I’ll get to the heart of this [Obscene]

[Memorie]

one lives in hope of becoming a memory

I can tell he is bothered by my presence, and normally that kind of thing would make me uncomfortable, but for this stallion, I find myself enjoying it. He is smug and self-righteous, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg. And anyways, if he was going to treat me like a child, then why should I reserve any of my usual kindness for him? Cheri might not admit to her feelings for him, but I could sense them deep within her, buried under mounds and mounds of shame and self-loathing. When I had seen her last, I could see the discomfort she felt as a result of this black stallion. Standing here now, I could understand those feelings, and it bred a kind of resentment within myself toward him, while also combining a healthy dose of curiosity.

Granted, maybe, right now, I was acting a little smug and self-righteous as well. Perhaps our energies just fed off of each other that way? I know that I act a little different around everyone, depending on how they act toward me. With Cheri, for instance, I felt more of myself, because we had that experience of tripping balls together on the mushrooms in Taiga. With mother, I tended to withhold a lot, because she is easily upset. With father, I was more open and honest, but I also tried to be more mature. With the black stallion, though, I feel my confidence morphing into smug and self-righteous.

I watch him extricate himself from the flowers, and a grin spreads across my face. To see him stalk away from me was satisfying on some guttural level. And when his bark of laughter splits the air between us, he unwittingly sends a memory with his annoyance, from the moment when Cheri had called him out for not having any gifts. I can feel the insecurity in it. Normally, I would feel empathy for such a memory, but with this stallion? I latch onto it instead. “Oh, I’m sorry, you look much older than five.” I hold a straight face, trying to pretend that it is an innocent statement, but the burn is there, just between the words, and my eyes give me away, the slight tilt of my eyelids, a subtle shift of the eyebrows.

When he asks where I come from and who I belong to, I smirk. I roll my shoulders in a casually sarcastic shrug and shift my eyes to the side, “Let’s just say that I have a sister.” He may not realize where the memory comes from, but I shove it into his head, that very same memory he had tried to violently rid himself of when I first appeared before him–a memory he had unintentionally shoved right into my waiting mind.

I leave it at that, though. Maybe he realizes where the memory has come from, or perhaps he would think it was his own thoughts that had brought it up, but either way, I am eager to watch him struggle with whatever happens in his head next.

Memorie

Image by Calcifer

@[Obscene]