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0:32 AMChapter 3[part 2]: What’s the deal with fairytales, anyway?
Today during the dinner Steven made, everything seemed peaceful and relaxing, like it used to. It was a nice change. There’s one thing I love, I thought, thinking back to the task we have to complete by Friday afternoon.
I spun another spoonful of pasta and laughed at all the insults – meant in a joking manner, this time anyway – along with everyone else who wasn’t helping toss around the insults. Well, everyone’s names who weren’t Phil, Michael, and Kaleb.
"Bro, you’re such a pig,” Michael commented, trying to steal a large pile of pasta off of Kaleb’s plate.
"Dude, you’re the one who’s hogging it all!” Kaleb retaliated, stealing Michael’s plate.
"Both of you need to learn to not be slops and eat politely and not as much – like me!” Phil interjected, gathering a large amount of noodles on his fork, and shoving it into his mouth, making everyone laugh and Jake choke on his food from laughing too hard.
Basically that’s how dinner went, then everyone gathered for a random game of something, either poker or video games probably, but I said I had to work on a sketch for a friend, which made everyone comment about how I’m obsessed with my art and should try games at some point. No thanks.
But I guess I also lied to them. When I went into my shared room and closed the door, I didn’t go and grab my sketchpad like I claimed I would. Instead, I walked over to my backpack and dug out my old tattered and almost filled notebook and a deep green pen from the bottom of my bag.
I figured Steven would like a written list, so I saved a page for him, and I had been writing all over the other page I had left for myself. I had both separated into two columns: ‘Love | Hate’. Thing is that all I have written are things from "our world” not the "spirit world” or the spirit’s past. I mean, I could imagine some things if it came down to it, but I’m not the one who saw a glimpse of it. And I know nothing of the past. I mean, I’m good at history and all, but this past is the beginning of time. And I’m not that into creation stories. Apparently there is a story behind the house Steven apparently always to visit, but I had no idea what it was.
Anyways, I started trying to just` create random situations for different things or feelings, but ended up scratching them out. How do I only have 12 things for each list? I thought. Then I sighed and then put my pen and notebook to the side, and lied down on top of my bed, staring at the ceiling. How are we supposed to do this?
A little while later, while I continued to space out and stare at the ceiling, Steven walked in. "So. About the list,” he began bluntly, rubbing the back of his neck as he went to sit down on his bed. At least I’m not the only one thinking about it.
"Yeah, we need – rather you need – to start making a list.” I grabbed my notebook and pen and handed them over to my brother. "I started mine, but I only have 12 things that could fit the list properly.” He glanced up at me, then he looked back at the list I currently had, flipped the page to see his portion for the list, then sighed. I furrowed my eyebrows and tilted my head to the left in confusion.
"What’s the problem? I mean, look, I started –”
"That’s not the point! We need to work on this together, not separately!” I winced from the force he was using, and felt the strange feeling from the spirit seep in to my skin. My gentle younger brother who always seemed calm and collected, snapping over a list for some spirit. I risked a glance up at him, and saw his eyes grow darker in his frustration until they were a perfect medium of black and brown, a color I would love to have in existence.
He started pacing around, obviously trying to control himself and calm down, but he kept looking at me angrily. I kept silent, but I glanced at the notebook in his hands whenever I managed to catch his eye to signify we needed to talk through this.
Probably ten minutes later, he sighed and sat down heavily on his bed across from me. He gave me back the notebook, took a deep breath, then released it. He gazed up at me. "Remember what I said at dinner Sunday?” I frowned, wondering what it meant, until his dark eyes bore into my matching set. I sighed, and placed my fingers to me head, reviewing everything that happened Sunday.
Steven and I sat around at a small diner that stays open late in case anyone gets hungry late at night. We played with the food on our plates for a moment before Steven spoke up.
"So, about this whole situation we have gotten in to…” he began.
"Yes, what about it?” He stared at his glass of water a moment until he sighed and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes. When he opened them, he was staring right at me, forcing me to pay attention to him.
"So, you believe what I told you?”
I sighed and leaned on the table with my elbow and placed my head in my palm. "No, actually. But I’ll go along with it because it fits what happened to me.”
He rubbed his forehead for a moment before sighing. "Fine, if that’s what I have to deal with, I will.”
I nodded, still leaning in my palm. "So what exactly is it that we are doing?”
He leaned on the table and mimicked my position, staring at a small spot left over on the table. "Well, basically, we have to make a list full of 99 things we hate and love about everything?”
"For each thing?”
"I’d assume so.”
"Hm…” I began, acting like I was thinking. He stared at me intently. "I’ll help you once I finish this short project.” Then I left.
When he got back home, only a few minutes behind me, he chucked a pillow at my head and mumbled, "Fine, let the world end.” I stared at him as he climbed into bed.
Love and hate? I thought. How am I supposed to do that? I’m an artist. I see things that fall in the grey, the in between, nothing that are extremes like love and hate are. And I don’t know much of spirits. How is it possible that I got dragged into a world where I can’t use anything moderately. I can’t even adjust the scheme, design, or see the good and bad of it all.
Good and bad.
Maybe that’s all there is to it. I hope it counts. Maybe those will work for love or hate. I suppose we’ll find out.
I sighed when I thought about all of it and flopped onto my back. Steven continued staring at me. "Yeah, what about it?” I mumbled, being slightly confused.
"Dang it, Stephanie!” he said. "C’mon you need to understand we need to work on this!”
"But I have –” I started.
"I mean we need to work together. We both need to make a list,” he interjected. He looked at the notebook lying next to me and gestured towards it "This is a good start. We need to finish working on it. And soon. We don’t have much time, sis.”
I agreed with him. I mean, if this is all real, so many things could happen. I stood with the notebook and pen and sat next to him on his bed. He stared at me for a moment, looking slightly confused. I clicked the pen.
"Then let’s get started.”
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