#13 - this is the end.

This is probably going to be my final post to wrap things up. Enjoy =)

My computer desk is white. Not the creamy white that usually implies wood, but the bright, blinding white that elucidates any kind of dust or dirt. To this effect, i've tried to cover it up as much as possible. But since my parents made me clean up my room this morning, it's now back to it's original condition.
Sitting in front of me on top of this glaring white, are two books. Slaughterhouse - Five and The Tale of Despereaux. This was complete coincidence by the way. I haven't touched that book in ages. I surmise that my sister probably placed it there.

Anyway, I started reading it, and i've come to realize how much more cheery it makes me compared to SH5. I find myself rooting for a mouse, and wanting to drink soup. The book makes me smile, and giggle, and "aaawwww" at all the right places.

So I ask you, why can't SH5 give me the same kind of sensations??? Okay, i'm not asking that I be warm and fuzzy inside, I can be cold and terrified too! I just wanna feel something, something that will make me look back at that moment and say, "because of the emotions I felt, it was worth reading."

The tale of despair is filled with so much happiness and so much despair that it tossed me back and forth, and yet I was still content. Often there are moments in good literature where I read the sentence, it's implications blow my mind, then I just sit there. I am frozen in awe by it's sheer power and I allow myself to read it again. Slowly, to prolong the flavor. Whether that be fear, happiness, pain, or sorrow.

SH5 just made me feel numb. I felt what Billy felt, and Billy felt numb. I think a better metaphor to describe it would be that I was holding my breath underwater the whole novel, and when it ended, it wasn't me finally coming to the surface, it was me drowning. Okay, when Kurt mentions mustard gas and roses near the end, it was a quick, but refreshing, gasp of painfully cold air before being plunged in again. I started feeling like that when Billy's dad threw Billy into the pool. Maybe it was a psychological attack that I had after reading that.

Through the whole thing. The unpleasant images of dead people, bombs, Tralfamadorians (which btw, i'm terrified of. Imagine an actual green hand with an eyeball inside. not cute), and various other horrible scenes seems to suffocate me. And that one hint of understanding. The smell of mustard gas and roses, it was the only time I felt emotionally attached to the novel. Like on tiny hole in the plastic bag that's encasing me.

Anyway, Tales of Despereaux was completely different. There was pain, but I could feel it. Just as I could feel the wound healing. From the simple loneliness of the girl with caulifower ears because she's been beaten so bad by her uncle, to the little mouse with the giant heart, all the characters and their courage make me smile. But with one turn of the page, I also felt the fear of the man sentenced to walk in the bitter darkness of the dungeon, or the evil of the rats slowly devouring the flesh of the prisoners.

SH5 was far from an emotional rollercoaster, but I guess numbness works in it's own sort of awkward way.

~ceci