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Meeting #2

Oh. You're back again.

That's a bit of a surprise. But then again, I did say you could come. I guess you should be proud of that. I rarely tolerate anyone, and I would most definitely not let them come over a second time. You, however, seem to be a special case.

Then again, everyone of your race is a special case.

What I never understood was how you managed to live through evolution, only to get stupider. Natural selection obviously didn't do it's job very well. Maybe you just managed to survive through sheer stupidity. From what I've attained, your kind just focuses on war, war, and more war (like I previously said in our other encounter). Also a few pop celebrities, but that doesn't matter. Your race is just the biggest hot mess I could ever imagine. I'd be impressed if your species managed to do something useful for once.

"But how, Alex, have you attained this knowledge when you've never left your book?" I pretend to hear you ask. I also throw in a dumb tone for good measure because I'm pretty sure that's how it sounds like.

There's this sort of little gift I have, and it allows me to walk between books. Although, I rarely ever use it. It's nice and comfortable in mine. There's no one else like me in those other ones anyway. Not worth the energy. I just read what information the other books have in them. It's repetitively boring to read the same thing over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over  and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over  and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and...

Do you see what I mean? I can quote this book, word for word, because of how many times I've read this damned thing.

Being an Agonist sucks.

Oh, I guess I never told you exactly what I was, huh? Well, I might as well let the exposition spill.

An Agonist is essentially a being who comes into the world at random. At least, that's my take on it. When we're born, we usually have all this information about who we are and crap thrown straight at us like a speeding locomotive, but we just forget it! So easily, too (also when I say we, I mean I, just to let you know). It's such a shame. I don't exactly know how my kind is made, we just are. I'm not human, I'm not an animal. Just it, that, object. I'm not a person. I'm essentially nothing. For all I know, I could be made of dust and light. I guess that's interesting, though. A lot more so than the way your kind reproduces. I'm shuddering just thinking about it. But you do get contact, and some type of intimacy to go with it. I've never known affection, really.

Stating again, being an Agonist sucks.

Why don't we move this conversation to a less pointless subject? Maybe like... where I live and how. Yeah, a really dumb and pointless subject. Just like you.

Anyway.

So... yeah. This is my home, I guess. I've never really known what exactly to label it, but I guess could call it that. It doesn't seem fitting, though. I've lived here since my birth (which equates to a frick load of time), and I'm well versed in all its creases and pages and whatnot. It is my 'home' after all. I make my (uncomfortable as hell) beds out of flat letters and (the crappiest) blankets out of worn away pages. I don't need to eat, which I may consider a blessing since I'd probably starve to death (a bit of a tragedy too because I'll never know what food tastes like). I wish I could breathe some fresh air for once. This book probably has the most choking and stalest air in the history of books. It hurts my noise just thinking about it. Also, everything is very hard to see. But, what can someone expect when the cover of your book is always, well, covering you. I spot some dustmites from time to time, but they usually avoid me. I don't know why though. Kinda hurts my feelings a bit, really...  Not that it should matter. They weren't even able to talk to me. No vocal box of any kind. They're pretty boring too. But I have you now.  As much as I hate to admit it, your company is better than that of a dumb dustmite.

But before you go off on a tangent of feeling of high and mighty, I hope you know you're just an acquaintance. I mean, well, I'm your acquaintance, but you're not mine. I don't even know your name. Also, don't even try to tell me it. I wouldn't be able to hear you anyway. I refuse to get to know you in any shape and form. Which, like I said before, would leave a much less scarring ending for our... uh... I don't want say friendship, because I do not consider you as a friend. Maybe a uh... lackey? Oh holy deity, I don't know what to call you. Might as well tell me your insufferable name.  Hopefully, I'll be able to forget it the next time you come around.

...

...

...

You told me your name, or you didn't.

Either way, I couldn't hear you.

God DAMN IT I am such an idiot. I completely forgot I wouldn't be able to hear you because of how thick this book's stratosphere is. Allow me to rot inside my own corpse which has been defecated by the stupidity only your kind seems to have while it pukes out a technicolor rainbow that reads "ALEX IS AN IDIOT!" I feel like such an ignoramus right now, I. Just, how could somebody be so stupid to forget this simple stupid... stupid... whatever it is! Rule? Law? No, those two are the same thing, AUGH. I've lived with this knowledge for, like, what? I don't care, and I don't know, but I've known it for a long time. But to just forget it right now is... It's...

God, stupid, stupid, STUPID!

JUST GO AWAY!

THIS IS YOUR FAULT! IT'S YOUR FAULT FOR MAKING MYSELF LOOK STUPID! It's because of you. IT'S BECAUSE OF YOU! I made an enormous crap pile of humiliation out of my broken dignity which you SINGLE-HANDEDLY SMASHED WITH YOUR OWN HAMMER OF STUPIDTY MADE OF ASTRONOMICAL PROPORTIONS. I hate you so much right now, you feculent, insufferable, useless piece of trash. Go back into that cold, gray world of your's made out of broken hopes and repetitiveness. Don't look at me. Close this book. Get out.

GET OUT.