Twi-light Zone

    “If this makes you uncomfortable we can do something else. The idea is to allow us to find which areas of training you are best suited for. Perhaps rather than­ filling out the forms you can just tell me what you like to do. What things you are good at, and why you believe so. Anything you add will help to determine which area of development you should pursue. We are attempting to find the training that will allow you to chase that dream of yours. What do you say?”

    “I’m really not good at anything. I’d like to be, but I have to be honest with you and with myself, I have no ambition. I am as happy sitting here doing nothing as sitting at home doing nothing. Truthfully it is about the nothing, but mostly about the doing. I’ve had dreams about doing nothing. Most enjoyable, like lying on a beach, feeling the sun on your skin, your mind drifting towards a place where everything is perfect. Can you blame me for wanting to do nothing? I have tried.”

    “I understand, but you will graduate soon and you need to consider what you want to do with your life. No one wants to do nothing. You can’t expect others to take care of you. What is it you want to do with the rest of your life?”

    “I hear you. I just no longer care. Like I told you I’m no good at anything I try. I tried being a cheer leader, broke my arm. Tried gymnastics, broke my other arm, bowling, broken foot, dislocated shoulder. You see where I’m going with this?”

    “So you are not well suited to sports. But what about other things; the arts? I’m sure you’re good at drawing, playing an instrument, writing? Everyone is good at something!”

    “Not me.”

    She means well, I know that. Everyone means well, but they don’t realize you can’t change your lot in life by wishing. You either have talent or you don’t. Given, most people have some talent. Maybe not gold medal talent, but when they attempt to draw a cat it doesn’t turn out looking like a malnourished subway rat.

    “I wasn’t entirely truthful. I am good at killing things. Granted, not intentionally, but does it matter when the end result is death? Most people don’t see dying as a positive thing. Everything I touch, regardless of intent, dies, or wish it had.

    The responsibility of having a talent for death is no easy thing to live with. I’ve tried getting help, therapists, psychologists, psychoanalysts; they all ask me the same thing, “you don’t really believe that about you, being the merchant of death?” They act as if they are both the prosecutor and the jury. They make excuses for me rather than attempt to believe what I tell them. They only ask for proof if I persist.

    Proving you are responsible for someone or somethings death seems like an easy thing to do. You have the evidence, a corpse, leafless tree, brown chrysanthemum, yes, but proving you were responsible is not as easy. Just because something happened, and even if you can explain how and why it happened, doesn’t mean it chronologically leads to responsibility.

    Take Leaf Gunderson, for instance. We were on a school outing, studying the effects of the ocean on the beaches, and its impact. Erosion, stuff like that. Come up with ideas to reduce the impact.

 We were on the cliff above the beach. I brought my telescope, Leaf was to bring the note books and camera, but he forgot. I set up the scope, directing it towards the beach, focusing it. I had hoped to take pictures of the beach before and after the giant waves were supposed to appear, but because Leaf forgot, I had to record everything in my head for future reference.

    While I was preparing for the seas assault, Leaf busied himself with a candy-cane, it being nearly Thanksgiving. I watched as he entertained himself attempting to lick just the string like red color from the hump-backed stick, while attempting to not touch the congealed white sugar with his pointed tongue.

    The day was warm for November, and the insect population had as yet to retire for the season. It was that fact that I attempted to explain to the police sergeant who interviewed us at the site. 

A large, and I mean large, wasp type creature had landed on Leaf’s back. I watched this creature’s eyes darting about as if searching for the appropriate place to launch its attack. Its antenna were punching the sky, I assume to determine what area had the least resistance. Its legs were moving as if marching in place. Its wings a transparent veined tear dropped shapes that caressed the air rhythmically with precision. 

    In my attempt to prevent Leaf from the fatal sting I picked up a flat piece of flint and brought it down forcefully on the creature as it prepared to inflict its bodily harm. The blow collapsed the creature as well as driving Leaf forward, he stumbled; he was one of the most uncoordinated people I’d ever known. In his attempt to gain his composure, as well as his balance, he grabbed my telescope and then appeared to jump forward and hang in the air; it was a beautiful thing to see.

    And then I watched in astonishment as his face grimaced, as though he had been stung , and then he disappeared. I followed his progress towards the beach, his antics becoming more pronounced as he fell. He was in the air for not more than a few seconds, three at most. He didn’t make a sound the entire time. I would have screamed. Perhaps it was the shock.

    It seemed like an eternity that would never end. I had hoped he would land on the damp sand, hopefully cushioning the impact. His last undulation however caused him to turn abruptly. He landed on the rocks with a surprised look on his face. At least he appeared surprised, although from that distance I couldn’t be entirely sure. I told the investigator exactly that in my attempt to clarify Leaf's mood at the time.

   I could go on if you like. I inadvertently killed my neighbor’s dog Potus. Shortly after that Mrs. Belknap’s garage burned down. I was only attempting to turn off the overhead light. I won’t go into details other than to say, I was only trying to help. So unless you are looking for an assassin to recruit for inadvertent activity, I suggest we stop wasting each other’s time.”

    Her face took on the expression of Leaf’s in his last moments of presumption. She lay down her pen and pad, and asked if I’d excuse her for a moment. I believed I saw a tear on her cheek as she stood suddenly and raced for the door. I seem to have that effect on people. 

    I waited the appropriate ten minutes, although that was an estimate as the clock on the wall wasn’t working and I can’t wear a watch, too distracting. As I got up to leave, I saw she had written something on the pad, “too far gone,” was all it said. I don’t know if she was even listening to me, or just putting in her time. She may have been writing a novel or something. I write things down too when I think it’s one of those once in a lifetime thoughts. But, too far gone? Maybe she just meant, gone to far, and was rattled by my imaginative, spur of the moment story.