On Thoughts Of The Reed Children (Mostly John Reed)

 

    If there's one thing I hate the most in this world, it is ignorance. Ignorance of any kind irks me to death. Especially if it's coming from two certain sisters. I'm sure my future self perfectly knows whom I'm referring to but in the unlikely case she should ever forget, I'll give a reminder. 

    Eliza and Georgiana Reed always turn a blind eye to the wrath of their brother. Indeed, it wouldn't be far off to say they must hold some sort of loathing for him as well. But their loathing pales in comparison to mine. If John Reed was out of the picture, perhaps I would not have hated Elize and Georgiana as much as I do. But, alas, John Reed is in the picture and my antipathy has not decreased in the slightest. 

    Cursing, beating, belting, shouting, mocking, taunting. I could fit so much more. I remember not a single second where I wouldn't duck in fear, wouldn't shake whenever there was a mere mention of his name. There were times I would try and appeal to Mrs. Reed but she would shook her head, claiming she had never seen her precious son lay a single hand on me (must I add that John Reed's torment often occurred during Mrs. Reed's presence as well and...she was never one to call out her own children's wrongdoings). Pretty princesses Eliza and Georgiana had no incentive to stop their brother's reign of terror and very conveniently turned their heads.

    There was one of many incidents that I remember clearly, mostly because it preceded the events of the Red Room. I was reading quietly on a windowsill, a layer of curtain standing between my little space and the outside world. I don't quite remember exactly why but John Reed was furiously searching for me. Perhaps just to torment me to kill his boredom. I remember gingerly leaving my little comfort space and standing in front of him. His sisters were nowhere to be seen. I stood up a little straighter, determined not to always be cowering in front of this tyrant.

    John Reed was angered perhaps by my boldness or the fact that I had not responded to his first few callings or perhaps because I was just simply living. He struck me. I struck him back. His sisters and mother came rushing as soon as they heard the commotion and I was punished. I was punished. Looking back at it, it was ludicrous but not out of character for oh-so-charitable Mrs. Reed. 

    It was clear the message that the Reed children were trying to send me; I am not welcome here. I am a thorn on the side. I am a leech and the mere fact that I am alive is all due to them. If they took a look inside my brain, they would've realized that I had already died and what they were nurturing was only a walking corpse with scant thoughts. 

    My thoughts on the Reed children are as follows: I must give credit where credit's due and that is to Eliza and Georgiana for never striking me once. That, I suppose, counts as a win in my book. As for John Reed, I feel not the slightest bit of sympathy nor grief for his demise. And never I will.