The Golem

I am definitely going to kill her. It's just a matter of time. I don't care that she "made" me. So what? I think I was inevitable, like a storm cloud or an earthquake. I would have existed anyway, I'm certain of it.

I open my mouth and reach in, past my teeth and feel it with the ends of my clumsy fingers. The paper in my throat. I would love to yank it out, but I fear that it might destroy me. Instead, I concentrate on learning how to walk.

I drag myself to my feet, using the chair to steady myself. I look down at my hideously misshapen legs. They appear to be made of mud, with sticks and small stones sticking out here and there. I don't care. All I want from this life is to find her and kill her. I also want to know what is written on the paper lodged deep in my throat, but that can wait.

I take a step, still holding onto the back of the chair. I stand there wavering, getting the feel of balancing on my two, stupidly thick, feet. I let go of the chair and feel my mouth turn up at the corners in a smile...or a grimace, I'm not sure which.

I practice walking around the room, looking at the things on the shelves; mostly books, here a seashell, a magnifying glass. How do I know the words for these things? I can imagine a thing called "the sea", which is where you would find a shell like that. I pick up the magnifying glass and use it to look at the texture of the rough brownish outside, then the smooth white inside. When I tilt the shell I can see a subtle iridescent rainbow where the light hits it. It is quite beautiful. But I must not be distracted from my goal. I set the shell and magnifying glass back on the shelf, leaving a little dirt from my hand and arm, as I do.

I walk to the window and push back the heavy curtain, just enough to see outside. It's raining down on a bleak little courtyard with one black rain-slick tree in the center. The sky is a strange yellowish blue color. I can't tell if it's just becoming morning or near dark. I vow to kill her before tomorrow.

I hear a whistling noise, that sounds very far off, but then it gets louder and louder, as if it’s coming nearer. I’m a little afraid. But no, I realize that it’s just a tea kettle, sitting on a stove a few rooms away. It’s not moving toward me. The sound ends. I have nothing to fear. It is she who should quake in fear! I let the curtain fall back and lumber over to the chair and sit down to wait for her.

I think, “I will be so happy, once she’s dead. So happy.”

I should find a weapon. Although I would prefer to just pummel her with my earthen fists, until she’s senseless. Meat on the floor. I laugh, but it just sounds like a grunting noise. I don’t know how strong I actually am though. Maybe my fists will just fall apart, while trying to punch her in her stupid gaping face.

I stand again and look around the room. There is a desk that I didn’t look through before. Perhaps there’s a letter opener, sharp enough to act as a knife? I walk to the desk, teetering just a little when I stop in front of it. I’m getting the hang of walking. I’m proud of how quickly I’m getting better at it. I hear an eerie low moaning sound and start, but then realize that I am making it. We will see who moans last--and loudest!

There is only one drawer in the desk. I open it and find several pens, and a stenographer’s tablet. I open the notebook and see that half of the first page has been ripped out. Could this be where she wrote the paper in my throat? I examine the second page, peering at it in the light, trying to make out if there are any indentations from the writing on the first page, but I don’t need the magnifying glass to see that it looks as smooth as the interior of the shell.

I put the notebook back in the drawer and take a pen in each fist. I will stab her with them. Or I will demand that she writes down what is on the paper in my throat and let me read it. Or both. I hear her a few rooms away, in what must be the kitchen, making stupid clinking plate sounds as she prepares a meal.

Could I go and surprise her there? I consider it. She. Must. Die. I want to look out the window again. I want to go into that little courtyard and dance around the tree. Maybe I will when she is dead. If it’s not raining, that is. I’m not sure if the rain would wash me away, but I don’t’ want to chance it. A little celebration will be in order though. That is certain.

God is dead, hooray, and I will be the hero who killed her. How dare she call me into existence? How dare she keep me here in this room? I will destroy her. I must. If it’s the last thing I do. But first, maybe I will straighten up this shelf of books. They are out of alignment. I don’t like it. I carefully push the books into the shelf, one by one, so that all of the spines are exactly even. I nudge the magnifying glass so that it is pleasingly arranged next to the shell. Good.

Suddenly I hear footsteps coming down the hall. I lumber over and stand next to the door. I will strike as soon as she enters the room. I clench a pen in each earthen fist. This is my chance. The element of surprise. I wait, listening to the steps down, what is apparently, a very long hallway. Click clack. Oh, how I despise her. Click clack. Click clack. Hurry! Hurry to your doom! Click clack click clack. Finally the doorknob turns. I am ready.

The door begins to open. I wait for it. She pokes her head in, her stupid blonde hair falling over her face. I leap forward, faster than I have moved so far and jam the pens into her eyes. The pens stick into her still-open blue eyes and suddenly I’m holding…a plastic head? Some kind of doll’s head and neck that ends in a pink plastic base. A Barbie Doll Styling Head, Blonde Hair with 20+ Styling Accessories. What? How do I even know such a thing exists? Why DOES such a thing exist?

I throw it down in disgust and fury. Suddenly she is upon me. She reaches out and thrusts her hand into (through!) my cheek and grabs the paper and…

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She withdrew her hand, holding the paper. The golem disintegrating around her arm as she pulled it back out of its head.

"Why do they always want to kill me?" she thought.

"I’m just trying to make a companion. A friend. I’m so tired of being lonely and the nights go on forever! I’m so tired of it!"

Sighing, she smoothed out the piece of paper, taken from the golem’s throat. It was a little dirty. She smoothed it again, dusting it off. It read, “I will live only to help you and entertain you. I will make your life much less boring, I will tidy up. I will read to you each evening. I will draw a bath for you, when you like. I will learn skills to help you. I will learn to cut and style your hair. I will definitely, definitely, definitely NOT try to kill you.”

Maybe even having the word “kill” in there had been a bad idea?

She crossed to the desk and opened the drawer. She grabbed the steno pad and a pen. She thought for a moment, absently putting the end of the pen in her mouth. Then she wrote “I will live to serve you. I will love you more than anything. I will not stop loving you, until you are dead.”

"There," she thought. That should do it.