Madness and Civilisation

Are we the authors of our own narratives? Or are we just playing our part in the Maestro’s symphony of deception? If I were the author, would I permit such hardship on myself? Would I allow this? Why would I? Then perhaps I am not the author of my own narrative. If I were, I would have stricken this from existence. But perhaps a deceiver may also do this. Sometimes, fiction is just as real as the truth.

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“Why did you have to kill Buddy?” I asked, although my tears made my question barely audible. I don’t remember how I wound up here. The last thing I remember was my parents negotiating with Lady Scarlet. Did they succeed? I don’t remember. How did I get here?

Buddy's coldness was so real, as was the image of Anne smirking, a stick covered in blood clutched in her hands. How could this be fake? How did this happen?

“Because stupid things have no value. I can’t believe you’re too stupid to realise that. You have no value, and that stupid dog of yours had even less value. If anything, I did you a favour killing that stupid mutt. You should thank me.” Anne spoke.

As I clung to Buddy’s lifeless body, my thoughts began to spiral.

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Why did Buddy have to die?

Because I’m a bad girl.

He did nothing wrong.

But your existence is wrong.

It should have been me!

That’s right. It would have been better if it was.

Why? Why? Why? Why? Why did Buddy have to die?

Because you are a bad girl.

The world can perish for all I care.

That’s what bad girls think.

If Buddy’s life is meaningless, then it can all burn.

Only bad girls like you should be burnt.

Stupid things deserve to die.

Stupid things deserve to die.

Stupid Anne deserves to die.

I’m a bad girl for thinking such things.

This is why I’m punished.

Yes, you are a bad girl.

I deserve to be punished.

Yes, I’m a bad girl.

I deserved to be beaten.

Yes, because I’m a bad girl.

Bad girls like me need to be punished.

Trash deserves to be punished.

I’m a bad girl. I’m a bad girl. I’m a bad girl. I’m a bad girl. I’m a bad girl. I’m a bad girl. I’m a bad girl. I’m a bad girl. I’m a bad girl. I’m a bad girl.

I am a selfish raven who can't get what I want

I am like a raven picking at the dead

I am the raven picking at the bones of a little red bird

If you (I) had acted, maybe you (I) could have saved him

But you (I) didn’t

Because you (I) are (am) a bad girl.

This happened because I was bad.

This was my punishment for being bad.

Don’t forget this

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That’s when I awoke. I was lying on Lady Scarlet’s bed. How did I get here? When did I get here? What happened to Buddy? What was real? What wasn’t? I felt scared. When I was in my room, I knew what was real and what wasn’t. That made things easy. Now, I no longer knew. So much was going through my mind. Most importantly, how was Buddy?

I turned frantic and saw Lady Scarlet looking worried at me. In her hands was Buddy, with a sad look on his face but very much alive. That dream? Was it a dream? Yes, it must have been. Buddy was here, so it must have been a bad dream.

“Kid, how are you feeling? Are you alright? I was so worried.”

I didn’t know how to react, but I didn’t want to be alone. That weird dream made me feel uneasy. I had nightmares before; perhaps they were even more common than normal dreams. However, they were never this realistic.

I felt frightened for some reason. I don’t like this feeling. So, I reached out and tugged on Lady Scarlet’s jacket. I didn’t want her to leave.

She moved closer, which made me momentarily, accidentally, let go of her. Although it was only a split second, that moment made me feel scared again. As she moved closer, Buddy jumped out of Lady Scarlet’s hands onto the bed and approached my lap for cuddles. Lady Scarlet drew closer and hugged me.

After a few moments, she separated from me, and Buddy stood on his back legs, demanding cuddles as well. I think perhaps he was just as worried about me as I was about him.

“I called the doctor over while you were unconscious. She had a look but couldn’t find anything wrong with you. Well, at least not any physical that would cause you to faint.” She commented.

Did the doctor see me while I was unconscious? Does that mean she saw my disgusting body? All the scars on my body? I hope I didn’t make her sick.

“If it wasn’t physical, was I just tired? I can go to bed earlier if that is the case.” I asked.

Lady Scarlet bit her lip and looked uncomfortable—like she was thinking about how best to respond.

“The doctor said it may have been caused by something called trauma.”

Trauma? What is that? Is it a food? Maybe I should be more careful. I ate way more than I ever had when I was just living with my father and stepmother. Speaking of which, I hadn’t seen either of them or Anne since waking up.

“What’s trauma, and where did Father, Stepmother, Anne and Choco go?” I asked.

“Regarding your parents, they have left the camp. I believe they were going to head into the rift. You don’t have to worry about them anymore.”

I felt better hearing this, though I did not know why. When Mr. Ren left for his journey, I felt sad. So shouldn’t I feel upset about not seeing Father, Stepmother, Anne, and Choco anymore?

Lady Scarlet sat down beside me. “As for trauma, it is something you can feel when you experience something bad or distressing.”

If trauma is something you feel when you are sad, then that might explain why I wasn’t feeling the same feelings I felt when Mr. Ren left.

Lady Scarlet placed her hand on my head. “You don’t have to worry any more. I will protect you from now on.” She then pulled me in and hugged me. As she did this, I felt better again; I wasn’t as worried.

Hugs are magical. Anne always said magical things were like unicorns, dragons, and fairies, but I think hugs are the most magical thing in the world. They make you feel warm inside.

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End Chapter 11