Curiosity Killed the Cat

    Why?

    The question hung heavy in the air between them. “Why?” She asked him again, and he pulled his hand back out of her grip to look at the rows upon rows of clean and neat little lines carved upon his ivory skin. “Why?” Again, this time with tears in her eyes. The question was beginning to become grating. He supposed he was just curious, and he told her so. Apparently this was the wrong answer, as it only prompted her to ask the question again. Why, why, why? Why did you do this? Why wouldn’t you tell me? Why were you curious? Then the question changed.

    How?

    How could you do this to yourself? How could you do this to me? It was annoying, and he didn’t know the answer that she was looking for. He supposed that he could make up some story about how he was feeling lonely and depressed to answer her question. Wasn’t that what she wanted? But it would feel wrong to do so. It would be a lie. He did it because he was curious, and that was the truth. The question changed again.

    What?

    What made you want to do this? What can I do to help? Again he told her “I was curious.” and again she asked. The cycle became repetitive. It cycled back to the beginning, with the questions phrased differently, but always to the same end.

    Why won’t you let me help you? Why won’t you stop? She got him help. Sent him to a professional who asked the same questions. There was no end to it. He liked the man that asked him the same questions. He wasn’t emotional. He was detached from the situation. But in the end he still asked the same questions, and got the same answers.

    “There must be something other than curiosity that made you do this!” He was told. “All you have to do is tell me what it is, and I will be able to help you!” Once the psychologist had become frustrated he got bored. The questions were yet again emotional, and he was sick of the cycle. He started to feel isolated and alone. The only time she spoke to him was to try and discover what was wrong. Eventually he stopped. His experiment was complete, but the effect was unstoppable. There was celebration for his so called “recovery”, and yet he did not feel happy. Whenever she introduced him to her friends the subject always came up, and he was outcast again.

    He wanted to start it again, but he felt that there was no reason to. He already knew all he wanted to. He already knew that it would not make him more endeared to others. He knew that if he started again then so would the cycle. He became depressed, and he had no outlet for that depression. After all, he had never been very creative. The thing that he was best at was logic. It may not seem very logical to dig a blade into your skin just to satisfy a curiosity, but for him it was the most logical thing in the world. He did not start again. There was no curiosity to satisfy anymore. At least, not with that route. But the curiosity was still there, and he felt that maybe if he satisfied this new curiosity that maybe, just maybe, the loneliness and the sorrow would go away.

    He never liked emotion, and that this should be the first strong ones that he ever felt made him angry. Anger was good. It was new, and thus different. He wanted to feel all of them. See what effects it had on the people around him. Perhaps that was what his curiosity wanted. So he smiled more. The more he smiled the more people talked to him, and the more they talked to him the more bored he felt. All their talk was heavy with emotion, and it bored him.

    “My husband cheated on me with that blonde hussie!” The gossip bored him to. “Did you see so-and-so’s new haircut? I wonder what possessed her to cut it like that!” It was boring and mundane, and it did nothing to satisfy his curiosity. “The weathers been real nice lately.” “Did you see the news?” “How are your children doing?” “I’m thinking of starting a new business.” Utter drivel, and absolutely meaningless to boot. The only meaning he found was that of pure emotion, like pain or desire. He had never felt the desire, but he knew intimately the pain of driving something sharp into his skin and sliding it to make a clean line that oozed blood.

    He was bored. People were boring. There was no point, and he began to wonder if he would feel any thrill if he threw himself off a building or a cliff of some sort. He went bungee jumping and skydiving, but he felt no thrill. She became concerned again. It had not escaped her notice that he had become fascinated with heights, and she was scared for him. She told him this, and yet he felt nothing of the same worry and fear that she did. He was merely fascinated with how something he was doing could evoke such emotions in another. When he asked her she told him that it was because she cared for him. This was boring to him. His fascination with falling did not end, and soon he found himself on the edge of a skyscraper, staring down at the street below.

    He contemplated whether it was worth jumping just to satisfy his curiosity. His life would likely end. There was a very slim chance that he might survive this, though even under the best conditions he didn’t think it was very likely. He stood at the very edge, holding his arms out wide. He heard a gasp behind him, but he didn’t bother to look. He knew who it was. She had never been very sneaky. She pleaded with him, told him that she would get him help. Better help than the last. He knew what she was doing, but it didn’t matter to him. She thought that he wanted to end his life when he was merely curious. He lowered his arms while he listened to her pleas, but he felt no emotion in doing so.

    “Please! Don’t do this! I love you!” He considered these words as he once again raised his arms. Love. What a funny concept. It meant nothing to him. He had never felt it. Well, he hadn’t felt the type of love that she meant. There were no emotions anymore, only curiosity. He let himself fall as a strong gust of wind shoved him forward. He felt something grab his jacket and the force of it halted his forward motion, if only for a second.