Changing Their Ways

Chapter 3 - My Obsession

I needed to sort my life out. I wasn't going to see him again, so I could stop thinking about him. I swung my legs out of bed, and stood up, staying still until the blood-rush faded.

Once dressed in a long stripy top and my favouriten jeans, I staggered downstairs to find some food. Breakfast was long gone, but brunch - soup and a roll, or maybe some leftovers from the party - sounded nice. I opened the fridge, grimicing at the spread inside. Every seface available was covered with meat, pork, duck, beef, lamb, all had a place on the shelves. My vegetarian soul whimpered at the idea of eating anything in  the fridge.

I'm vegetarian, but it is hardly surprising, for me, at least. My disgust for hunting would be a little more than hypocritical if I ate human-killed meat, which is worse anyway, what with the abbatoirs and battery-farms. Another thing my family don't seem to understand, along with most human meat-eaters. Before I could get worked up in a vegetarian rave with the fridge, which seemed to be my only audience, I spotted the note my sister had written in her large, childish hand.

Issy!!!!!!

We're not going to be back till about ten, Mum says, so rest yourself and get better!!!! No boys, and see you soon!

I clenched the letter in my fist. I knew why they were going to be back late - they would schmooze the latest murderer and invite themselves to another killing party.

"I can't stand it! Why can't they see how awful it is? And what is wrong with me? I meet one Lienti and it's like I've fallen in love. But I haven't. Have I? I can't stand to see them killed, or hurt. " I looked at the oven, which was bearing the brunt of the tirade. "Lienti are evil, remember? They're our enemies, for God's sake! We must kill them! They only deserve to die! Why though? Why? What is wrong with peace?" I slid down the fridge. Why did things have to be hellbent on death and destruction?

"I need to be outside." I announced, to no-one in particular, standing up. I brushed myself off, pulled my insane hair into a hairband, and stalked off to my clearing. 

My clearing is what I call a dirt circle deep in the forest. No one else goes there, and when I'm there, no one can find me. It's where I go when I need to be alone. Like now.

I sat in the centre of the circle I had made, and began to write in the dust. Around me, there were the worn markings of letters and drawings I had done before.

I don't know

I don't know what to call you,

You've hidden your name

Why should I trust you

'Cause you're not mine.

The words had a tune - soft and slow, lingering on words, finishing with a long, long note, like one of those amazingly slow and beautiful Beatles songs. I began to sing it, not caring that it was about him, and let the voice carry me, as I began to draw next to the verse. I closed my eyes, sketching by instinct, and when I opened them, there was no difference to how it would have been if I'd drawn with my eyes open.

"Nice poems." I screamed, and leapt up, scrambling back until my back was pressed against a tree trunk. I let myself breathe out, then narrowed my eyes.

"Oh, hello, Bob." I had on my best sarcastic tone, but my heart was beating wildly, and I was all too aware of my lack of make-up and bed-head hair. And, of course, he'd just caught me writing a poem about him, and drawing a picture., which was, quite clearly, not the best thing to be caught doing when he's supposed to be your worst enemy.

"Hello, Iseabail. Amazing drawing, like looking into a mirror." He starrted walking slowly around, looking at all the writing. "Are these all yours?" I nodded stiffly. "Even the one about Mr. Perfect?"