Welcome to Gaia! :: View User's Journal | Gaia Journals

A Test in Tenses: Second Person


You are the main character.


<----------------------------------- Story Begins Below ------------------------------------>


You want to hear a story? Yes? Well obviously you do, it’s hard to force someone to read, you know? Unfortunately you may find it slightly boring. You may already know parts of it. But the event that you are totally unaware of everything is what I’m safeguarding against, you have to understand. I have to assume you know nothing. Otherwise you might really know nothing and the slightest inside joke or reference made with no context will be lost and you’ll never know the truth. It’s the most important truth in the world after all. Or at least I think so. You can judge for yourself. But I’m certain you’ll see it my way. Why? Well, that is one part I will let you figure out on your own.
Sadly it’s a bit of a lengthy story. But all the good ones are, right? And this one has heros and villains, protagonists and antagonists, allies and enemies, killers and saviors, nobodies and famous people, yokels and intellects... and in the backdrop the entire world. You could say that this is the best story. But that, we both know, would be a lie. There is one more important part about this story. You play the starring role. Not a very glamorous one. But you’re the star even if you do tend to get rather upstaged now and again. And in the end... Other than the fact that you obviously wouldn’t be reading this if you actually died or anything like that, I wont reveal it to you except in time. You’ll have to read on to find out.


We’ll start at the beginning of the story. That’s the best place. You receive a phone call. If you were counting texts it would be the two dozenth phone call you received that day but the first one with a person on the other end with a voice and a message you need to listen to.

“Damien Fores?” The voice on the other end enquires. That’s what you were called, you wont remember. Or maybe you do.

“Speaking.” You say it warily, I remember. Suspicious of the unfamiliar number and the unfamiliar voice on the other end of the line. It’s not just the voice that bothers you, it’s the way they speak with absolute gravity, what they are about to say is important. It will change your life forever.

“I’m sorry but you need to come down to the police station.” You’re startled and confused. Your mind races to the various possibilities. Have you done something wrong? You’re already twenty-two so you can legally drink and smoke but you do little of either. It’s been a while since you actually went out to a bar to drink so you can’t be getting some kind of drunk and disorderly. You haven’t even driven anywhere off-campus for a couple of weeks so you couldn’t have run a red light. You’ve been holed up in your room or the library studying. You were always focused on the importance of exams and studying, it served you well.

You check the time, compulsively. You don’t actually have a class for a couple of hours. The class is important but how long could this possibly take? “I’ll be there right away.” You tell them. They hang up then and you feel mildly miffed that they didn’t even say goodbye to you. Rude. You grimace at the sight of yourself in the mirror. Your red hair is a mess and you try to recall if you showered earlier.... or maybe yesterday? It must have been yesterday. You don’t change but instead throw on a button down over your t-shirt and button it up most of the way to make yourself slightly more presentable. You consider dragging a comb through your hair but decide the weird shaggy haircut you got talked into probably looks better messy.

Are you surprised to hear that you have shaggy red hair? Grey eyes? Pale skin? Are you surprised to hear that you’re tall and fit? Don’t worry about it. Those are just details. They’re not really important to the story. If they aren’t true you can ignore them, I’ll try not to mention them overly much. After all, appearances can change... and deceive. And age? Well, you’ll come to understand about that one too. You have my word on that.

You go and get in your neglected car and drive down town to the police station. You check in at the front desk and get pointed toward a sitting area to wait. Or at least you think you’re supposed to wait. It irritates you that you came right down as expected and no one even explains what’s going in right away. No, they expect you to wait. Well, that’s just peachy. That’s what you think. There’s a woman sitting over on one of the couches. She’s wearing a smart wool pantsuit and has her hair pulled back. She seems to still be fairly attractive despite her obvious age. You think about this as you walk over toward the sitting area. When you get close enough she looks up suddenly and gives you a once-over. And then she stands up. “Damien Fores?” She’s not the voice from the phone call but her tone holds that same weight. The same strange gravity you wondered about before. You’re annoyed by this point but you bite your tongue and nod your head. You’re not going to be rude just because everyone else is. “Please sit down.” She invites and gestures to the couch next to where she herself had been seated.

You nod again, absently and move to sit down as indicated. You’re still wondering what in the world is going on here. She’s obviously not a police officer and yet you’ve been dragged down to the police station ostensibly to talk to her. It’s bizarre. And part of you is worrying about whether you’ll get to class on time and the semi-permanent nausea related to your up-coming finals is still twisting your stomach into knots. You sit, she sits, you both turn to face each-other from opposite ends of the couch.

She takes a deep breath before she speaks and closes her eyes for a beat as though steadying herself and searching for words. The right words are what she’s looking for you will realize later. “I’m sorry to tell you this-” She begins, the first words spoken with her eyes still closed. “But there’s been an accident.” She looks at you carefully, judging your reaction.

“What kind of an accident?” You ask. Your voice sounds funny and you clear your throat. Your mind is already going in dozens of different directions trying to figure out what she’s talking about. And it’s strange but the seemingly innocuous words already seem to be drawing an emotional reaction from you. You wonder if it’s the tone that she’s speaking in. The tone that seems strangely familiar but that you cannot seem to place.

“A car accident.” She says it very gently like her words are physical things that could hurt you if she’s not careful with them. You don’t yet realize that she’s correct in that thought. They’re going to shatter you.

“What?” Your voice doesn’t break but the lump in your throat is painful and the words come out strained. “Is everything alright?” This question comes out partly strangled. You already fear for the worst but still desperately want to hear something else. Any other explanation will do. She hesitates and in that moment you know and your eyes sting and start to water and even though you haven’t really cried in a long time you still recognize the signs of tears. She places her hand on your upper arm.

“I’m sorry.” She says as you feel the first tear escape and trickle down your cheek. You desperately wipe it away and try to focus.

“My parents?” You can barely manage a whisper. She nods fractionally but it’s enough to convey meaning. And then the question you dread the answer to even more. “My-” Your voice does break this time. “My sister?” You manage after swallowing several times. She nods again. She looks very sorry. She obviously wishes she doesn’t have to tell you this. “How?” And this, this manages to be a demand in your strained voice.

“A drunk driver blew through a red light. He was driving a large truck. They were killed instantly on impact.” That’s supposed to comfort you. Knowing that they didn’t suffer. You know this because you’ve seen this scene in a dozen movies. Obviously it doesn’t usually look like this and the dialogue isn’t precisely the same but the ideas are the same and you can recognize them. But they’re all dead. How does it matter how they died? And you wont remember it very well but you end up breaking down and really crying. The woman lets you cry on her and you miss you class. But it doesn’t really matter anymore. Nothing does.

And that’s how this story about you started with a phone call.