Insane or Inspired? Book 2 (Part 4)
By: Jay Campbell
Tags: Fiction, Literature, Prose, Writing, Books

The Sweetest Gesture

It seemed more than just a little ironic that the term ‘victim mentality’ should even exist, in a world where the entire population had been so relentlessly and mercilessly abused, exploited and deceived, from cradle to grave, since the dawn of time. This complete failure to recognise our own victimhood stemmed from a level ignorance and denial that was hard to believe, and yet impossible to deny.

Supposedly, people may identify as a victim if they consistently felt that they were harmed; that they were not the cause of the harmful act; that they lacked the ability to prevent the harm; and that the harm constituted an injustice that violated their rights.

“Tick, tick, tick, tick,” said Tink. “All of the above.”

“I therefore diagnose you as having victim mentality disorder,” I told her. “But, hey, join the club, because so do I, based on these criteria.”

“Maybe we should do that, Lucy. Start a club, I mean, for those who feel the same way that we do, about the school system.”

“Or a support group,” I suggested.

“Yes. A victim support group for every child who is currently in the school system, and for every adult who has been through the school system.”

“That just about covers everyone.”

“Exactly,” she said, excitedly. “We’ll create the biggest victim support group that has ever existed, in the history of the world.”

I acknowledged her comment with a high-five. “We have three members already, and we haven’t even started yet.”

“Three?”

“You, me and Max. He jumped at the possibility, last night, of being able to avoid school, by moving to Haven.”

“Yeah, I heard. But he’s never had a problem with school before, to my knowledge. He actually seems to like it.”

“Then why would he have reacted that way?”

“It may have been less about school and more about Haven. I mean, that’s where you live now, right?”

“You’re saying that the only reason he expressed a desire to move to Haven is because I’m there?”

“Maybe. I wouldn’t be surprised. You know how fond he is of you. I even found a photo of you on his computer, recently.”

“Oh, god. What photo?”

“From last summer. Do you remember that day when we were trying to soften of our tan lines, in the back garden?”

“You said that everyone was out for the day.”

“I was wrong. Max evidently came back for some reason, and got his camera out. And I bet that’s not all he got out!”

“He must have thought it was his birthday. I don’t mind though, so long as he doesn’t share it.”

“He seems to really like you, Lucy. I had dissuade him from buying you a piece of jewellery, a while back. I told him that it was inappropriate.”

“No offence, Tink, but this is exactly what Jay was talking about, last week: How the natural inclinations of the male, to worship the Goddess, are stifled and suppressed from childhood.”

“I think his motivation had more to do with hormones than spirituality.”

“Only because he hasn’t been taught what his feelings actually mean, and what sexuality itself represents. His focus may be upon me, but it’s not about me, as such. He simply wants to love the Goddess, in whatever way he can.”

“It’s funny you should say that.”

“Why?”

“Because he spent his money on mum, instead.”

“Interesting.”

“He can be a good kid, sometimes. A bit young for you though, Lucy.”

“I don’t care about the age gap. I just don’t fancy him.”

“You don’t need to, do you? I mean, in order to accept his devotion?”

“In Haven, it would obviously be fine. But I think, in mainstream society, and particularly under these circumstances, living under the same roof, things could get a little messy.”

“No kidding.”

“I might be able to persuade him to worship you though, Tink.”

“That would just be weird.”

“Relative to what? At Haven, it would be considered weird if he didn’t worship his sister.”

“I think it would almost feel like, I don’t know, incest, or something.”

“That’s just in your head though. It wouldn’t be sexual, from his perspective.”

“Still, it would take some getting used to, I think.”

“Jay would say that your love for him is what should enable you to accept his love for you.”

“I don’t mind him loving me, but worshipping me?”

“I wouldn’t get too hung-up on that word. In India they worship cows. Some cultures worship their ancestors. Most people worship a fictional tyrant. Our message is simply: ‘Let’s get back to worshipping each other again, because that’s how we’re supposed to be living, in recognition of our true Source.”

