A Magnanimous Gesture
Posted: Mon May 30, 2011 9:02 pm
A magnanimous gesture
Prison. Despair. Guilt. Confusion.
Prison. Reevaluate assumptions. Block out pain. Kill emotion.
Prison. Rewind… ambulance. Rewind… a puppy. Rewind … Thomas Cortridge.
Oh yeah, I knew him. I was not sure whether to mourn him or be glad for him at the end.
Mind you, I had tried many times to bring sense into his actions. But his paranoid demeanour was frightening and excruciatingly unnerving. I had often wished he had been one of those gawking perverts that would knock on my door, pretending they want sugar whilst lustfully peering down my brassiere, their maddening eyes instilling utter disgust and pity. The deluded one was me, rejecting the epitome of male character for the sake of diversity.
Did I fancy him? Sure. He was smart, handsome, different. Everyone has their idiosyncrasies is how the saying goes. The problem was that he turned out to be a complete whacko, going way beyond the threshold of what’s considered quirky. His brilliant mind bordered on gruesome insanity. He would indulge my curiosity, woo me with brain teasers. I would literally find myself trying to ‘pass his IQ test’ by soaking his every word, meticulously analyzing philosophical ideas, pushing myself to the limit.
My infatuation with this distinguished Neurobiologist had stagnated my studying, my social life, my thoughts. And when I so frequently failed to comprehend the ‘complexity of the Myelin sheath’ and how our brains would inevitably stop functioning without it, he would snigger at me with what I thought he considered a magnanimous gesture.
‘Sophie, my gal, let me be. Aren’t you cute? Always the aspiring disciple, ha! Shouldn’t you be out with a young chap, enjoying the so transcendental frivolous pleasures that life offers but once? I have to work, you know!’
I honestly couldn’t understand how one can be so self-absorbed in his work. He didn’t have many friends, he hardly ever left his lab except when he had to procure some tech items for his innumerable projects or stack up the fridge. He was often crass when I tried to engage him in small talk on the stairwell. It was blatantly obvious to me that he wasn’t a bad man despite his self-centred nature. It was his complete lack of social skills that drove me crazy. I would ponder over the assumption that he was perfectly happy living without any social interaction at all!
Was he queer or simply dead inside? He did scare me though. Sometimes I’d cave in and quickly run upstairs. Apartment 4G, floor 53. Elevator was broken. I’d abstain from knocking just to evade his sanctimonious speech. His apprehension on occasion would ignite my desires even more. What was he hiding?
‘Oh, Sophie, it’s you… It’s late, please leave… No, I’m perfectly alright. Yes, depolarization of the neuron would prevent the current from travelling in two directions at once. Goodbye!’
One night while I was cooking veal stew I decided I had to let him know of my affections. I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I needed resolution. I swiftly found my way to his apartment. I noticed I was still clutching the knife with which I had been chopping the carrots. I paused.
I heard heavy moans inside his apartment and a dog whimpering. Apparently, there was someone else after all. The door was unlocked. He always kept it locked. That was my moment. I entered.
“Tom, I must tell youuuuuuuuuuu…”
Thomas Cortridge. Bestiality. Death…. Fastforward
The hospital. Nurse. Needle… Fastforward
Prison. Despair. Guilt. Confusion.
..................
Видях, че има.
Ще съм благодарен за всякаква критика.
Prison. Despair. Guilt. Confusion.
Prison. Reevaluate assumptions. Block out pain. Kill emotion.
Prison. Rewind… ambulance. Rewind… a puppy. Rewind … Thomas Cortridge.
Oh yeah, I knew him. I was not sure whether to mourn him or be glad for him at the end.
Mind you, I had tried many times to bring sense into his actions. But his paranoid demeanour was frightening and excruciatingly unnerving. I had often wished he had been one of those gawking perverts that would knock on my door, pretending they want sugar whilst lustfully peering down my brassiere, their maddening eyes instilling utter disgust and pity. The deluded one was me, rejecting the epitome of male character for the sake of diversity.
Did I fancy him? Sure. He was smart, handsome, different. Everyone has their idiosyncrasies is how the saying goes. The problem was that he turned out to be a complete whacko, going way beyond the threshold of what’s considered quirky. His brilliant mind bordered on gruesome insanity. He would indulge my curiosity, woo me with brain teasers. I would literally find myself trying to ‘pass his IQ test’ by soaking his every word, meticulously analyzing philosophical ideas, pushing myself to the limit.
My infatuation with this distinguished Neurobiologist had stagnated my studying, my social life, my thoughts. And when I so frequently failed to comprehend the ‘complexity of the Myelin sheath’ and how our brains would inevitably stop functioning without it, he would snigger at me with what I thought he considered a magnanimous gesture.
‘Sophie, my gal, let me be. Aren’t you cute? Always the aspiring disciple, ha! Shouldn’t you be out with a young chap, enjoying the so transcendental frivolous pleasures that life offers but once? I have to work, you know!’
I honestly couldn’t understand how one can be so self-absorbed in his work. He didn’t have many friends, he hardly ever left his lab except when he had to procure some tech items for his innumerable projects or stack up the fridge. He was often crass when I tried to engage him in small talk on the stairwell. It was blatantly obvious to me that he wasn’t a bad man despite his self-centred nature. It was his complete lack of social skills that drove me crazy. I would ponder over the assumption that he was perfectly happy living without any social interaction at all!
Was he queer or simply dead inside? He did scare me though. Sometimes I’d cave in and quickly run upstairs. Apartment 4G, floor 53. Elevator was broken. I’d abstain from knocking just to evade his sanctimonious speech. His apprehension on occasion would ignite my desires even more. What was he hiding?
‘Oh, Sophie, it’s you… It’s late, please leave… No, I’m perfectly alright. Yes, depolarization of the neuron would prevent the current from travelling in two directions at once. Goodbye!’
One night while I was cooking veal stew I decided I had to let him know of my affections. I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I needed resolution. I swiftly found my way to his apartment. I noticed I was still clutching the knife with which I had been chopping the carrots. I paused.
I heard heavy moans inside his apartment and a dog whimpering. Apparently, there was someone else after all. The door was unlocked. He always kept it locked. That was my moment. I entered.
“Tom, I must tell youuuuuuuuuuu…”
Thomas Cortridge. Bestiality. Death…. Fastforward
The hospital. Nurse. Needle… Fastforward
Prison. Despair. Guilt. Confusion.
..................
Видях, че има.
Ще съм благодарен за всякаква критика.
). 