00.00.02

A girl walked up to me one day and said, "Kida, I'm sad. I don't know who I am. I don't know what I want. I don't... There are so many things I don't know. What's wrong with me?" and all I could do at that very moment was to stare blankly and in awe at her because I didn't know what to respond. What's wrong with me? No one seems to think anything is wrong with her, and I try to believe them, and say that nothing is wrong, but I can't. It doesn't make sense. So I continue to stare at the girl in awe, and eventually walk away without speaking another word. She says nothing, she only sits and then all the lights shut off, and then they're back on again. All I hear is the sound of the piano playing in the song that I've become attached to. What's wrong with me? The world is falling apart, being eaten away by our endless desires, people are dying because the world is over populated, polar bears are drowning, that girl over there looks so pretty but she's actually an idiot... I can spot what's wrong with everyone else, but lack the answer to that one question.

I listen to the song and want to cry. I open my agenda and want to cry. A car nearly hit me and I'm still in shock. I'm crying. Nothing makes sense. Perhaps the tears aren't real, and if the tears aren't real, the pain isn't real, and that would mean that no one is suffering. There is no way for me to prove that the tears are real. Sure I feel them, taste them, but I could be mistaken. A disturbed person may hear voices in their heads, voices that direct them and control them. It is not though because they see and hear them that they are necessarily real. Then again, it is not because a doctor says that they are figments of imagination that they are without question extracts of thought. Who's the doctor to say what does or doesn't exist. He's a man of science yes, but what is science other than something that someone far off in the past randomly decided to create? What does two mean? Why two? Why does two times two give four? Why not thirteen? It's abstract. It doesn't make sense. Somebody made it up and it went way out of hand to the sciences of today that are based on something that someone someday created.
What's wrong with me?

Perhaps then the voices are not fake. Perhaps polar bears are not drowning. Perhaps people are not dying. Perhaps...

In bed I close my eyes, the lights go off and then back on.

"What's wrong with you?" I ask.

"I'm self conscious, fat, hard-headed, ruled by only vanity and envy, a most vile of duos", she says.

"What's wrong with me?"

"You talk with imaginary people that live in your head."

-Kida