Undiscovered Emotions

Yellow Grass. á-Google." Yellow+grassþ. N.p., n.d. Web. 08 Jan. 2016.

I wrote it on a scrap of notebook paper, and I then realized how foolish my wish was.  I was beside the ocean waves, contemplating the desire I somehow dreamed of.  Without thinking logically, I abruptly crumpled the moistened piece of paper and cast it into the sea.

The scrap declared only a few words.

“I’m yearning for someone.”

I tramped on the sand back to the faded road.  It was the middle of autumn.  A new school year had begun.  A new year for me to treat old and new students like sh*t and to tear their mentality to shreds.  I obsess over their misery.

 I began to think of how I ever came to be like this.  I’ve thought about this topic ever since I first became amused with the human emotion of sadness.  Particularly, when I caused the sadness.

I unconsciously thought of my abusive parents.  How they brutally treated me in the past and still do to this day.  They take their frustration and anger from their lives and direct it towards me.

“I’m not even supposed to be alive, anyway.”  I mumbled.  Mom didn’t ask for an abortion.  She decided to bear and tolerate me for a child.  

I’m simply uncared for.  Just an individual who was brought into this life for no good reason.  Nobody actually wants me.  

_______________

“Sean, you need to stop this behavior right this second.”

I was in the middle of torturing my latest victim during lunch.  Glasses.  Scrawny and naive.  What do you expect looking like that? Of course someone would pick on a vulnerable child like you and push you out of the lunch line.  

After I finished eating, I walked towards a campaign that a group of students were rambling about in the hallway.  

“Save the Red-Cockaded Woodpecker! Its role in our ecosystem is quite significant! It’s an endangered type of bird, and...”

One of them abruptly stopped talking so enthusiastically.  It was obvious that he was petrified of my own being.  He hung his head in shame.  

I chuckled at the 3 students as I walked past them who were gaining zero attention from anybody.  I proudly gave one of them a look of mockery.  

It was the last class of the day.  And there were only 6 more minutes of it.  I nonchalantly packed my belongings on my desk and observed the teacher, who seemed to be fully engaged in the work on her computer.   

“Alright, you guys are dismissed. Nice job today. Oh, Alicia, can I talk to you for just a moment?” 

I walk up to the door and immediately open it. I then see one of my friends walking out of Art History.  Hayden.  He notices me and nods his head.  

“You wanna hang now? We could go hunting again.  It was really fun last time.” 

“Fine.  I’m getting the 870 rifle this time.  You’re stuck with the small one,” I replied.

“Awesome! We could aim for hares this time.  Or pheasants.” 

Hayden and I have fathers who hunt for mere pleasure.  We occasionally try shooting for entertainment, ourselves too.  I always have the most fun.  

We exit the school building and head toward Hayden’s nearby house to retrieve the rifles, then west where we always go to hunt: Kopan Forest, which is close to the school.  Only a 7 minute walk from here, and only 10 to my house.  We walk without speaking a word.  

We arrive at the forest and our ears flood with the silence of the atmosphere.  Nature is exceedingly peaceful.  

I thoroughly study the scenery and begin walking cautiously.  I notion for Hayden to follow me.  He then mirrors my every movement.  

“Do you think we cou-”

I whip my head around and give him a deathly stare.

“One more word out of you and I’ll make sure you’ll regret it,” I whisper, exasperated.  

I continue to stay alert for any sign of movement.  Any sign of movement, life -- that I could end.  

After a few minutes, I become impatient.  Where the hell are these idiotic forest animals?

Out of vexation, I direct the rifle towards Hayden’s head, jokingly.  But right above his head my eyes notice something.  Something small in size.

“Score” I softly mumbled to myself.  “A coincidence, too.”

Hayden’s kneeled down, covering his head with his arms.  He’s hysterically naive. 

I point the rifle towards a Red-Cockaded Woodpecker.  Endangered, eh? Perfect.  

Hayden reluctantly stood up and noticed where I was imminently about to shoot.  I glanced at his facial expression.  It was an insecure look.

His lack of confidence rubbed off on me, causing me to only shoot the woodpecker at the leg.  The woodpecker soared down, and I could see it flinch.  

I pushed Hayden out of the way in anger.

I run off to the bird to claim it, and Hayden follows me bashfully.  

Looking down at the bird, I study its spotted wings.  I distinctly notice that the bird is still alive. 

I run home.  Hayden fails to catch up with me, but I have work to do.  

I swiftly open the unlocked door to my house.  Nobody at home.  Surprising.  But this is good.  

I dash into the kitchen, grasping the bird with one hand.  I grab a knife. Run upstairs into my room.  

This certainly isn’t a human being.  But it’s a thrilling experience for me.  Finally, something I can torture not just mentally -- but physically.

I grab one of my toy cages I’ve owned since I was a child, a perfect placement for the bird.  I don’t want it suddenly flying away.  

I shove my arm in the cage and the woodpecker falls in.  The woodpecker’s capable only of little movements between his head and wings.  

A smile crawls up on my face.  Pain is pleasure.  

I take hold of the knife in one hand, the side of the cage in the other, and begin to cut the woodpecker’s right wing.  Blood starts to sink into the white spots of the birds’ mellow, dark brown feathers.

What is happening to me?

The bird starts to chirp faintly.  You could only hear it if you were right near it.  

The innocent sounds that come out of the powerless bird.  Why does it remind me of myself?  I’m much larger than this trivial creature.  I’m profoundly filled with dominance.  I simply cannot be defeated.  

Why am I crying? There is nothing to cry about.  I have enough resilience to break down any sadness for myself.  

I am the one who offers pain.  I am the one who offers sorrow.  I am the one who offers despair.  

I release the tension in my hands and the knife clashes onto the table.  I’m sobbing unbelievably.  

I open the toy cage, take the bird gently, and hold it close to my body.  

You didn’t deserve this.  You did nothing wrong.  You deserve to be free.  You deserve to live a good life.  You deserve to be happy.  You deserve to be cared for unconditionally.  You’re a part of this life, too.    

But what is happening? Oh.  This isn’t right.  I must be hallucinating.  My eyes are deceiving.

The bird is gradually advancing in size.  Slowly but surely the bird reaches to a quarter of my height, then half, then…  It’s the size of a human.

The bird blinks twice, turning it’s head in an affectionate manner towards me.  

The bird is transforming.  A slender body is forming quickly.

Brown hair and eyes.  Curvy figure.  Unclothed.  Not much older than me.  She’s so pretty.  I can’t help but feel fondness for her.  

The transformation is what seems to be complete.  She blinks twice.  Turns her head affectionately.  

Is this happening right now? 

“Your wish.”

“What?” My voice was hoarse.  

“Your wish,” she said again.  

“What’s your name?” I say.  

“I don’t have one.  You can name me yourself.”

I stare at her, still trying to process everything that has happened.  

“But I am that someone you have been yearning for.”