The Meaning Of

During a discussion about the meaning of life with my friend, we somehow began writing this story. I would write an installment, and then she would, completely making it up as we went. This is the result. Basically, for 70 some years, my friend searches for the grand question and answer to the meaning of life. Finally, after all that time, we come in contact again.




I didn't want to leave her. She had to give me answers. She HAD to. I deserved to know the truth. How dare she just brush me off like that? She glanced at Jason, bid me one last smile, then turned back toward the window. The guard took me through the many corridors down the levels until we reached the base of the mountain. From there we traveled to the village nearby. I walked from store to store, and I allowed the guard to pick clothes and other supplies for me. I paid no attention. I was in a daze, too distracted by my own thoughts. I could not believe the turn of events. Carmen was alive. Not only that, but she was young and appeared healthy. Had she found the fountain of youth? Was that why people were after her? Why she she hid away so long? I might have understood, but I was still angry. More than that, I was furious. We hadn't seen each other in over 70 years, and this was how she treated me? That jerk. She chose to talk to Jason over me? Did he really mean more to her? I couldn't believe what I put myself through for her. Yet, I was relieved that she was safe. God, after everything, why did I still care for her? I had so many mixed feelings for her, for this situation. It was driving me insane. Without realizing it, we had returned to the compound. The guard showed me to the room that I would be staying at. I had to admit, it was beautiful. It had a balcony and a king sized bed. There was a kitchenette and a family room. It was amazing. The guard left me to make myself at home. Just as I finished exploring my new room, however, there was a knock on my door. Hesitantly, I swung it open. Carmen Ramirez was there. Without wasting time on a greetings, or maybe she was just too rude to provide one, she entered my room and sat down on the couch. She patted the cushion next to her, silently asking me to join her. I really wished she would stop smiling. I let the door slam close and crossed my arms, refusing to join her. She rolled her eyes. "Do you want me to tell you what's going on or not?" She asked. I sighed. She was just as confrontational as she had been in high school. We'd always had a tense relationship. I wanted to ignore her, but curiosity got the better of me. Giving in, I sat next to her. We stared at each other in silence for a few minutes, both too stubborn to speak. She looked me over, as if contemplating. She seemed to have seen something she liked, for she nodded and began her tale. 

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