Tough QuestionsMature

I collected my notes into my lap; so many individuals, with so problems, in one room.

"Tell me Doctor," Reaper spoke up, finally dragging his eyes off of his young author "How is it that you plan to fix us? How does a woman like you, know the answer to all our woes and the cure for all our wounds." Reaper whispered something to his author, placing her on the couch and wrapping his jacket around her shoulders. He stood and gave me a glance, too many emotions passing through his icy eyes. "Tell everyone here how you can take away those we've killed or deter those who killed us!" His teeth clenched and eyes narrowed. It was a challenge, whether it was the fear of opening up or all the painful memories brought to the surface, I didn't know. I held my hand up in a calm manner.

"Reaper, It is not as simple as fixing a broken toy.  Each character here, along with their author must learn to let go of all their past pains and loves. You must learn to accept one another and learn that you both influence each other.  You and everyone else here needs to get your issues out of your head and into an environment where healing can take place. You need to learn from the past and take every lesson to heart. If you stay bottled up forever, it will destroy you, like these memories are doing to you now." Reaper growled, his eyes giving me a cold glare. Devlin's placid eyes watched our digression, no emotion stemming from her. 

"What about them?" Reaper said gesturing to the authors. "We may be..." he paused as if it were painful to say the next word "....broken characters but our authors are the ones who spawned us. Giving us a pulse, ideas, feelings, a past, a future, and our pains." He chuckled a bit and took a seat next to Devlin; her head leaned against his right shoulder. Silence filled the room once again. "Well doctor we're waiting...." Everyone just stared. I clasped my hands in my lap and looked to the group, a deep breath passing in and out of my lips. Instead of having the whole group tear into me, I'd have to use Reaper's outburst as a learning moment.    

"Why do you have to blame someone or something for all of this happening to you?" my voice was calm and level, more so than I had hoped. Reaper snorted, putting an arm around Devlin in a protective gesture.

"She penned my story, just like Elo created Sarah and Rachel, and Spook created Shard. For that I know I am eternally tied with her." A soft smile touched his lips, his accent not as heavy. "It wasn't so bad in the beginning, you know? I got to be a part of something, to be alive." He winced. “It’s just when the torture started both by and upon me. I wanted to say that it was a phase, that she'd write me to safety, she always did." He pulled a loose strand off Devlin's face.

"But it wasn't to be. I blame her for writing it. For giving me all this pain, anguish, and hate. For giving me my love of torture and death." His eyes flashed to me and we locked gazes. "You don't know what it's like do you doctor? You've never been tortured or shot or killed. You've never had to sit there day after day and wonder if you were going to be killed off by a whim. You don't know how any of us feel.

"Sure you can sit there on your soap box and pretend to care. You can voice your sympathies and woes, tell us everything is going to be alright. Saying that you can make us better, the truth is you can't. Broken glass, you can fix. A broken watch you can fix, but a life...doctor." He shook his head and snarled. "You will never be able to fix us, try as you might. We're just another psycho and another paycheck." He shrugged hopelessly. "How could you ever hope to fix us, without living through our trauma?"

The End

130 comments about this exercise Feed