"Who are you?"
That's the question I really should be asking. The question that echoes so loudly within my mind, I could have convinced myself I spoke it aloud. That suspicion is quickly purged however as she nods a little too proudly, considering the trivial task given to her. She's ready to leave, but is she ready for what will be asked of her? I can only hope she's right, praying silently as I watch her flit about my home packing the unnecessary sundries I request of her.
But who are you really, obliging one? Me, I have but one true name: Disgrace. Sheer and utter disgrace, that is who I am. I wonder, what will you think of me when you realize what I have done? Will you hate me as much I do, when you realize how easily I allowed you to make a decision you did not understand? Or when you realize how eagerly I risked your life, knowing nothing of your ability to survive the task presented to you? Or when you realize, how quickly those concerns were burned away by nothing more than juvenile desires.
What then, Nadja? Will you hate me? Abandon me? Or are you so cruel as to twist the knife once more by forgiving what should not be forgiven? Who are you?
I can only wonder what drives her, as her bright smile persists in spite of the incessant stream of pointless errands I rain down on her merely for my own amusement. And I can only wonder, as my gaze turns once more to the otherwise completely ordinary roll of paper safely tugged away on the top shelf, as the image buried so deeply in my mind resurfaces once more, and as I recognize every little detail, every single familiar stroke of the pen; Could it be that, somehow, even if it's only a little part, that you are...
Her?
It's possible, isn't it? After all that happened, for even a little to remain... If anyone was going to do it, she'd be the one? Or perhaps I am just imagining things, yet another delusion induced by my pathetic, lonely life. Perhaps I simply wish so desperately to see her again.
>1/3