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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2212569-Compassion
Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Psychology · #2212569
A friend helping another through a trauma.
         
Compassion


         "No, we don't agree on this."
         I sigh and let go of his elbow. Fine. Do whatever. I don't care. You can turn into a crystal if you want. I'm giving up.
         "Don't be like that, I mean, I'll be fine."
         I look at him. He's still a bit shaky. Maybe the stone will do him good. Who the fuck knows, they're testing it as we speak.

         "Okay."
         "For real?"
         "Yeah."
         "Tess, you're the best."
          No, I'm an idiot.

         I sit down and get my pouch out. I drop some pebbles into the mortar and start grinding. He looks at me gratefully. I avoid his gaze and focus on my task. We sit in silence, the grinding of the stones permeating the atmosphere with a hypnotic beat.
         It's powder now. I stare at the mortar for a bit, hesitating for a second. Then I bring it up to eye level and blow. The dust flows up in a cloud around us both.
         "Breathe," I instruct.
         The stone flows into our lungs and the fireflies appear. He looks mesmerized. I observe him closely. The fireflies start forming connections and I can see the intricate netting of the world. Much was tangled around him. He goes to tug at a string uncomfortably pressing against his throat. I stop him.

         "You can't just pull, you don't know what it is."
         He stops short and pales a bit. He didn't think this far. Great.
         "Look, how about I detangle some for you?"
         He nods. I observe the net closely. I pull one of my strings and tie it to the one on his neck. The world splits. A kidney falls at my feet. An uncomfortable squelching sound as flesh hits the ground. A foot stamps on it. Crushes it to mere mush. I wrinkle my nose at the stench. Kidneys do not smell good. Especially squashed ones. I look up at him and he's shaking. Cold sweat forms on his forehead.
         "What is this?"
         "I have no clue."
         "Came out of your head, so you do have a clue. What is it?"
         "My father."
         "Your father is a kidney."
         "...Yes."
         "And the foot?"
         "...Mine."
         "Well. Your father's not a kidney and you didn't squash him into paste."
         "Uhuh."
         "Are you here?"
         "No."
         This is why newbies are just a pain. He's gone off somewhere. His eyes are crystal. I smack him in the face and he looks at me. Still crystal. Son of a bitch. Okay. I catch a firefly and smoosh it into his mouth.
         We're in a field. We're running after a butterfly. The sun warms our skin. The world is simple. The sky is blue. The grass is green. Nothing matters but the butterfly. We laugh gleefully as we run after the poor thing. Our mother calls out to us for supper. We turn and see our house, warm, inviting, home. The best feeling in the world.
         "Are you blind?"
         "Not completely..."
         "You're an idiot."
         

         

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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2212569-Compassion