The OCs OC.

What A Pity..

I was big when you first created me. You were little. You had small feet and fists, and you used a small brain to say to yourself.. "Stop stabbing me. It hurts." As you cried in blood-stained gloves while you felt what you'd eventually learn was 'cold air,...

You had many other thoughts after that. There were so many that I couldn't remember what number I was on when you first learned how to count.

You were taught and learned many things as milliseconds went by, and as they did, you helped me grow. And one day, you finally gave me a name. You felt bad because you couldn’t remember what you first called me, I wasn't mad. So you gave me new names, and I can recall each and every one of them.

A few even make me laugh and awe at your creativity.

There is one name you kept giving me, however, "My OC." I was confused when we both first learned it stood for 'Original Character, because you were the first, not me. But it was fine. Because I was your first, even when you kept changing how I looked and acted. Who I met and what my relationship was with them. I was always your first in your mind. And I was contempt with that fact.

You put many versions of me in stories and artwork. Including a few other characters you made up. You were happy. But one day, you stopped. It wasn't for long, only a few hours. And during then, you kept making names for chapters and imagining scenarios. But you wouldn't write or even draw.

You couldn’t.. you didn’t know how to.

And I felt bad because your stories and characters all have a sprinkle of me. They revolve around me. So I thought I was the reason you were having trouble with perspective.

I was sorry.

And you couldn't hear me.

I'm glad writers block didn't last long. You found a perspective to write in. As if I was in your reality talking to you while you're in a coma. I was releaved, actually. Because I could move and speak again. Not trapped mimicking your movements and feeling exactly what you felt and thought. It was sad, I was vulnerable.

Yet I still feel bad. Because it made me realize that you gave me power that you don't even have. I was never vulnerable. You were.
The reason you'd always have me kill the people you hate in your mind, torture them, annihilate them, do gruesome things others can only dream of, all because you can't.

Your actions are limited. And not just by yourself, but also by others, family, friends, strength and endurance, law, nature, the government, belief, and reasoning you can't confirm. You and the people you surround yourself with are all limited by the same things.

Fear, uncertainty, and physical limits.
That's why you like me so much. I am what you want. I am your own god. That only exists in the world you made in your head. I'm sorry.

I am sorry for you and your kind. Sorry that I can't do anything to physically help you. And sorry for the way we feel...

We aren't sure if hate is the right word, but like or love definitely, isn't it. Just like in the song "lucy~ ", I love you. Ain't that crazy? Yet I pity you. I feel pity for your species. You're able to make extraordinary things to help others, but never yourselves. Doesn't that seem crazy? Well, sure, you can make medicines and "cures" to help you all get better, but it’s not like any of you actually feel better. Or want to get better...
I think. That's what I think, because that's what you think.

You're so uncertain with yourself and others that you gave me the ability to read minds and look at past memories of others. But I don't use it. Because you don't want me to. I don't want to.

Out of pity.

Soon, you are going to reconnect with reality, get off your phone because you know you're human, and can't bed rot all day. Everything has a limit in your reality. You're going to go brush your teeth, eat actual breakfast, play Sims or read a book, clean the house a little, change out your bed sheets, and everything else that you humans normally do before you come back to me.

To this reality that you can only think of possibly existing right now somewhere out in space or outside of this, viewing you, and feeling pity before you write a another story and make art for your OC's.

I'm sorry. That I make you feel pity.