「disregard」

Sometimes, I like to visit the girl in the palace.

She sat in the center of the living room - well, it didn’t have a living room, just one large room for herself and her toys. Every visit, I saw her sitting there, on the rug, playing with her arbitrary choice of dolls and other strange concoctions. When I say arbitrary, I mean it. The first time I met her in the bright and beautiful palace, I found her timidly poking an iridescent purple cube made from a smooth-looking jelly. When I asked her what that was, she pointed away. When she pointed, it was always to the side of the room. I looked there, only to see a desk, a chair beside it and a book I had never paid much attention to. The look she had on her face when she did that was sort of menacing - depending on how you’d like to see it, or her as a whole. If you really think of her as a ‘child’, it wouldn’t frighten you, only tickling your heart a little. If you thought of her as something else - that is, not an ordinary child playing by herself in her lonely abode - the next thing you’d like to do is run as far as possible and never take a final glimpse back.

Sometimes, I like to visit the girl in the palace.

She was wearing a cute little red bow in her blonde hair today, and a similarly coloured bow tie over her black and white dress, kind of like a witch’s outfit. She avoided my gaze completely, playing with what seemed to be a cube of jelly with legs. A jellyfish? No, that couldn’t be it. I was fairly amazed by her tastes in what she liked to play with, but I gazed at her nevertheless, still trying to learn something about her.

‘What’s your name?’ She pointed away.

‘Where are your parents?’ She pointed away.

‘What’s your favourite cartoon?’ She gave me a piercing glare this time, her brown eyes penetrating my skull. She pointed away. I stood up and turned, leaving the palace. I heard a soft whimper behind me. I turned back, only to see the girl poking the little jelly doll, no emotion on her face particularly, not a single tear drop I could perceive rolling down her adorable face. I gave a sigh, let my arms fall limp and left.

Usually, I like to visit the girl in the palace.

I crouched beside her, watching her play. I wanted to prod the doll she was playing with today - it had a cutely - yet crudely developed face, I could tell. The purple trademark jelly figurine, now supporting joints in its legs and a sanguine face drawn on its presumed ‘face’. It was happy and it stared back at me, as if wanting me to give it a big hug. I didn’t think the girl would like it if I did that, since it seemed so fragile. Maybe next time.

Everyday, I like to visit the girl in the palace.

The doll had gotten - or grown arms on both sides of the main body cube. They didn’t have joints, however, but the girl, wearing the same clothes as the day before yesterday, had a faint smile on her face. My mind doubted my sight, so I shook my head wildly and looked at her face again. The usual face. Why was I imagining things?

‘Did you make this doll yourself?’ She pointed away.

‘It looks really nice. Can you make me one for my birthday? It’s next weekend.’ I smiled. That was a joke, or rather, I thought of it as one - but the girl paused for a moment when she heard me. Like she was carefully considering it, her hands only gently touching the doll-- but then she turned back to normal, giving me the point of the finger. She didn’t take a glance at me. I chuckled lightly, yet feeling neglected, and made my way out.

There’s no one else I know but the girl in the palace.

I sought to see what the girl was pointing at. Of course, all I saw was the desk, the chair, and... the book. Or was it a diary, or a journal, perhaps? She trembled when she saw me edging closer to the desk, even though she was pointing towards it almost every other day, wanting me to examine it in closer detail. It was a dusty old brown, but it remained durable as I opened it slowly to the first page. The leaves were a plain white inside the journal, thankfully making the text easier to read. The girl had better handwriting than I had expected.

This diary is here so I can communicate with the people of the other world. Sadly for some of them, they don’t obey my gesture and are sent to the netherworld. Pity.

I turned the page.

Why won’t they listen? I’ve created several other of my selves in several other dimensions for the earthlings - serving them all separately so I have some time off my hands, yet they don’t understand. When I say don’t touch, don’t.

I turned the page.

The person I met today was rather peculiar. She looked different to all the other soul-stealing jerks I had met in this omniverse. She had a keen-to-know look in her eyes. She was different. I knew it. But what if she was here for the same reason the others were? The thought alone is detrimental to my mind. I must focus on keeping my sanity. Don’t let others take it. Don’t let others take it.

I turned the page.

She spoke in the same dialect as the others did - of course, in my past life, I spoke the very same syllables she spoke. I can’t speak any more. I can only speak with emotion, and if that doesn’t suffice - well, down the netherworld they will go!

P.S. Or they can read the diary instead.

I turned the page.

Don’t touch don’t touch don’t touch don’t touch don’t touch don’t touch don’t touch don’t touch don’t touch don’t touch don’t touch don’t touch don’t touch don’t touch don’t touch don’t touch

I turned the page.

I hope my other selves are doing well catering for the lesser beings. At least the prominent one - me - can deal with a person that doesn’t steal souls. Why won’t anyone listen to me? This is my soul. Leave it alone. Leave it alone. Leave it a————

The ink trailed off into nothingness. I closed the book and turned round. The girl was still innocently playing with the doll she had. The doll had of course gained its arm joints, and its own properly suitable neck. It made me smile.

‘I know how it’s like being here... alone, no voice, no one to actually speak to, only to observe from a distance.’ She looked towards me and tilted her head, making me inclined to hug her. The look on her face gave the impression of asking, ‘What do you mean?’.

I gazed down on the carpet. ‘When I was a child, I never spoke to anyone. Everyone used to speak to me. I played with my toys in silence, soon growing old of them and throwing them away.’ She blinked curiously as I spoke gently into her ear. ‘I’ve been there, little girl.’

I looked at the doll she was holding, which she lightly held. It was about to fall from her weak grasp, until I...

... reached my hand out and took it. It dissolved in my right hand, but, somehow unbeknownst to my own perception, my right hand had dissolved with it. I didn’t react. I just looked up at the girl, who looked back at me. Her brown eyes began to drip a colourless liquid-- But she shook it away, and upon reopening her eyes, I saw a pair of reddened, infuriated pupils. She saw what I had done.

I’d taken one of her souls.

But I was happy. I got the time to talk to her.

All I managed to do was give one last smile.

The girl and I - we weren’t very different. We kept our lives to ourselves, although we liked to share them indirectly. No one cared to read about us. They only tormented us, took our souls away and left us with nothing.

As I looked at the girl, before she pummelled my heart with a glaive, I knew one thing from my constant visit.

We were the most important souls of life that the lesser beings solely preferred to disregard.

And they did it well.