Nothing Beyond the Platform and <P> and Other Lies

Chapter 1

 Author's note: I'm sorry, I won't apologize. This story is different; read it different.

It is a clear spring afternoon. A little girl rides a scooter on the driveway. The afternoon is slowly fading away into evening. A silent, transitory moment, yet too often unnoticed, is what I think.

This little girl holds onto my attention. My mind feels like it's fading away so I watch her for some time without contemplating my existence or that of any other. It's like a confining freedom. Free from suffering, free from purpose. A paradox.

A thought tickles the very corner of my mind, enticing me to let it in. I let it in. For better or worse, I have not learned on how to discipline my mind on what it should or should not do. This thought is a silly one, not even worthy of being pondered, but I accept it, for there is no other thought knock, knock, knocking! at the gate, or clear doorway of my mind.

Imagine if this girl wasn't my sister. Ha! Just for a moment. What if I did not know her, what if she never cried to me of her scary dreams and what if I did not even know her name or cared for her. What if she was a stranger, simply riding her scooter, except not on the driveway but on a highway, going farther and farther until she blinks out of existence like a star or idea.

I take this thought even farther. What if she was my sister but I did not know she was. Or what if she was putting on a facade, waiting to strike me in a moment of vulnerability. For what? I question. For money or greed or pleasure or hatred or simple fun, I answer. My, how funny that would be, I respond. Yes, but not really. Not at all. It would be quite painful.

The driveway is not special. It steeps slowly down, guarded by clear glass. The door which lets us to the platform, which leads us down below which leads us to wherever we please is closed. I closed it when I was coming from Tariph to wherever I pleased, to the platform then and finally to the clear glass driveway which is not special.

Humbum I think, which is a term not generally specific. I can say it to anyone and they're reply always differs. I find it amusing. Some get offended depending on the context to which I spoke it, others squint their funny yellow eyes at me while others frown and never engage in anything with me. This only lasts for a day before they see me again at Tariph to which we greet each other as anyone else does.

This girl, who may or may not be my sister (I haven't decided) finally masters scootering (I say 'mastering' lightly), and goes down the slight slant of our driveway. (I say ours, but nobody ever owns anything anymore.) She reaches the end, wobbly, and turns around. She looks at me watching her and grins. I just stare before my mind tells me she's smiling and I am awoken out of my subconscious stupidity. I smile back and my mind is once more engaged in life. But that doesn't make sense, does it? I am always engaged in life, as long as I am alive...

I hear voices in my head. Some people tell me that those are just thoughts. I never fully understood that. What are thoughts, and why am I the only one who hears them? Are they broadcast? Are my thoughts the same as my sister's thoughts? What happens if I give the voices more and more attention?

I tell my story, not to those who will remember, but those who will forget.

Back and forth back and forth. My mind is like a war. Not that I'm supposed to know what a war is... but still I find that metaphor most appealing and accurate. It's like the trenches. I go forward, but why? Just to fall backwards. It's an endless conflict and it seems like the enemy is no one and my breath just gets foggy, and then I'm lying on the ground screaming because I look up and instead of an enemy it's just me staring down on me and I can see both perspectives and both are scared but I have no control over either so we just stare at each other for hours upon hours while the cannons rumble and the muskets clank and people fall all around me but their faces hidden.