spoops

It's a weird thing. To die, and then to come back.

My new friend, they're dead. They're never going to change. In fifty years, they'll still be the same hunched shadow they always were, staring at me with regret and frustration. And I think, if I had lived, if they had never found me, would I have ended up like them?

I wouldn't have been some shadow of a kid that once existed, sure. But when I think back to those that surrounded me, the way they would coo and cheer every time I did the most basic things, always talking over my head just because I couldn't talk back. It didn't matter how big I got, how many years went by. As long as I couldn't speak to them the way they wanted me to, as long as I was different from them, I would always be a child.

I still don't know how to feel about my death. I think back and the images are grey-scale and freezing cold. At the time, I guess I thought I was just doing my best, but all I see now is me desperately trying to be like them, and being met with disappointment. And I would stand there, pressure building as my head ran around in circles, trying to decode what I had done wrong.

After my death, I feel the images flare up into brilliant color, tinged with the bright hues of fear, betrayal, and a strange sense of freedom. What happened to me hurts. It will never stop hurting. But I can't regret it.

On some level, I know Stan is a pretty terrible person. He takes every rule I knew about what normal people considered polite social conduct and destroys it. He steals. He swears. He kills. His spirit even seems to reflect some of that murderous edge, the points of its weapon-tail glittering dangerously, painfully in the light. But every time I try to get myself to care, I just can't go through with it.
Because, through him, I feel that maybe I can grow up.

He treats me like someone my age. Someone who still has a long way to go, and not someone who will just run in circles their entire life. And it's true, I don't like all the changes that come with growing up. I feel like I have to fight with my body every day as it tries to implement troubling changes that make my skin itch. But, at the same time, I know I can't stop it. It has to happen, no matter how I feel.

With Stan, I will never have to play the part of the silent, endlessly-sulking eternal child. Not knowing where I'm going is terrifying, but at the same time, I'm glad I can face it as myself.