Special delivery, just for me. Very well labeled. No one can mistake the intended recipient as anyone but me. Too well labeled. I see who sent it.
The box is full of fail, pain, and degradation. The sender packaged up all kir butthurt and tried to make it my responsibility for kir ass-chapping.
Nope. I laugh at the squirming mass of leeches and parasites. I have my own collection of self-loathing, thank you very much. I don’t need, nor want, to be someone else’s scapegoat to absolve them of their actions. I call out to the void around me, asking if anything wants a free ride to the sender. I point out the emotional vulnerabilities implied by the contents and the lack of personal responsibility for the event that prompted the attempted passing of the buck in the first place.
“I don’t want anyone to go on my behalf. Just saying it might be fun for those of you that like such things.”
Two of my minions pulled themselves out of my shadow and peered into the box. They smacked their lips greedily thinking the contents were lunch. I bopped them both on the head and forced them to withdraw. “To accept any is to accept all. And I refuse to be a sineater for those without remorse. Ke knew what ke did was wrong, and is trying to force me to take kir shame after being called out. No. This is going back.” The minions understood and just played around my legs like cats instead.
From the void around me, several dark and inky masses congealed over my shoulders. In the stolen muffled cries and forced whispers of former victims they asked if I was attaching any conditions.
“No. Just an offer. There’s room in the box for more, and I thought maybe some of you would like to see a different slice of human life. That’s all. You don’t have to go. You don’t have to stay. This boat is about to set sail. All aboard that’s going aboard.”
The tormenting masses flowed off my shoulders into the box where they devoured half of the leeches and parasites, and forced their influence into what remained. I taped up the box, nice, neat, and pretty. I stamped a large red “RETURN TO SENDER” on the box and sealed it such that once it left my hands, it would immediately spring back to the one that sent it.
I lifted the closed box up and loudly announced to the void, “This isn’t mine. Return to sender. Sender pays postage and all assigned fees.” I dropped the box and an invisible force enveloped it, snatching it away from me and taking it back to the instigator.
A minion pouted at the loss of lunch. “Eating other people’s guilt never makes you feel full. You eat and eat until you find you are eating yourself without realizing it. There’s better stuff to eat than tapeworm eggs.” The minion considered the comparison and agreed.