“It sounds reasonable enough, when you put it like that.”

“It is reasonable.”

“You should present your case in class, one day.”

“I will. Speaking of which, I need to get going.”

“Give ’em hell,” she said.

Tink wasn’t ready to return to school, just yet, so I decided to walk with Max that morning. He still attended junior school, but it was part of the same sprawling complex. He seemed slightly embarrassed as I watched him being fussed over, by his mother. “Do you have your lunch money?” she asked him.

“Yes, mum.”

“And you’ve done all of your homework?”

“Yes, mum.”

“And you remembered to pack your PE kit, that I left out for you?”

“Oops.” Max ran back upstairs, leaving me to make small talk with Mrs Cooper.

“He’d forget his head if it wasn’t screwed on,” she remarked.

“I used to forget my PE kit all the time,” I told her. “Deliberately, that is. I mean, how is forcing a child to participate in something, against their will, not child abuse?”

Apparently I’m not very good at small talk.

“Well, I loved playing sports, when I was his age,” she said, pointedly, before proceeding to reminisce about her time with the school hockey team. Thankfully, Max returned fairly quickly.

“Bye, then,” he said, opening the front door.

“Not so fast, young man,” she said, presenting her cheek to him.

Max kissed his mother goodbye, somewhat reluctantly, before making a hasty exit. I followed on, smiling to myself. “Don’t worry, I know what mothers are like,” I assured him.

“She doesn’t seem to realise that I’m almost eleven now. And that’s just two years away from being a teenager.”

“It makes her happy, though, and you want to make your mother happy, don’t you?”

“I suppose.”

“I know you do. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, that’s your purpose in life, as a male, to make women happy. Did you know that?”

“I did read something about it, on your website.”

“And?”

Max stopped to remove his backpack. “I want to give this,” he said, pulling out a small, wooden box. “Tink said that I shouldn’t buy you any gifts, so I made one instead. Look, I carved your name into the lid.”

“Max, it’s beautiful,” I told him. “Thank you so much.”

“The stones are real turquoise. I did have to buy those, but they weren’t very expensive. Anyway, here’s the key. But don’t open the box until later, okay?”

“You’re so talented. I can’t believe that you made this yourself. It must have taken you ages.”

“A few weeks. But I wanted it to be perfect, because you are perfect.”

“Max,” I sighed. “I’m not perfect.”

“Well, I think you are.”

“Have you thought about making a similar box for your sister? I’m sure she’d really appreciate the gesture, especially now.”

“Are you asking me to?”

“I suppose I am.”

“Then I’ll do it.”

As we continued walking, I tried to explain to Max that our friendship wasn’t about to become anything more.

“I know,” he said, philosophically. “It doesn’t have to be reci... resop… repricic…”

“Reciprocal.”

“Yes, that,” he confirmed.

“You’d fit in really well at Haven. I know quite a few girls, around your age, who would be thrilled to have you worship them.”

“Is that what I’m doing, then?”

“Yes, it is. I mean, whilst you may think that you have made this box for me, it’s really an offering to the Goddess. I am just a conduit. Your feelings towards me, Max, are absolutely spiritual in nature. Even if…”

“Even if, what?”

“Even if they are… passionate feelings. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yeah.”

“You are living in a society that basically has everything back to front, Max. And you need to be aware of that. Which reminds me: Tink and I have created a victim support group, for those who’ve been forced through the school system. Do you want to join it?”

“Okay. What do I have to do?”

“Just mention it to your friends, for now, especially those who hate school.”

Max assured me that he would, before heading off towards the junior school gates. “See you later, Lucy,” he said, cheerily.

As soon as he was out of sight, I proceeded to open the box that he’d given me. Inside was a scrunched up section of candy wrapper, containing a single chocolate. It was a Rolo. Obviously, his last Rolo. As gestures go, it was just about the sweetest one that I could have asked for.

To Be Continued