Day Ten : Aphorism - The Babysitter

Aphorism

Definition

1 : a concise statement of a principle

2 : a terse formulation of a truth or sentiment : adage

3 : an ingeniously terse style of expression

Aphorism was originally used in the world of medicine. Credit Hippocrates, the Greek physician
regarded as the father of modern medicine, with influencing our use of the word. He used
aphorismos (a Greek ancestor of aphorism meaning "definition" or "aphorism") in titling a book
outlining his principles on the diagnosis and treatment of disease. That volume offered many
examples that helped to define aphorism, beginning with the statement that starts the book's
introduction: "Life is short, Art long, Occasion sudden and dangerous, Experience deceitful, and
Judgment difficult."

“He did it.” My little sister said with all the solemnity of a six year old.

For a moment, all of those gathered in the parlor were silent, shocked into immovability by the words
uttered from this little girl with dark curls, chubby cheeks and electric storms for eyes. 

Then, of course, all hell broke loose - with people shouting abuse, derision and in one case drunkenly
laughing. The man accused, however, said nothing and simply stared at her through narrowed, dark
eyes.

I swallowed noiselessly. As much as I wanted to drop to my knees and fling my arms around to protect
her from the noise and aggression coming her way, I knew that we would fail the test immediately if I
did so. We needed to pass this test, to prove our worth and continue our lives together as a family. 

Luckily, my sister seemed completely unperturbed by the whole thing. By this time, I suspected, she
was simply used these sorts of reactions from her seemingly random statements. Many people had
thrown their disbelief and derision at her calling her a liar and sometimes even saying how pitiful it was,
that someone so young was so clearly mentally disturbed and would even create such elaborate
fantasies to gain the attention of those around her. I particularly hated those types of people. However,
my strong little sister remained unfazed. You see, my sister was never wrong and she knew it. 

Do you remember those times in maths class, where you used to have those epically long equations
and you had to show all your workings out so they knew how you thought and that you got where you
were supposed to be? And occasionally you would hear tell of an exceptional individual, perhaps even
in your class. There would be the kind of person who could skip all that part, because they knew what
the answer was just by looking at it. The kind that just drove the teachers crazy, because in school
standards a big part of the score was determined by how you found out the answer - they had to know
how you thought so they knew you weren't cheating. But however much they pleaded with and shouted
at those kids, the kids themselves couldn't do it. This was the question and that was the answer.
They didn't understand how to do the working out bit, because they didn't need it. The answer was a
plain as the nose on their face.  Despite being mathematical geniuses, they often failed mathematics.
But was that due to a limitation on their part or on the part of the system that taught them?

My sister was a genius at reading people. Whatever they said, however they acted, whatever they
thought to conceal, she saw through it all. 

The down side of this was that, like a genius mathematician who didn't see the point of working out the
answer they already knew, my sister couldn't understand the point of lying. It seemed unnecessary
and futile to her. She never liked herself, not did she prevaricate in telling the truth as she saw it. This
was the question and that was the answer. 

Even at six when you'd think you'd be forgiven a bit of bluntness, this did not make her popular. At all.
With anyone. 

Perhaps things might have been different had our parents lived they might have taught about the
potential of kind lies, of the way some people hid from the truth for a little while until they were strong
enough to face it. Perhaps they might have taught her to be gentle.

But our parents died when I was ten years old and she but a babe in my arms. The foster system,
though not unkind and I believe that they did truly do their best with what they had, gave her no place
to learn about sensitivity and gentleness. And a big sister is not the same as parents. I could not give
her the care and upbringing that she deserved when I was only a child myself. I did my best but, so
clearly, it was not enough and I think I shall carry that stain of my sin of the rest of my days.

After about five or so years of being moved from place to place, getting kicked out of one home after
the next due to my sister's 'apparent tactlessness', 'complete lack of compassion' and 'habitual lying'
(funny how liars always see their own flaws on others) we eventually came to the attention of the Light
of the Undying religious sect. It was totally a cult but for the first time they believed what my sister and
I said to be true. They called her eyes 'God's Eyes' or 'The Eyes of Judgement' (they were a cult after
all so absolutely anything and everything had to be over the top grandiose sounding) and immediately
set about thinking of ways to monetise this skill of hers for the good of their coffers. (like I said, a cult). 

