Happy Night

 It is rather late, and tolling your day away at your Work has worn you. This girl doesn’t live in HappyTown. There is a girl perched on your chest of drawers with a cat in her lap. Cats don’t live in HappyTown. The girl turns to meet your stupefied gaze and scowls at you as if you were the intruder. Her cat hops off of the chest and knocks your favorite cologne to the floor. You smile fondly; though you’re still very young yourself, you feel quite parental to young children. The girl’s scowl deepens at your smile (Clearly, some lightening of hearts will be required!).

You are nothing if not a hospitable host. You go to the kitchen to procure a plate of bread and refried beans for the child, and a dish of milk for her companion (my heart swells at your cordiality!). You sprinkle a bit of salt over both the dishes, and bring a sprinkle more to throw, in case they are spirits to be exorcized.

You return to your sleeping quarters with your offerings. The child eats, her pet laps. You struggle to find an opening to throw the salt, and soon enough your awkwardness and basic decency has bested you. You figure that attempting to converse with the visitors will be a more fruitful solution, and it’s not as if specters are known to eat anyway (Right you are! A well-read young person, I love to see it!).

You struggle to find the proper words to say to the pair, but luckily the girl in your presence is a bona-fide conversationalist. “Do you believe in a God of happiness?” are her exact starting words (‘Do you believe…’ what a riot!!).

You find her question to be similarly humorous, yet you display remarkable restraint as you respond, “Why, of course I do! The God of Happy is always making public appearances, and you can see Him up in the sky at all hours of day and night!”

“...Do you like the God of happiness? Do you really believe it’s fair that he gets to boss everyone around?”

You allow yourself a tasteful giggle at her words, and she flinches as if she expects to be struck. 

“You-you laugh.”

“Not at your expense, I swear! Kids always say that sort of thing, but it’s a bit silly to fantasize over fleeing from a God. Not that I think you’re silly! I… I just got a bit nostalgic thinking of how the kids in the Child’s Block used to talk. Speaking of the…”

She cuts you off before you can execute your clumsy conversational maneuver (Quite an untoward habit, I might say!), “It’s alright. Now we need to get to the park.”

You are taken a bit aback. “The Park? At this hour? Don’t you know that a Criminal frequents those parts after dark?”

Predictably for a child, rejection upsets her, and dramatically so. “I DON’T CAREE!!! YOU HAVE TO!!! TAKE MEEE!!!! MY-my.” She stops to catch her breath. Then, she descends into screams. Her shrieks are throaty, heavy metal-esque (Impressive vocal range for a tot!). 

While the girl throws her fit, you have left to fix her an invigorating cup of lemon balm tea, with cough syrup to soothe her imminent sore throat. You ponder making some for yourself as well, but you decide it's best the girl has her tea alone, so she can see it as an exclusive treat.

After you have returned and mollified her with the drink, the girl ceases her yelling and speaks in a markedly calm voice, “My parents are waiting for me in the park. They're gonna take me home. If I go on my own I’ll be kidnapped or something and I’ll never see them again! Please come with me.” Her fists are balled and her eyes are unwavering, not a single tear blooming at the corners (Whoa, she is one spunky pipsqueak!). Yet her voice still quavers as she concludes, “I’ll give you a present, if you take me.” 

Even though her words undeniably pique your interest, you don’t need to be bribed to reunite a lost child with her family. She draws her cat over her shoulders when you offer a coat, and off into the night you go. 

Once you have cleared a few blocks with many more to go, you propose a game of Twenty Questions to pass the time. You are impressed that a child of her age was able to put up with such boredom for so long. Missing her family must be one hell of a distraction, you suppose. 

Since you make the proposition, you ask her questions first: “What should I call you?”

“You won’t need to call me anything.” 

“What about your kitty?”

“This is not my cat. My cat is back home with my parents.”

“Huh. Um, what about hobbies?”

“This is boring. Can I ask the questions?” (A young lady who takes initiative! She may be 

impolite, but I can appreciate it!)

