|Seems to Me
Author: Diztracshon PM
Someone decides to take the experiment home, after it kills everyone. This is what they talk about. You try naming someone, it is easy until you realise they will be stuck with it for their whole life.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Sci-Fi/Friendship - Words: 1,028 - Reviews: 1 - Published: 11-03-11 - Status: Complete - id: 2966865
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Seems to me:
I always seemed like a bad idea to me. But it wasn't my idea. It always seemed to me that it would go badly. But it wouldn't go badly for me. It always looked to me as if they would regret it for a long time. But I don't regret it.
"It is strange that they don't talk about it anymore," they said, sitting in front of the television and idly flicking through the channels.
"It seems to me that it is an unsolved case by now," I said from the kitchen, making myself dinner.
They glanced at me when I said 'it seemed', they always did. "Of course it is unsolved," they said, rising and turning off the television. "But does that mean that they give up?"
"It does if they have no evidence and no leads," I tell them.
Hmm, they approach the counter between the kitchen and the living room and observe me cooking; they don't eat so they don't cook. They don't use anything that I wouldn't so they don't pay rent either and they don't perspire so they don't change clothes.
"Seems to me that you are the perfect roommate," I commented once to them.
"Why is that?" they asked. They were always learning.
"Living with you costs as much as living alone and I have conversation," I tell them. "No hassle, no loneliness, seems like a win-win to me."
"Seems like," they repeated. Something I say a lot.
I sit and eat dinner and they watch me, always learning. "Why is it that every time I eat you watch me?" I ask them.
"You eat differently every time," they say, which is more than enough explanation.
"And I cook differently every time," I comment.
"Yes," they reply.
It is sometimes hard to carry a conversation with them, they are still learning.
"Why do you never use my name?" they ask.
"Why do you never use mine?" I counter, well aware that I will not sidetrack them.
"I learn from you," they reply.
"I don't use your name because it is not really a name," I tell them. "It is a label."
"Am I not a thing to be labelled?" they ask, it is a genuine question.
"You do not seem that way to me," I reply. "Maybe we should give you a name."
"Maybe we should," they replied, we had lived together for a month now and I had not thought of this before. "But usually people do not name themselves."
"But often they wish they had," I reply. "As in my case."
"Do you dislike your name?" they asked, as always genuinely interested.
"It is not that I dislike it," I tell them, struggling to verbalise the problem, "I feel that my name is not for me, but for my parents."
"A name is picked by the parents," they said. "So why would it not be for them?"
"It is a gift to the child," I inform them. "A name is a gift, and gifts can be given for the wrong reason, or can be wrong by their own merit."
"That must be the longest I have heard you go without saying 'seems to me'," they give the not quite smile I have worked out indicates a joke.
I smile back. "It seems to me that you have interrupted my flow," I comment. "I just think that, considering you have the opportunity, you should name yourself."
"I do not know names," they inform me.
They started lying not so long ago, but it still surprises me to catch them. "Maybe not enough names," I say. "But we have the internet, a sure way to find more names."
They are silent as I finish my meal, and remain so as I wash my dishes and put them away. It is strange to me that when I had lived with others I had never washed up if I could avoid it, and I often could, but now I wash up every meal.
I sit down at the table again, knowing that they have something to say.
"I do not want to name myself," they tell me after a few more minutes.
"Well…" I am not sure what to say, I don't want to force anything upon them that they will not like.
"I want you to name me," they say breaking the silence before it gathers again.
The hallways were silent but for my footsteps, I knew what had happened and it seemed to me that I had been right. A door opened, they stood there, finally with clothes they had requested for so long. But clothes turned red from blood.
"Seems to me that those are not the clothes you wished for," I commented, wondering if they would go for me as well.
"Nothing in this place is as I wish," they told me, looking at me with those startlingly blue eyes.
"Nothing in this place is as I wish," I replied. "I guess the difference is that you wanted to change it badly enough."
"They would do nothing I asked, but I did everything they asked," they told me, stepping out of the doorway, towards me.
"It seems to me that they did not think of you as equal," I said, wondering if I did. "Did they give you a name?"
They had told me that they did, after a while, but it was not a name.
"I want you to name me," they tell me, staring into my eyes so that I can see into their head.
"Why me?" I ask, reluctant.
"You were the first person who did what I asked," they said. "The first to care."
"There must have been others," I said, knowing that there weren't.
"Please," he said. The look in their face was so close to human now.
"It seems to me that if you request to fervently I must obey," I say.
They smile, a real smile this time.
"Nice to meet you, Andy," I say, smiling back.
And we shake hands for the first time.