and called him an ass anyway.
The second shock came when he opened his mouth. The lyrics were awful, truly portraying the attitude of a young child who thought he knew something about the world and didn't, but man could that boy sing. He was better than any child musician she had ever heard before. She didn't quite get why he was so popular though. Yes, he could sing, but he was singing to 12-year-olds. Maybe that was why he was so popular... these girls didn't care what he was saying. She wondered, though, if they appreciated the fact that he was good, or just that he was a celebrity. He became a celebrity by singing well, she was sure, but seemed to keep his celebrity by singing terrible songs and just looking good on stage, and even that second part he barely managed to do.
At the end of the show, Brittany could see some of her friends' dislike for this boy, but ultimately he was just a boy, and she felt they were being remarkably cruel. She noticed that the child was signing autographs so she went over to talk to him.

He seemed very surprised to see a grown woman walking up to him. He smirked a little. "Hey, gramma," he said.
She was appalled at that, but continued anyway. "You have a wonderful voice," she said.
He smirked and looked at his finger nails as if he were admiring them. "Thanks, lady," he said.
"But you clearly don't know anything about life," she added.
That seemed to catch him surprisingly off guard, as if no one had told him that before, and suddenly Brittany wondered where his parents were. He looked shocked for a moment and then shouted, "Security!"
"It's okay," Brittany quickly assured him, holding her hands up in surrender. "I'm going. I just hope you mature as an artist and a person."
Walking away, she realized she had been much more harsh than she intended, but at the same time, she wasn't sorry.
...
For weeks after that Bridget and Tiffany kept complaining about the kid and then, slowly, they stopped. Brittany forgot all about him, until 5 years later, she was driving in her car when she heard a song that reminded her of the boy's concert. She listened until the end, and then heard the DJ laugh about the mistake in playing that terrible song and how he wasn't even sure how it got into their records, while confirming that it was indeed a song by the child performer, from 4 years ago.
...
"What ever happened to that Brady kid?" Brittany asked at lunch that day.
Tiffany and Bridget stared at her like they had no idea what she was talking about.
"You know," Brittany prodded them, "that singer kid you two used to hate so much."
Slowly, the light seemed to dawn on them. "Oh yeah," Bridget exclaimed.
"What a prick," Tiffany added.
"Whatever happened to him?" Brittany asked.
Bridget shrugged. "I don't know and I don't care," she said.
"I guess he grew up," Tiffany said.
"Why don't you look it up," Bridget suggested with a smirk that seemed to say, "Why would you ever do that?"
Brittany just smiled. "Maybe I will," she said.
...
When she looked it up, what she found almost broke her heart. Just a few months after the concert at which she had seen him, apparently he had been found to be in possession of illegal drugs. He was only 12; he shouldn't have even known what it was he had, but apparently, he still knew how to use it. He was at first given just a slap on the wrist, but a few months after that, he was found driving a car in possession of more drugs. He was still only 12. He had also convinced some of his fans to give him their jewelry as "gifts", which essentially amounted to stealing in the eyes of most everyone. He ended up going to a "special school" for boys and had to drop his career entirely. This was where Brittany found that his father had died when he was 5 and his mother seemed to barely care about disciple at all, as long as he could make her money. But when he started costing her money, she left and no one seemed to know where she went.
The whole thing seemed to be just one tragedy after another, up until the part where he got out of his "special school" just a couple weeks ago, now talentless and forgotten.
"I guess he did grow up," Brittany muttered as she wiped a tear from her eye.
She thought about trying to find out more, maybe if she could write him a letter or something, but what would it matter? He wouldn't remember her and he wouldn't care about some random letter.
"I guess that's that," she said to herself, and she went back to work.
...
Brady sat alone in his room doing his homework while he listened to the radio. His heart almost skipped a beat when he heard one of his old songs come on. But at the end, the DJ laughed and said what a terrible mistake that kid had been. Brady frowned and looked back at his piece of paper. He remembered something from long ago... some woman who had told him he was good, but needed to grow up. Well, he sure had grown up now. He wondered if he was still any good at singing, but he doubted it. He wouldn't even join choir at his new school, but mostly because choir seemed to be for losers.
Brady sighed and went back to his algebra. He had had his 15 minutes of fame, he would probably never get it back again. He wasn't even sure he wanted it, considering what it had brought him.
Still the next morning in the shower, he found himself singing, not one of his own songs (which he knew now really were crap), but a song by a real performer. He smiled a little when he got out. "I could make it again," he thought. "But why would anyone even care." And so, that was that.