in my head

Silence, loud, deafening silence. I can’t look her in the eyes, but I can’t rip mine away, so I stare. It’s not awkward or anything, I mean she’s staring too. I just think this is the first time we, either of us, haven’t felt some degree of that, awkwardness that is, when interacting with another person.

We really are just so irrevocably different. Her with cute braids, slightly wide, curious eyes, and perfect pink clothes for a little girl. She’s forced to look up at me, while looking down, a scowl on her lips. She’s got every right though, I ruined her life, she’ll never be able to go back to how it was.

Assessing gases and truth not refuted by looks, she opens her mouth presumably to speak. I cut her off, however, with a sharp, “yes”. The remark is much harsher than I would usually ever let myself be. Ha, we can’t have that now can we.

The little girl, cause that’s what she is, just a kind, small, sickeningly sweet, innocent little girl. She meets my eyes, her’s are piercing, bottomless pits of contempt and malice and I practically snarl back in response. She somehow looks even angrier now, before something like realization flits across her face, and an instant later she looks hurt and afraid. Scared, sacred of me. No, she’s just a liar, an actress. No, for all I’ve said about changing, I’ve never changed, have I, not really. I’m just the same sickeningly sweet superficial shifty stupid snitch.

I was confused when I got that note about meeting my most tragic character, I mean I’m not a writer, I never wrote any stories. But it really does make sense, I’m the only character I’ve written.