Monster

It wasn’t my fault.

Okay, maybe it was. Kind of. But I didn’t mean for it to go that far. I only wanted to show her that she was making a mistake. It wasn’t a conservatory, though I’m still not entirely sure what it was. Something about it just seemed wrong. There were more than just plants in there. Maybe it was a chemical testing site. Maybe it was a storage facility for coded information. I read a book about that once. There was this guy who coded sensitive information into the genes of the flowers in his conservatory, so the government wouldn’t find out, and then as a joke he’d send the flowers to the very people who were trying to track down the information. Maybe that’s what was going on in there.

Or maybe it was actually just a conservatory and I was being paranoid, because that’s what she’d tell me if she knew that it was me. I know just what she’d say: “James, you nut! It was just a bunch of flowers--what could possibly have possessed you to destroy them all? Is this because you’re jealous of me?” No, of course not, but she wouldn’t ever believe that. I know she has plenty of things that I’ll never have: a promising career (well, it was promising until I smashed her research… who knows what’s going to happen to it now?), a family that loves her, a history worth remembering… Sorry, I’m waxing sentimental, here. Maybe I’m not as resigned to my fate as I thought I was. But there’s really nothing I can do. I was raised to be a monster, and I don’t know how to be anything but a monster. Only a monster would destroy innocent flowers, right? Only a monster could devastate such harmless beauty, for no reason other than he thinks that something about them doesn’t feel right. That would go over real well.

But--there, in the paper--I was right! Something was going on in that place. They nearly come out and say it right here; just look! “Sensitive research destroyed in bizarre break-in.” I was right, something was going on in there, something was wrong and I saved her! Oh, perhaps I’m not a monster after all. Perhaps, for once in my life, I’ve done something right, and perhaps she would thank me for it, instead of condemn me! That’s it, then. I’m not a monster, I’m a savior, and she should be thanking me, only she doesn’t know that it’s me, so she can’t. That doesn’t matter. She doesn’t matter, even, except as a means to an end, and I’m at the end, so I don’t need her. I can start over, somewhere away from here, and I can get a real job in the real world and have a real family and people who really care about me, because I’m not a monster. I destroyed flawed beauty, so it wasn’t really beauty after all; it was all rotten at its core, it was a cover for illicit government work and I stopped it single-handedly.

That settles it, then. I’d thank her, but she wouldn’t understand what I was talking about, and she wouldn’t appreciate it if I tried to tell her. I’ll just leave. She’ll think she understands. She won’t, of course, but that’s all right. Someday, maybe, I’ll come back and tell her everything. But for now, I’m leaving, and I’m starting over, and it’s all thanks to her and her flowers.