Feb. 12th, 2013

She stares at me. Raises an eyebrow. She remains still save for that tiny motion of her face, a minor change of expression--it's enough to make me cold. The boredom, the utter indifference. If she'd stared into the abyss itself, she would stand there, just as empty, and raise that eyebrow. Facing down death and nothingness, she would look at it as if to say, "That's it?"

"You mean, there's nothing to live for." I'm trying my best to piece together these excruciating contradictions.

"Well," she shifts in her seat in a sort of shrugging motion, "that's arguable." 

"Then make your argument."

She lets out a great sigh, as if explaining something for the twentieth time. "There is, you see, two kinds of purpose. Positive purpose, and negative."

***

"To choose to die would be to submit. To give in to the utter injustice of this meaningless existence, in which our only purpose is to seek meaning. I live on--or do my best, anyway--because I'm not going to accept that shit. The simple act of living is a big 'fuck you' to this disgusting universe."

A perfectly sound argument indeed. But there's definitely more to it than that.

I grin knowingly. Leaning back in my seat, I grab the remote and click on the television. Our favorite fictional character is leaning over a table, facing down an adversary--the scene mirrors us. He speaks those unforgettable words:

"Bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator."

I click it off. That's all we needed. She looks at me, genuinely confused for a moment. "You know... there's no more love for me."

"Oh, it's not love." My eyes narrow as my grin turns absolutely sinister. "Though, it'd certainly be kinder if it were. No...I have an amendment to our favorite deductionist's words: Hope is a much, much more vicious motivator."

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