Truth

Jul 22, 2011 03:06

I spend most of my time watching children's television. It's colorful and happy. Children's television is the exact opposite of my life outside of my living room. Children's television doesn't want to tell me how they feel regret because cheating is the only way to cope with their horrible spouse. Children's television doesn't want to tell me where the bodies are buried, and it doesn't want to confess its crimes to me.

The problem is that I have one of those faces. Whenever anyone sees me, they are inexplicably compelled to tell me the truth. They usually start with their deepest darkest secret. Often times, it will be the first time they've ever said these things about themselves aloud, or even thought about them. They will begin in vague detail.

"I hurt children", one of them will tell me. They'll be shocked that they told me that, but before they can even begin to cope with the idea that someone knows their secret, they will elaborate.

"I don't feel bad about it," they'll say. "They're too young to know what I'm doing to them. They're too stupid for it to be an issue, anyway. It probably feels good to them."

I'll look at them in silence, and they'll look to me for answer. Sometimes they'll want to hurt me in order to protect their secret, but I'm always under guard. Two armed guards are always present, usually standing outside my door. I know everything about the guards, too. There's about twelve of them who alternate in 8 hour shifts throughout the week. They've all confessed to me their every secret, but its nothing very shocking. They pick the most moral, problem free people they can find for my armed security. A couple of them have stolen things when they kids and some have cheated on their girlfriends or experimented with illegal drugs. But nothing too problematic. Sometimes someone with an awful past is given the assignment, but if the things they tell me roam into an unacceptable territory like rape or murder, they are taken away from me. I'm friendly with my guards, but they keep a safe distance and avoid eye contact so that they wont tell me their latest secret. They always end up telling me everything eventually, but I've heard much worse. They're all good men.

My talent was discovered at a young age by someone with power in government. I was taken away from my father to live in a nicer house. I didn't mind, and neither did my father. He often told me so.
"I don't love you," he'd tell me.
"I didn't want to keep you.", he'd mention over breakfast.
"I wanted to leave your mother.", he'd say while picking me up from school.
"She killed herself because of me, but she was weak, so I don't feel too bad about it." He'd inform me while giving me my Christmas present.

I'm used to bad news. Hearing those things as a child didn't hurt me as much you might think. Not everything that's true is awful to hear. My father would occasionally tell me that he loved me, and I would know that it was just as true as when he told me he didn't. I've found people often think two ways about everything, but usually skewing towards one undeniable direction. My father was always of the opinion that he didn't like telling me the truth. And it was always the case that he thought I deserved a better life.

And I do have a better life, under the watchful eye and careful arm of the government. They put me up in a nice condo and give me whatever I'd like. I'm not allowed to leave very often, but I don't really want to. A couple times of year they'll clear everyone out a beach or a ski resort and let me take a vacation. Two or three vacations a year and a steady diet of children's television keeps me pretty sane, and mostly happy.

My work isn't stressful, but its completley devoid of anything a normal person would find enjoyable. My guards will bring a stranger into my condo and sit him down in a chair in front of a table that sits close to the entrance. They'll hand me a single sheet of paper with a list of questions. As soon as the person they've brought in is done telling me their secrets, I'll ask them the questions I've been given.

"Where is the briefcase?"
"Who knows about the dossier?"
"How many safe houses does your employer have in Brussels, and where are they?"

As far as I know, the answers I've gotten have always made my benefactors happy. Sometimes I'll get the answers before I even ask my assigned questions, which I like because that means I don't have to talk to this new despicable person that I've met. It's rare that anyone whose brought before me in this manner hasn't done something truly awful. Occasionally I'll get a nervous secretary who embarrassed about her eating disorder and the only thing I need to know from her is if her boss is cheating on his wife. But mostly its the murderers who are brought to my door.

And one day, a murderer was brought to my door who changed my life. The guards brought him in and sat him down in my foyer.

"I'm Sleep", he said. "I help murder people".

"Only help?", I asked.

"Yes," he said. "I have the power to put anyone to sleep. I don't know why or how, but I can put anyone to sleep. I work for the same people that you do. They send me places and have me put everyone to sleep, and then they walk around and put bullets in the heads of their sleeping victims. I've been asked to do it to you."

I must have been in shock while I let his words resonate. I was so fixated on him that I didn't notice the two guards behind him passed out on the floor, one of them snoring. Before I could even express my fear or ask him a question, he stood up. He held out his hand to me.

"Lets go", he said.

And I did.
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