You don’t look like you mind a bit, though. You wait for the girl to find a question to ask, and she quickly whips up a real kicker:

“Do you believe that the God of happiness will ever relinquish the worlds?” (Hahaha!!! I can’t breathe!! Well, if I usually breathed, I wouldn’t be breathing now!!! Because I am laughing so very hard!!!!)

You decide that some questions are better left unanswered and choose to complete the walk in silence. After you have been silent for quite a while, the girl realizes you are abstaining from answering. The look she gives you is one of maturity; disappointment and some haughtiness are distinct in her baby features. Contrarily, her words are thoroughly a product of childlike fancy.

“He’s relinquished my world, you know. Everything is much better there.”

Once you arrive at the Park, the cat scampers off the girl’s shoulders and bounds into the night. The park is starkly, obviously vacant.

The girl cranes her head up at you and jeers, “Don’t you feel it? A strange girl broke into your house, ate your food, and lied to you. I don’t have parents waiting for me at the park! You’re so dense! I’ve made a fool of you! Don’t you feel my gift?” She seems taller now, somehow (I am putting my faith in you. Don’t see through her).

But, of course you don’t! In fact, you delve into your obtusity headfirst: “Why are you saying these silly things? How could I hold you having no family waiting for you against you? Oh, I’m so sorry, I should have known better! You’ve been wandering Town, all alone, and I can’t even do a thing to make you smile! And now your kitty’s gone, too!” 

She whips her frail head towards you, eyes incandescent with rage. “Don’t pity me! I don’t want to give you pity! I want you to hate!! Why can’t you HATE?”

She pulls her face into your torso and sets her thick growling shriek loose into your stomach. It is an uncomfortable experience for a young child to dive face-first into your body. But it shouldn’t hurt, not in the way that it does now. You want her off (Careful, now).

Reflexively, you grab her shoulders and shove her hard. She is hurled far, her body rag doll-limp, leaving her seething and scrape-kneed, lying on the pavement (For such a dainty girl, she sure flies well!).

You run to her side, tears of guilt and horror sparking at your eyes. You foolishly run to her side, tears of pity and deprecation leering at her from your eyes.

She doesn’t want your pity, she loathes your pity. She hates your pity and her vulnerability in this form. She hates, she Hates; her soul palpitates with it, toxic and unyielding. She has emerged from within the cancer of Hate and fed on it, fed on the disease feeding on her. It oozes around her and within her now; she is Hate as surely as she feels it (I imagine her Hatred to be a lovely chartreuse-mulberry color! I want to share my Happiness as well, but humans and Feelings are different creatures).

“LEAVE! I DON’T NEED YOU!! AND I DON’T WANT YOU!! IF YOU WON’T ACCEPT MY GIFT THEN LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!!!!” she shrieks from where she lies, from her spot in the dust. (I wish we could bring them an appropriate Hatred, as we did Happiness, but then I remember: she is too hedonistic to truly share her gift, and temperamental. An eternal child). She does not raise her voice any further, though, or make a single sound. (Hah. Haha. Fate is the biggest joker of all).

She embodies Hate, she is Hateful, and she is very, very drowsy. She stays where she lays for a while, unmoving, and you soon realize she is out cold. The cough syrup has crept its way through every square inch of her, dispiriting her body. The poor thing wore herself out in the cold! You gather her into your arms and begin the trek home. (Your cleverness, your ingenuity, all the priceless jewels that only lie in the darkest parts of your hearts. True Happiness, too, and Hatred. I wish you could overcome the darkness in yourselves, unearth those jewels without wrecking yourselves. Oh, well. At least I could see them tonight, for a while. Her Hatred showed me, as it always does. It was her gift, to me alone. I hope she stops coming around. Oh, don’t worry your precious little head off about it! It’s nothing you need to understand).

Come morning, you will have the girl properly reported and committed to the Child’s Block, and be in for work five minutes early, like the model citizen you are. And you will Forget, if you ever really Knew. It’s a shame we can’t party this way more often. Happy nourishes the Self like nothing else, but Hate is a delightful little treat, no? (No, you know you shouldn’t be snacking at this hour! That’s enough of…!)