Celia was six years old the day she
stopped liking people.
She and her best friend Annie had
trailed a little too far into the unfenced depths beyond Annie’s backyard when
they stumbled upon the most perfect tree.
“Let’s climb it!” Celia pumped
enthusiastically. Annie reciprocated
with an eager “Me first!” scrambling up the trunk before Celia could
object.
But when Annie reached about four
feet from the ground, her foot slipped from the branch. Celia watched in horror as her friend
fell.
Luckily it wasn’t the biggest fall
in the world. Annie waved her arms
wildly on her way down, grasping onto chunks of tiny branches and fistfuls of leaves,
slowing her cascade to the ground below.
But she still hit the rough hard-packed dirt with an impressive
thud.
“Owwwwwwwww!” Annie yowled, clinging tightly to her bare left
thigh right below her jean short cut-offs. The skin on her thigh was already puckering
with a splendid scrape; vibrant red in the center, bluish along the edges. Blood oozed from the skinned crevices of her
raw flesh like thick lava worming its way from a sleepy volcano.
Celia, heart pounding, ran
frantically to her friend. At their
fresh age, injuries of this magnitude were rare. Annie might as well have lost a limb for the
panic that Celia felt pulsing through her veins.
“Annie! Oh my gosh, Annie! Are you okay?” Celia reached down to help her.
“Oh Celia, it hurts soooo
bad!” Annie answered in a high-pitched
voice, her body writhing. Her eyes darted fretfully
to Celia’s as she reached forward to accept her help.
But when their fingers touched, something
unusual flickered across Annie’s pupils. A look
that Celia had never seen before on her friend...yet one that she recognized. A look of uncertainty, followed by the
briefest glimmer of guilt.
Celia gasped in pain.
What? No…!
Celia gasped in pain.
What? No…!
She ripped her hand from Annie’s
and doubled-over to grab her thigh.
Although it wasn’t puckered with red and blue, pain surged through her
leg. She could feel the raw skin, the
little pieces of tree bark embedded within her flesh, the bruise swelling
beneath the surface of her skin. Logically
she knew that none of these things were actually there—this was Annie’s injury, not hers. But she could feel all of it. Tears sprung to her eyes as she glared over at
her best friend.
“Annie, how could you?!” Hurt and fear laced her voice.
“I’m sorry,” Annie
pleaded. “I never meant to…I’m
sorry. I just couldn’t take the
pain. I won’t do it again. Please, Cee Cee, you would’ve done the same
thing. I just couldn’t take it….”
And that was the day Celia stopped
liking people. Because she lived in a
world where people could give away their pain.
And in a world where people broke their promises.
Did you write this Jojo? It's amazing.
ReplyDeleteI did write it Shan, and thank you so much! A few nights ago I started imagining a society in which people could choose to transfer their pain to anyone they touched, and I started wondering what that world would like. I couldn't get the concept out of my head, so finally I broke down last night and wrote this [very] short story (which still needs editing big-time). Not sure what I'm doing with it...I'd love to flesh it out someday. But at least it's out of my system for now.
ReplyDeleteOops, "Unknown" is me. Although that was probably pretty obvious. ;)
ReplyDeleteWonderful stuff. A strange gift, indeed. Nightmarish, even.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Eric! Yeah, the implications of being able to transfer pain could be pretty frightening. I scratched down notes last year of what a society that had this 'gift' might look like, and some aspects were a little too nightmarish for me to ponder. Sort of ironic for a non-horror writer to come up with a concept that she may never be able to stomach.
DeleteThat's usually what happens to me. I make some notes. They may scare me or turn my stomach or just make me shudder a bit. Then I know it's good. It has power. Sometimes we need to be disturbed, to have our reality shaken a bit. It isn't a bad thing, you know, to give yourself a nightmare now and then.
Delete-->Sometimes we need to be disturbed, to have our reality shaken a bit. It isn't a bad thing, you know, to give yourself a nightmare now and then.
DeleteLove this beyond words, Eric. I think you managed to get to the root of what good writing is supposed to accomplish.
Thank you, YD. You might have earned yourself a whole day with that comment.
DeleteA WHOLE day? With no strings attached (or ropes, or anything else)? I am so excited!
Delete(P.S. You really need to work on your rewards system, SS).
The only string is that you'll have to spend the day reading my stories.
DeleteOh. So torment is involved, after all. ;)
ReplyDeleteOh, Jodi! I've written about this before! It will sound strange, but I've longed for this gift in reverse! I would LOVE to have the power to TAKE pain from others. I wrote a piece once called Healer about it. <3 mel.
ReplyDeleteIf you send me the link, I'd love to read it Mel! You know, it occurs to me that there are a lot of stories out there portraying someone who can heal, but very little in which the healer must actually take on the pain...actually feel it themselves. What if a character had the power to heal, but doing so forced her to burden the pain? How inclined would she be to actually use her gift? It could make for a great story.
DeleteI read it Mel. AMAZING. I can't believe you wrote a piece portraying an empathetic masochist. What are the chances?
Delete