Jonie's Story
Jonie always sensed that there was an immutable energy created by the coexistence of two people, distinct from all others. For Jonie and Eir, theirs was an energy that sagged, bearing the weight of all-too-conscious sadness, which often brought their eyes together in brief painful glances, broken by heaviness. Jonie didn’t know why it felt as if they were always near the point of being scalded by the truth of things. Often they avoided discussing anything too burdensome particularly to maneuver away from its overhanging presence, and instead made jokes about the passersby or their clumsy endearing teachers or Eir’s silly dog who always came bounding by with a slobbered ball in his jaw to pierce through the weariness of their day. Still, though their mutual presence was always overhung by a dreadfully clear and ominous cloud, Jonie and Eir had an inexplicable desire to be as one as often as possible, excepting and occasionally forgoing sleep and meals and studies. They were lucky to not yet be at the age of necessary responsibility. They were unlucky to feel as if the pressure of everything and everyone was on their growing heads. They often liked to sit on the edges of bridges and piers so that their feet might hang loosely and dangle over nothingness, as if the overhead weight could be transferred down their body and dissipated through their liberated toes. Occasionally, Eir would point at distant lights and murky outlines and beg Jonie to make a story explaining their existence. “Oh, all right,” Jonie would say with a half-smile and a sigh, though in fact Jonie loved nothing more than to make meaning out of meaningless things.