Delilah's Days

Part 2: Insight on Motivation and Philosophy

“Do you know how humiliating it was to be the only guy who didn’t have any one to dance with?! I was sitting in that corner, while all of those scum had the spotlight.” Howie was rather angry, but it wasn’t hard to figure that out. I did ditch him at last night’s banquet, and he was left on his poor old lonesome self to sit there and watch others enjoy themselves.

My friends stood behind my back, and supported me against his onslaught, but I had no need for it. To please people like Howie, the best thing to do is to smile and let it go through you. People like Howie exist everywhere these days.

“Sorry…I, was just really tired. I thought that anymore activity would make me faint in the middle of the dance floor. I promise it won’t happen next time.” He nodded, but we both knew better. He’d forget sooner or later, and I’d grab that chance as soon as it popped up. After about another minute of shouting from him, and a 2 minute lecture from my friends, I made my way to my history class.

That day was debate day, where the teacher would choose a topic of his choice and then have two passionate peers argue about it nonstop for half the period. Sure enough, when I entered, I could make out voices screaming at each other about outsourcing jobs. I personally could care less, and so instead I looked around the classroom a bit. I didn’t know that many people in my class, but I could make out a few familiar faces from the blur. For one, there was a group of gangly girls sitting in the front of the class that I remembered from last night. They weren’t paying much attention to an argument as epic as the one about politics. Among them were the resume crunchers, the ones who wanted to get in a good college just “because”, not because they wanted to go to college to get a job they desire, or to be successful, but because it’s what they were told to all their lives.

Behind me sat the underachievers, the stoners, the no-gooders. They got in the class because of ability, not because of connections. Looking at them, I could tell that their interest in the topic was not because it was too epic, but because it was so beneath them.

And then there were people like me. Most decided to sit in the front and back, but looking side to side, there were two people on my left, and one on my right.

The two to my left were two guys. One had the appearance of a stoner, and in a way, his disposition could have been considered as cold as me. He sat, paying attention to the topic, not for the credit, but because the concept intrigued him. His eyes had their own intensity, but it might just have been from the book he was reading before he became enamored in the debate. The other guy next to him was a jock type, I could tell he was in water polo by the jacket he wore as well as his shaved legs revealed by his shorts and sandals. He was talking to the people in front of him, who were most likely his true friends, but under the desk, I could see his hand was gripping the stoner-type guy; the stoner guy’s hand rested limply in his boyfriend’s. From what I gathered, the water polo guy was supporting himself, not his boyfriend.

The girl right of me was the one that I paid the most attention to. Her hair was cropped unbelievably and boyishly short, and it carried no special hair product in it; it was almost like her hair was just like it was that morning when she woke up. Her clothes were ridiculously unfeminine, her t-shirt and pants baggy past the latest fashion. Her face was hard, and cold, but she too paid somewhat of an attention to the debate. I remember hearing about her before, she had a popular following as being the coldest self-righteous bitch at school.

When the debate was done, I could see she had trouble resisting the urge to raise her hand and comment on what she thought about the topic. People like her and me knew it was almost worthless to even try and argue with people like them. Most people would ask what I mean by them, but truth is, if you don’t know what I mean, then chances are you are one of them.

The boy whose hand lay limp though had not gained such knowledge, and so he raised his hand in protest, but before he could get it up into his teacher’s view, his insecure meathead yanked his hand down, pleading that he not bring attention towards them.

I knew what he was about to say too…well, no I couldn’t. How could I know what someone was going to say if they never had a chance to say it? Pity exuded from the bitch on my right, and I could feel myself joining in the sympathy stream. The period continued on in a manner where only two sides were presented: black, and white. I could feel my hands stiffen, seeing the debate getting nowhere. My anger subsided as the period ended, and so I made my way to lunch.

When I was there, I could tell my day would get better. Howie decided to hang out with his friends, and most of the more obnoxious pests I called my friends decided to leave. Taking my usual spot in between two people, and joined the conversation. One of my friends, who went by the name Giles, had recently brought a friend into our clique. She appeared decent enough, she was a rather passive person, and her demeanor was innocent enough, so we all welcomed her. Most of the time she spent with us was clinging onto Giles, hugging him, and affectionately touching him. Personally, I was suspicious of her manner, but I let it slide; my opinions had ruined enough people’s days.

Excusing myself from the circle I was presently in, I wandered around a bit, observing what everyone did. I found the limp boy, being possessively strangled by the jock. To my surprise, the boy sat with what seemed like a group of jocks and cheerleaders; it didn’t fit him at all. One could easily tell he wasn’t happy, for he sat there in a middle of a group of talkative teenagers reading a novel, which upon closer inspection was a classic. Shrugging it off, I continued my exploration.

Looking throughout the school, I saw many faces, but the story was usually the same. It felt like everyone had some sort of baggage to them, whether it be bonds to someone else or beliefs in something that became dead long ago, everyone was weighed down. I hated to admit it, but I too was weighed down. Chances were that everyone was weighed down as a precaution from the spiritual, to keep us from floating away. I chose that theory, hoping that one day I could rise to the sky, and be free from the longevity of gravity.

Her face was old, but it showed some sign of youth in her eyes. Her face was covered in wrinkles, yet her skin had a smooth texture about it. The clothes she adorned had a certain air about them which made her seem simply seem regal, and yet they were handmade and not very pleasing to the eye. The hands she possessed held a teapot and seemed too small and fragile to function, but yet she knew those hands were the nimblest in the land. Her voice was crinkled and worn with age, but there was a touch of intrigue mixed in it.

“So,” She started, pouring tea into the cups in front of her, “So what brings you here to Marlen, Miss…what did you say your name was?”

“Xylia.” Aoife sipped the tea that was put in front of her; it tasted bitter, but the taste was appealing. “I came here because…I want to know how to separate two soul..I mean, Anima.” She stated this, albeit with difficulty, as her use of speech was a bit rusty from a long period of isolation.

“…” The old lady did not respond, and stared at Aoife, as if there was intended meaning, but she could tell that the themes were not existant.

“I…need her off of me…she’s like a tumor… I have to see…hear…witness the life of a girl who has no pride. She lets a worthless man wipe his hands on her, and lets supposed comrades clean their words on her. I know about you, Athene. You’ve dealt with all the legendary Anima in the world, from Aegis to the Valiant Ursula…Help me!”

The lady dubbed Athene sipped from her tea, and smiled at Aoife, as if she told her that she beat an army of evi.

“Deary, you aren’t attached to another Anima... like Ursula… but you are, quite certainly, a singular.”

“…What does that mean?”

“You, are the girl who lets men treat her like a mutant and lets her comrades stain her with their filth.”

Aoife sat there in shock, while Athene continued,

“Ursula was a special case; I can’t split Anima anyway, singular…or plural.”

“…I can’t be related to that bitch!”

“You both have the same motivation…”

“What is it?!”

“…you should know by now.”