Yeah. [ he says, and then, ] Maybe? [ and then, a bit hesitant, ] No, I don't really think that's it. It's more like...
[ it's weird. he shouldn't be talking about this. he knows he shouldn't be talking about this. it's the kind of thing that got in trouble in the first place - being a weird kid, thinking too much and saying the kind of stuff nobody actually wants to hear. when someone asks you a question, it's so much easier to just let them think they were right. that's what you're supposed to do. that's what a good kid does.
but he's not good. not really in any respect. so he says, after a few moments of silence: ]
I don't really care whether it ends up helping someone. [ a beat. ] I mean, it'd be nice if it did? I think I'd like that. But it's not really important. What's important is that it's all messed up in the first place. That's the part I really hate.
[ "hate." a strong word for such a quiet boy. but he's not done yet. ]
It's so easy to make things better. So why does nobody bother? Everyone just watches, and shrugs, and says "oh well, I guess there was nothing we could have done." Except there was something they could have done, there always was, and if they weren't so content to just watch and say "they probably deserved it" then maybe-
[ his fingers fumble; the gear drops. for a moment, there's a spark of light in his eyes, an angry flash of passion and vitriol and please see me that burns as bright as the morning star itself.
and then it's hidden away, and he reaches down to pick up the gear and carefully wipe it again. ]
no subject
[ it's weird. he shouldn't be talking about this. he knows he shouldn't be talking about this. it's the kind of thing that got in trouble in the first place - being a weird kid, thinking too much and saying the kind of stuff nobody actually wants to hear. when someone asks you a question, it's so much easier to just let them think they were right. that's what you're supposed to do. that's what a good kid does.
but he's not good. not really in any respect. so he says, after a few moments of silence: ]
I don't really care whether it ends up helping someone. [ a beat. ] I mean, it'd be nice if it did? I think I'd like that. But it's not really important. What's important is that it's all messed up in the first place. That's the part I really hate.
[ "hate." a strong word for such a quiet boy. but he's not done yet. ]
It's so easy to make things better. So why does nobody bother? Everyone just watches, and shrugs, and says "oh well, I guess there was nothing we could have done." Except there was something they could have done, there always was, and if they weren't so content to just watch and say "they probably deserved it" then maybe-
[ his fingers fumble; the gear drops. for a moment, there's a spark of light in his eyes, an angry flash of passion and vitriol and please see me that burns as bright as the morning star itself.
and then it's hidden away, and he reaches down to pick up the gear and carefully wipe it again. ]
...sorry. I'm rambling, huh.