You may wonder why I chose to let my sister and I stay in a cult that was clearly out to take advantage
of us. The thing was, I was soon to reach my majority which meant I would have to leave the foster
system and strike out on my own. Finally being able to be independent was no hardship for me and
I was looking forward to not having to rely on others and being able, at last, to make my own way in
this world.  However, there was no way they'd give me custody of my sister. I therefore had to settle
for somewhere that would agree to support us both and we'd already run through nearly the entire list
of potential care homes. This was the last chance for us to stay together. 

The situation at hand was a testing ground for us, to see if it was worth the cult investing in us. A
member of the cult had called them this morning and asked them to send someone to investigate.
A murder had occurred and there was no evidence to suggest who had done it. The police were
already on site and investigating, but no leads had turned up. The cult sent us there to discover and
prove who the culprit was.

My sister could easily discover who it was - but prove it? That was where I came in. My sister came in
with the answer, so I would work backwards, doing the working out to arrive at the question. 

“Do you have any idea why he's guilty sweetie?” I murmured.

“He has dirty feet.” she replied promptly. 

“Dirty feet?” I glanced at the man's shoes. They seemed spotless to me.

“People who stray off the path and walk through someone else's garden usually get muddy feet.” She
said, as if bored with the game, she glanced to the side.

I followed her gaze to see the widow of the victim, twisted hanky in hand, looking for all the world like
a tragic and weeping figure she should be. I kept staring at her. There! In the reflection of the window I
caught the flash of a smile dart across her face. 

“Sir,” I said to the murderer politely, “Did the victim know you were having an affair with his wife?”

Then all hell really broke loose. The police must have thought this question plausible though, as they
immediately strode towards the man. He, in turn, clearly reaching his limit, grabbed the poker from
the fireplace and ran towards us. There was nowhere to escape to - he was too fast for the police to
react to in time. I flung my little sister to the ground and desperately covered her tiny body with my
own. I felt the crack of the iron poker across my back and head and then nothing but the dark pulling
me down. 

***

The genius six year old stay in the back of the large car with expensive smelling leather seats, her
elder sister's head in her lap. She had a concussion and a broken collarbone. The ambulance had
wanted to take her to the hospital, but the cult director had refused and instead would take her to their
own private medical facilities. The medics had at least managed to strap her collar bone up, but the
act of getting into the car had made her faint from the pain again.

“So she has some uses at least.” the director said from the opposite seat.

The little sister didn't even bother to look up. She continued to stroke her sisters hair, carefully avoiding
the bloody gash from the tip of the poker. 

“My sister,” She began, “could have abandoned me at any point. Truly it would have been easier for
her. I'm sure the thought must have crossed her mind at least. But not once has she acted on it. In my
sister's face, there is nothing but love towards me.”

The director snorted. “I never thought you'd be one for sentimentality. For how long will you play this
'vulnerable little sister that needs protecting' act? You could do this all by yourself. You don't need her.
We don't need her.”

“Oh but you do.” the little girl who had never, not really, been little in any way but her physical form. “I
will not be six years old forever. I will grow and learn and develop all kinds of skills. I will far outstrip
you, you conniving little man - and don't think I don't know that it was you who ordered the death of
our parents. Although how you knew I would be born like this is still something I have yet to discover,
but I will.” The young woman twitched under her fingertips and she glanced down quickly. Her sister
mumbled something in her sleep and then settled down with a sigh.

“She doesn't know.” the director remarked, unfazed by the little girl's outburst. The fool. 

“Of course not. We need you for the time being and it would just upset her. Don't let her find out.”

The director shrugged, unconcerned.

The little girl's eyes darkened. “I meant what I said. You do need her. From the moment I opened my
eyes and saw this world, I have been unendingly disgusted with its human inhabitants. They lie, steal,
murder without a second thought. They bring no benefit to this world - in fact it is clear to anyone who
could stand to see it that this world would be much better without them.”

The director began to protest. “Oh come now, that's a bit...”

“I only see the truth.” the little girl smiled nastily. “Surely after all your tests you know that better than
anyone else .”

She looked down at her elder sister again and her smile softened into something gentle. “Only for my
sister will I stay my hand.” 

“So in short, dear Mr Director,” her tone was sickly sweet but something in her voice made the director
swallow noisily, “if anything, anything at all happened to my sister, you, and the rest of the shitty
species that calls itself humanity, will be completely and utterly done for.”