Fourteen

Out of the corner of my mind I am watching myself destroy my life; like a pervert, only with more scientific interest than actual joy. I think it has always been like that, me watching myself walk through life. That's what really sets me apart, the whole self-monitoring. I rarely pay attention to others. I don't learn much about people that way, only about me.
Maybe it's lucky that you found me now, and talk to me and not the spokesperson that controls my body. I guess sometimes you have to talk to the one in the backseat and not the driver.
Just to make this clear: I am standing on the sidelines, always. You cannot blame me for what happened. I will not feel guilty. Consider the following as nothing more than a testimony from a witness who was incapable of interfering.


There was this boy at the chemist's shop. He was about five years old, gawkish and noisy. He got in my way when I entered the shop, so I had to push past him, while his mother was busy choosing the right tooth brush. We met again at the checkout, where he busied himself with tearing plastic bags from the stand while his mother waited in the queue. He would worm his index finger between two bags and slowly tear them apart, then throw the loose one into the paper bin - not the one for plastic. His mother wasn't doing anything, nor was the till girl. When it was my turn to pay, I had to act.

Even before the child's forefinger had time to unfold for another go, I grabbed its hand and squeezed. The boy stared at me. The till girl stared at me. His mother was busy laying out her shopping on the conveyor belt. My hand closed even tighter around his small, brittle fingers. Tears shot into his eyes then, and he started to scream. His mother looked up, confused, but before she could move, strong hands gripped my arms and forced me to let go. They had caught up with me.
The boy's mother was finally moving towards us, but they didn't give her time to speak.
"Don't worry, mam, we've been looking for this woman already, we'll take care of this. She already has blood on her hands."
I guess that was enough for her because they were the police, even if it wasn't true. There was no blood on my hands. I had made sure of that before I left the office. There was blood on my clothes, though, hidden beneath my cloak. Maybe I should tell you about that...

It was earlier on the same day. We were having another one of these frustratingly useless meetings where we all agree that we need to change something, but nobody has any idea about the What and How. I can't remember much about it. I'm always nervous when I have to talk to people and that leads to a numbness that prevents me from conscientiously doing things, and from remembering. All I know is that I had enough at some point. I think I really insulted the others. Maybe I even shouted before I stormed out of the room.
Later, I met my superior in the kitchen. She was doing the dishes. I didn't want to talk to her, but she saw me before I could run away. She talked to me quietly about being nice and flexible and doing what I'm asked to do. I think she was kind and patient, but I can't really remember because all I could think of was the knife lying next to the sink. It was slightly red from cutting tomatoes, and it might have been whispering secrets to me.
Maybe it was her fault. Maybe I should say it was a pity she didn't look at me, but at the dishes, while she talked. Otherwise she wouldn't have been surprised at the first stab. She just stopped talking and stared at me while she took it. That's why I got to clean my hands and leave without anybody stopping me after she had fallen to the ground: she kept quiet.
I don't know when they found her, or who it was. It couldn't have taken long, since the police caught up with me so quickly at the chemist's.

I still haven't stopped feeling numb. Aggressive enough to really hurt someone, and depressed enough not to worry about the consequences... I wonder what I will think and feel when I wake up again, if that ever happens.