Gift, part 8

Up.
And down.
Like every single thing in life.
Sometimes people do things without questioning. He separated those moments into two groups, the group of those who do these things unconsciously, and the ones who do it because they cannot control their urges. The latter caused a hostile reaction on him. They looked like weak people and not very trustworthy, since they could not even control such things.
They were controlled by their emotions.
That was also one of the reasons he felt so angry at himself. All the times he did not control those basic parts of being human brought an extra piece to this fortress of anger he silently built inside.
But that is how life goes. Although aware of the need of letting things go, it wasn't done. The past was always there, maiming whatever he could reach up.
Rising.
And falling.
Whenever he came to realize the things he did, he felt uneasy. But it just felt so unreasonable to stop doing such things. Perhaps sometimes following reason was too much to bear.
The mirror stood there, back to back. Oftenly he would look at it, face consciousness about what seemed to be going on, and then wonder if the mirror could do anything that wasn't just a mimic of his acts.
The voice was familiar.
Ascend.
Descend.
One and a half hours had already passed. And there he was, inside that box of metal. Going once again all the way into the sixth floor.
He felt ridiculous. Why did he keep on doing such things? He remembered many of the useless activities he engaged. Always with some lame excuse, perhaps too afraid to stop and admit it had no point.
After all that time, the metallic box seemed to be getting tired. Sometimes the travel would take dozens of seconds, sometimes it felt like a jump, as if it used its last breath in order to achieve its goal. But it could be just the effects of long exposition to stupidity.
He stared at the other him beyong the mirror. Expecting some sort of clue, some sort of surprise. That which would change how the cards were played.
But there seemed to be no cards on the table.
Every single detail, the marks on the skin, the hair, the darkened surroundings of those eyes indicating that sleeping wasn't a very encouraged activity...
Those black eyes curiously looking back at his.
Sixth floor...
The door opened to an entailing light.
Normally lights turned on after you left the elevator. Motion sensors could not sense people inside it.
Before he turned to press the buttons and wander some more, a dashing body made its way in.


–Just keep the door closed.
–Sure...
–Closed at all times.
–Why?
–It is better that way.
She was speaking quickly, and quietly. Those last words were more like whispers.
His heart still pounded because of the surprise. He wondered why did she took so long, and why did it have to be in such a bizarre fashion.
All the lights inside the elevator were functioning. Every detail of that scarred face came to life. The places in which the blade did not slice gently protruded outwards. The pale skin deformed in small patches to accomodate that bizarre smile.
Somehow it still gave him shivers. But deep down there was this thought forcing itself as the dominant leader of the pack, saying that it was safe because she could be trusted.
–I suppose it is clear enough now.
She was strangely close.
–What for?
–Answers, remember?
–Answers...
–The answers you wanted yesterday.
–So, what is it? Are you guys spying my friends? There is a roster of things like you keeping tabs on them?
–Not that much. There are some more "things" like me, scattered around. Not too oftenly we bring some information to it. But it does not need us so much, darkness can watch by itself.
–Then did Daven tell you about my friends?
–I have seen some of them. Also, stop calling it Daven.
–So what do I call it?
Moving backwards, she looked confused. After a strange sigh, she came back.
–Daven, then. I haven't talked to it for some good days, it doesn't need us.
–Then we are back to the other question, did Daven give you that information?
–Yes. It gave me some of your background before the day we met. It did not look like it took too long to gather that data.
–Did Daven disappear as of lately because it is going after my friends?
–I don't think so.
He wondered. Maybe she just said that thing the day before to keep the topic, maybe she did not really know much about his friends. But it felt weird. So weird he had to hold his forehead with the right hand and close eyes, as if that made him concentrate enough to clarify thoughts.
Eyes closed.
All those times it said "Hello, boy".
The realization hit him like a truck, it was just a bunch of the things in his thoughts. Daven was inside whenever it wanted, as it seemed. It did not need to keep on watching over those people.
–I kind of wonder... Am I mad already?
–What do you mean?
–It lives inside my head.
–Daven?
–Daven.
She seemed surprised.
–Do you have any way to control it?
–None that I know about.
–Maybe it doesn't get access to everything.
–I can't tell.
–But that was to be expected.
–Why?
–It feeds on you. Therefore it gets to be closer and closer, and has to control its source.
–Feeds?
–Yes, never felt very, very tired for no reason?
–I...
He remembered all the times he felt so tired and just thought that it felt so because of the few hours of sleep between days. That could be just the lack of bedtime, couldn't it? It was the most logical answer.
–I did...
–And even though you barely sleep more than half of the recommended hours, some days you are feeling awesome, while in others it doesn't matter how much you sleep or with how much quality?
–Yes...
–That is because it is taking most of its energy from you. People normally don't last this long. It found one great feeder.
–So, it, Daven, is just, using me?
–Perhaps ever since you were a child.
–Where did it come from?
–Is that important?
–Of course it is, I need to know how can I fight back!
–Fight back?
–I don't want to feed it anymore.
–Well, that is one big problem. I am not sure humans fight back. Also, these things have some sort of interest in keeping their sources safe. Some thing in you is used to bring energy to it. Moreover, it is already known that a great feeder lies around.
–So, there are other... Davens...
–You can say so.
–And you, came with it.
–Yes, I did.
–Do you feed on me too?
His head felt dizzy. She was barely holding him now.
–Just a little. I get most of my energy from other ways.
–I'm not sure what to say.
–There is more. But you do not look good enough to hear it.
–I guess I need to sleep.
–You probably do.
She hugged him.
–Now, make sure it remains oblivious to this night.
–I'll try.
He stood against the corner, trying to understand what was going on.
She pressed the button back to the third floor.
Outside, the elevator pit was shrouded in pitch black darkness.


Sometimes people start to question reality. That is a part of being conscious. He wondered if he had gone truly mad. For some reason, now he just wanted to spend some time with his close friends. The humans that accompanied him during a big part of his life. He just wanted to be with them now, and forget all that nonsense.
But he also felt too weak to do anything like that. Whatever truck had hit him, it went for a critical strike. Her face caused a strange sensation now, something between the good feelings of having company in harsh times of sleep deprivation, and betrayal.
But the bed felt comfortable.
And a few dozen minutes later, he was fast asleep.
She left the bedroom, a bloodstained knife firmly held in one of her hands.
The open curtains showed the night outside. If he could look at it, and focus his eyes, he would notice that some specific branches weren't that bent anymore.
Whatever smiled from above them, now hid at the living room.
As soon as she left, it started moving.
A blade so grossly tortured by time and activity that it didn't even look like a cutting tool anymore. There were stains everywhere over its slender form.
The blade swinged in a diagonal arc, as if it cut an invisible body.
It was so eager for this moment. It was hard to control the anxiety, so the blade would swing for a few more times, some of which it stopped to praise what that would mean soon.
He slept beyond the quiet steps.
It smiled.