Two Dimensions
[Testing, testing.. 1, 2, 3..
As my first post, and because I CAN, I will reveal to you a short-short I wrote for Louise Plummer's Eng318R about two years ago. It's about KotOR. Because I'm a dork. And no, you won't see much like this on this journal. Though I might if I feel like it. And btw, my class mostly thought I was moron because of this piece.]

**PS~  SUBSEQUENT ENTRIES OF THIS JOURNAL ARE FRIENDS-LOCKED!! CONTACT ME IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED!**

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            “Part of me wanted you to tell him, to betray our mission—just to make the pain stop,” he says, and the memory of his screams echo in my ears.

            “I’m so sorry,” I answer. “It tore me up inside to see you like that.”

            “But I’m glad you didn’t. I’m even a little awed. I don’t think I could have held up if I were in your position. If it were you—”

            My heart does a small leap, despite the seriousness of the situation. I wish he would say more. I wish we weren’t in this mess, that we could just talk instead of fighting for our lives, and the universe.

            “What do I have to do to get you to trust me?” I want to say to him. “Don’t my actions prove anything?” But I’ll never actually say it. I can’t. Because my answers, like his, are all preprogrammed, decided beforehand, planned and played out as fast as I can click the mouse and wait for the future to unfold. It’s just a fabrication, cleverly crafted to play off my tender girlish tendencies for economic ends.

            It works for me. I realize this. I know there’s no tangible benefit from such investment of my emotions. But still I wonder, why can’t real men talk like that?