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Stupid Conservation: A Narrative Fiction

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Afterwards, Clare reads me a good night story and half way through all the lights in the house turn off. “Stupid conservation.” Lights from the driveway stop me from speaking any further. “Mama!” I race out of my bedroom. Outside it was dark but I could still tell that the car is a police car. He asked to see my aunt. He followed me inside. "Where is your RPT pad?" He asked. I pointed to the little box on the wall by the couch. He walked over and typed in a few things. Then the electricity turned on! "Can you come over every night?" I said in awe. No one had ever gotten electricity after ten to my knowledge, only hospitals. "No little one." He laughed. "Oh, my aunt is in my room. Do you wanna see her?" "Yes please." I walk over to her and …show more content…

“We didn’t ask for your life story, just about the mission we arrested you doing.” The elder looks displeased. “So I think you’ll find there to be more than enough time to divulge that now.” I shake my head. Doesn’t he know that telling the end of the story before it’s time, ruins the story? “And I think you’ll find I have a month until this injection kills me and I intend to save the last part of the story for last. Who knows, maybe my entire life will interest you.” I shrug. “I am busy man and do not have time to sit here with you for thirty days listening to some story until you decide to say what I need to …show more content…

Think of it as my last confession, therapy maybe.” “I don’t have time for this---” “No, but I do.” The younger one speaks up. His hair is brown and his eyes are a nice green. Everything I had ever thought was nice either got taken away from me or wasn’t nice to begin with. I stop looking him in the eye. “You’re going to spend next month here? With her?” The elder seems not shocked exactly, maybe a little disappointed. “Group therapy is sometimes better than one on one.” I supply in the silence. “Shut up.” He turns back to the younger boy. “Are you sure? She’s not quite--- right.” “I’ve noticed.” He looks at me sideways for a split second as if he thought I would take offence. As if I could feel anything anymore, as if I would take offence. And that slight acknowledgement of my feelings made me want to feel something other is this cold foreign nothingness that I seemed to drown in day in and day out. The acknowledgment was so small he probably didn’t even notice himself doing it. It was probably subconscious, or something he was used to doing for others and then realized that I wasn’t worth his time or care. I stopped wanting to feel anything once

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