A Hated Person

Once upon a time, there was a girl.

She was a good girl, with a good life.  She was not a normal girl, and she did not have a normal life.  But it was good.  She was very glad to have it.  She was glad that she was not normal; that she was special, very special indeed.  She could see things in people and hear things from people that no one else could.  She had a gift, a rare gift, and she respected it.  She did not abuse it, like others might have had they been given the same gift, because she knew that such people were hated, and she did not wish to be hated.  She did not exactly wish to be loved, either, but if through the course of things she ended up loved, that would have been all right.

But people do not like to love.  People find it hard to love; they find that it takes a lot of work to love.  They find that it is far easier to hate.  And they find that it is far easier to hate things that are not normal; that are not “them”.  So they found this girl, this good girl, and they saw that she was not normal.  They saw that she could see many things, and hear many things, and that these things were not normal.  They did not see that she did not use her gift for evil; they only saw her gift, and called it a curse.  And so they hated her.

They hated her not because she was a sword, or a spear, but because she was a mirror.  She saw into the people’s hearts, and spoke with them as their conscience might speak to them.  But people do not like to love; they like to hate.  She saw that their hearts were filled with hate, even though their hearts were also filled with love.  And so they hated her, because she reminded them of their hate.  They wanted to believe that despite all their hate, they were still good on the inside.  But the truth was the people did not have loving hearts full of hate, but hateful hearts full of love.  And the good girl knew this; she saw this, and heard this.

But the people did not like being seen and being heard.  They only wanted others to see what they chose to show, and hear what they chose to speak.  They did not want to be confronted with their own hate, nor did they even want to contemplate the chance that they might be confronted with it.  They knew the truth in their hearts, but they did not want to know it.  They were content to hate, so long as the hate never turned back upon them, and though the good girl never turned this hate back upon them, they hated her all the same, because she could.  She was declared guilty of a crime that she had not yet committed, and might never commit, but the gravity of that imaginary crime was so great that the people refused to accept the risk of the alternative.

And so the good girl ran away.  She ran away from the people, from all of their hate of her, and all of their hate of each other, and all of their hate of themselves.  She forced herself not to care about them anymore; to let them continue hating, so long as she would be left in peace.  So long as she would be free from all the hate.  She buried herself deep in the earth, where there was no one’s heart to see and no one to hate her, until time forgot her, and until she forgot herself.

And she was miserable.

But at least she was happy.

 

{A less-than-brief retelling of a character that I know of.  If you don’t know who she is, it’s okay, because this is still a classic tale, endlessly retold.  And if you know who she is, then ask yourself this:  How different is she from her sister, really?}

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