Ainsley Vulpes

"If I were to suffer then at least let me suffer for a purpose" - Jeff VanderMeer

The first time I was sent to the guidance office was 15 years, 39 days, 20 hours, 14 minutes and several seconds after my birth. The visit was pointless and also the most important day of my life. I learned absolutely nothing except for the only lesson that stuck with me from my time at the school into early adulthood.

At the end of the visit the guidance counsellor, a woman both too young and too old for the position, handed me a blue notebook with a heart at its centre and a rainbow pen. The reason I was sent to the office in the first place had nothing to do with any kind of emotionally driven outburst yet she was somehow convinced I needed an outlet for all this dull quiet going on inside of me.

She was obviously projecting, from the state of her office and our five minute conversation I could tell she needed this book far more than I did. So I took the book anyway and that is the only reason I write in it. Is there nothing more beautiful than waste?

A waste of a story, a waste of a conversation and the only thing of value she told me will never exit my brain onto these pages so if that is the only reason you continue to read this drabble then I implore you to set these pages on fire and toss them into your fake friends window. Perhaps that would be a better use for them.

_

Today I met Hudson Uri. I fear he may be in love with me. To that I can only say, as written by a human of little consequence "You, minion, are too saucy."

My minion he certainly is now. He does whatever I ask without much urging on my end. It won't take long for me to grow bored of him. He is a rather boring individual, too safe for my liking. The most interesting thing to come of our short time together thus far has been his little lizard friend.

She glares at me in the halls as if she believes knives with sprout from her pupils and fire themselves from where she stands directly into my throat and draw enough blood to strike me dead right then and there, with the speed and dramatic effect of a lightning bolt as if she were the great god of storms herself.

As the days grow long I often long for this death as much as she seems to. Perhaps even just a little more. This will doesn't come entirely from my own boredom but that is another mystery that shall never be left to bloom on these pages. Not that it's a difficult one to figure out. Why does anyone want to die?

I'm not an original being, I'm sure the reasoning can be found in one of the hundreds of answers to this query.

_

I stopped attending classes entirely today. I wanted to see what would happen, if my absence would be noted or my presence missed. All I have heard is the sound of the wind, otherwise there have yet to be any objections to this change.

_

It has now been three weeks since I stepped foot into a classroom of any sort. Something about this discovery has made me rather giddy but I can't fully discern what the reason could be. Did I really used to be so robotic that simply not doing something seems so revolutionary to my simple coding?

In what other ways can I under or over step to duck or dodge or skip over the line that has been carefully bordering my mind, killing the curious weeds of doubt and telling me where I must step and where I must be despite also being perfectly aware of the falsehoods and misery this line of thinking brings to me?

Is the greater good of the world worth so much more than my own wellbeing and enjoyment of this life? And what exactly is me following the path carefully drawn out like hopscotch meant to achieve for the rest of the world aside from preventing me from creating something far greater?

What about my mind makes this world want to contain it, or what about this world makes me feel like my mind must be contained?

_

It has been several months now. I still live at school but only for the roof it offers. Hudson follows me around whenever he sees me. I tell him nothing of my plans. He is some type of rodent shifter but he's a sheep at heart. I am not convinced his devotion to me is greater than his devotion to the rules.

At least not yet anyways.

_

There are whispers of a club that has started up in the darkest shadows our school casts. The 'superhero club' is its official name, a nerdy get together for geeks, freaks and the vastly intelligent. Or at least that's what it claims to be.

In reality the club is a cover for the real life crime fighters who form it; students who spend their nights gallivanting around and off campus fighting the crime that is each other. I have half a mind to join.

Is there no greater waste of my time according to the values I have been taught since I started existing?

I asked around to find the seed of this most toxic dandelion. As expected Hudson knew nothing of its existence. Predictably, as soon as he knew I was interested (By me telling him as bluntly as possible I was interested) he did all the pesky asking about and was able to direct me to the source.

Well, sources.

"Synth and Cinella, they formed it together and are in charge of the whole thing." He told me over lunch, talking through a full mouth of crushed berry and almond stew.

I was surprised to discover I actually knew who both of those individuals were. Whether that was a comfort or discomfort I am not sure.

Synth was in one of my old classes. We had worked together on a number of projects making her more than just a random face. She was perky. Bright blue hair and a brighter attitude made her stand out, and also a natural leader.

Cinella was a different kind of connection.

"So do you think you're going to join?" Hudson continued to ramble. "Are you going to fight crime? Will you need a sidekick?" He was so hopeful. And pathetic to watch.

But it wasn't just that last question that made my stomach turn. The idea of 'joining' something and 'fighting crime' are the exact ideals that would be expected of me. That isn't the extreme change I seek from this club. Perhaps there is nothing to be gained from involving myself.

Or just maybe there is.

"How many others are in this club?" I asked, not really expecting an answer. In this I was surprised again.

"About 5, technically only one, the 'supervillains' aren't really part of it."

He gave me a list of names and I left. It was strange to walk with purpose. The world didn't seem to move so slowly when I had a destination I intended to reach and a mission I sought to complete, yet another thing I wasn't sure about, however the intrigue of this strange pocket dimension that had grown on school grounds was too interesting to let slip through my fingers.

I would leave my mark on the world before I left. Chaos would be my signature. I would undo and rupture and tear apart every rule I had known as easily as slicing through butter and then exit this world knowing that I hadn't just laid down and submitted.

I will never be what this cursed land wants me to be. I swear it on the blood that continues to flow through my veins.