Let's Talk Death.

MistWeaver: Do you know what it will be in 11 days?
Voice In The Mist: The 22nd of January?
MW: I mean, what event.
VITM: The day you lose your virginity?
MW: No. I'm serious this time. No jokes.
VITM: I don't know, then. When will it be?
MW: On the 22nd of January one year ago, my grandfather died.
VITM: I'm sorry.
MW: Why are you sorry? You didn't know him. You didn't spend every weekend from the time you were little at his house. You didn't go through the agony of a funeral where neither you nor your brother nor your mother was mentioned, even though he was a father to her, and he and Kai were as close as you could possibly get.

Dead girls dance, they burn and twirl...

VITM: How could they not mention his grandkids?
MW: Technically we were his Godchildren, not his blood grandkids.
VITM: I hate to break your tirade, but why are you bringing this up?
MW: Well for the past while I've been weird. I've been teary and easily upset and touchy. Not super noticeably, because that's not the way I am, but I've noticed, and I think that some of my closest friends have, too. And I think that it's because we're getting closer and closer to that time.
VITM: Is that how you feel now? All teary and crappy?
MW: Yeah. Right now I also feel useless and bored and sad and like screaming.
VITM: All at once?
MW: Yeah. Especially like screaming. And like having strong supportive arms wrap around my shoulders and just being held. Not by somebody who pities me, or that feels like it's their duty or something. Just by somebody who cares. Who wants to make me feel better.

I'm running out of air...

VITM: This doesn't sound like you.
MW: That's because you weren't around as early as a year ago or as far back as four years ago. It's only lately that I've been the way you know me as now, you know.
VITM: Tell us about how you were, then.
MW: No. It's over. I'm different. But it's just that I'm rereading my journal from that time, "The Novelty Of Having A Kid (Wears Off)", and I'm feeling the things all over again. But it's helping. I no longer feel all trapped inside my body, powerless.

I've held on so tight... that I've crushed them. I've crushed them.

VITM: But let me guess. It's causing you to relive those bad times.
MW: Yeah. That about sums it up.
VITM: So what do you want? Apart from that hug.
MW: What do I want? I want many things. But at the moment I want to talk.
VITM: Abotu what? With who? That's what I'm here for.
MW: I just want to talk. I want to talk with someone who will listen, and talk as well. I want to talk with Inga.
VITM: When was the last time you talked to her?
MV: Talked to her at all? A month ago. Talked to her in the way that I want to now? Months and months ago. Maybe even this time a year ago. But that's beside the point. She's out of reach now and who else do you know that would let me rant and understand?
VITM: I can think of a lot of friends who would listen to your problems.
MW: But don't you get it? I don't want someone who will listen to my problems. I want to SPEAK. And speak. And speak more. Without having to think. Just spilling over, like a glass. Without worrying about who I'm talking to, who I might offend, what I might let slip, or even how much I swore.
VITM: Don't you think that it might not be fair to whoever you're doing this to?
MW: Inga was my sister. That's what we did. We would let spill. And then when the dam was back under control, we would talk. Hell, half the time we couldn't even remember half the stuff we had just said, but the other person would comment and say what she thought and thigns would be better.
VITM: But Inga's not there anymore.
MW: No, she's not. Which is why I'm freaking talking to my freaking self and a freaking computer instead of a freaking human being.
VITM: I think you need a break. And a good night's rest.
MV: I don't want freaking sleep! Sleep just freaking delays the things that matter and bring the things that don't faster! Like right now I should be studying for a Social essay that's first thing tomorrow morning. I don't want to! I don't care if I fail! The last thing in the freaking world I want to do right now is social. But if I don't, if I go to sleep, when I wake up it will be time to do the test. And then boy, will I regret this. Sleep is bad. Sleep is the enemy. Too much time is wasted while sleeping! And like most enemies of the mind and the emotions, it would just feel so good...
VITM: I think that this is something that I can't help you with. There are some things that a computer and yourself will never solve. No inanimate object can ever compare with the feeling of a warm hug. Not that I'd know. I don't even have a body.
MW: I remeber crying at the funeral. I didn't think that I'd cry. When I heard the news I was so numb inside... But I cried at the funeral. And when the tears burned away to anger, eventually it just dissipated back into sadness. How could they do that? And his "real" daughter, Debbie... How could she hate us so much? How could she hate us and hide it for all those years? And poor Goddad... he left everything to her. He assumed that she'd let us take what we wanted, what had been essentially ours whenever we were there. But the bitch sold everything. I never even saw the stuff I made for him at camp again. Maybe I could have saved some of it... But I couldn't face being there... Couldn't face...
VITM: I think that this is way beyond me. I think I'm going to end this here because if I don't you'll continue talking. And that would be bad. You'd hate me later if I let you do that.

The Voice In The Mist