“I don’t expect you to understand, you know. No one ever did. Maybe no one ever will. But then again, maybe I’m not as special as I think I am. Do we ever really know anyone? We think we do, we think we can put people into neat, understandable little boxes, categorize and codify and compartmentalize, but in the end, we’re all mysteries, aren’t we? Doomed to move through the world, trapped in our own heads, with only ourselves for company.
“Of course, some of us would act out. Would feel the need to be seen, to be heard, to be understood. To not be lost, adrift, floating alone through this scary world. To stand out, to be special, not just fall in line and do what we’re told. And then what happens when that doesn’t work, when we try and try and try, and are perpetually disappointed? Maybe some people have more hope, more patience, than I do. Maybe others lash out, blame the world for their problems. Or maybe, like me, they decide, fuck it. I’m going to do something. I’m going to be seen. And woe to anyone who gets in my way.”
She leaned forward, the handcuffs chaining her to the table clinking in the quiet room. She grinned at the agents sitting across from her, mocking their solemn faces, their ironed suits and shiny badges.
“You really think you have anything on me? You’re not going to find them.” She lounged back in the metal chair, her smile loose and relaxed. “I’ve come to terms with who I am. I don’t need to explain myself, or be validated, or prove I’m better than you.” She shrugged. “I already know I am.”
© The Lightning Tower, 2020