Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Crazy Sunday Mornings ❯ Freud, Antropomorphs, and Detective Work ( Chapter 6 )

 

†Black outs during Saturday nights

†Almost complete amnesia next Sunday morning

†Mouth and chin cove

†Wrecked room

†how the heck did I get out?

†answer to that: by ripping off my bedpost and smashing

the window

†did I jump down? That's insane!

† my mirror reflection is this suave yet frightening me who

talks to me, the real one… how weird is that?

† What's weirder is that Aya says I wasn't talking, just sitting

zombie-like… (is weirder a correct word? Hmm…)

† But the reflection came back and corrected that for me. So it

was (uncomfortably) real

† maybe even the self in the mirror is afraid apprehensive of Aya?

† I miss Buster…

† Momoe-san's fat tabby cat is watching me I know it…

and he hisses at me every time…

†Why does Aya want to kill me every

goddamned Sunday Morning?

 

Yohji stopped writing and looked down on his list so far, written in his rounded script in English on his old P.I. pocket notebook. He chewed his pen absent-mindedly. Then he took his pen and wrote down again.

 

†Why does Aya want to kill me every

goddamned Sunday Morning?

 

He stopped writing, and looked quite satisfied. When he read it again, he frowned heavily when his eyes met the crossed out third line. No, he didn't want to think about it, but his mind was more pigheaded than he is, and it summoned the memory, giving Yohji the same feeling, he had the first morning he encountered it: a wrenching in the gut and the need to throw up. He hurriedly looked away from the list and stared at the old ceiling that had certain spots significantly darkening, because Yohji smoked indoors. Well, in his room anyway. So he focused his attention to one darkened spot and tried to form pictures from it. It almost looked the shape of a cartoon mouse. Satisfied with this, he returned to the list, now that his stomach is settled. His brow creased as he went over the list, and rehearsed the questions in his head over and over again. After a while, he wrote in the other page of the notebook his conclusions.

 

† Aya suffers from unfulfilled anal fixation (Freud) as a kid* and

needs to get laid.

† anyone who decides to have sex with him runs the risk of being criticized

and severely berated, glared at and corrected while doing the deed.

That is not the way to go.

 

He also thought that the person willing enough to do it again with Aya afterwards deserves a medal of valor or a whack on the head. But he no longer wrote it down, because that was just an opinion. He scribbled down after the last line.

 

Thus, Aya's apparent lack of sex and the resulting crankiness from this.

 

So he was finished with his dissertation of Aya. It isn't that hard to work out, everything roots from and boils down to sex… and penis envy, if one is to take the word of Old Man Freud, the horniest and most sexist man who ever lived.** Away, back to the more important thing at hand. Except for the “I miss Buster”, all things written down must be part of one thing. Now, when did this start happening? It was a weekend thing. Starts from sundown Saturday and ends sunrise Sunday. Ken had said, “blah blah blah this past month?”*** So that's four weekends and counting. The latest weekend, just last Saturday, he tried to stop himself from going out. Something told him he needed extra care for that, so the extra padlocks and whatnots. He didn't know what or who told him, he just knew. This, now that it's brought up, is weird. He decided to write that down on the observation page. The voice started talking to him yester… he stopped.

 

He looked back at the mirror, as if willing the reflection to do something out of the ordinary, like wave to him or make a face or something. He knows that voice. He knows it's been talking to him way before yesterday. Only, yesterday it was blatant conversation. He knows. He feels it. The whispers. The fleeting sentences. It had always been there.

 

Of course, I've always been here.

 

It wasn't as loud as yesterday, and his reflection wasn't smiling deviously at him, but it was the self-same voice. It was talking to him now. Yohji stood and closed his bedroom door, went back to his bed, and snarled.

 

“WHO ARE YOU?”

 

Why, don't you know who I am?

 

“I'm betting my pants you're not my fucking conscience.”

 

`He-ey, ooouch. I might just be a concept of morality expressed by your mind in an anthropomorphic way for your inadequate reasoning to be able to grasp it, but I do have feelings too you know. I am conscience after all… now tell me you're sorry.”

 

For a while, everything, even inside Yohji's head, was quiet. The anthropomorphic conscience gave a tiny cough.

 

“O-okay, right. Aren't you supposed to be in vacation?”

 

Yohji seemed to imagine his conscience's hurt face before it walked out indignantly out of his… mind. Uh. Yohji knew he should've lain off the LSDs when tripping on Sesame Street reruns.

 

“You're not another anthrof… anthropor… what my conscience said, are you?”

 

No.

 

“Oh. Great.” He said sarcastically. “So what are you then?”

 

I AM you.

 

 

 

*Freud had given stages of development for the person according to certain parts of the body. The anal stage is when the child tries to potty train and controls his/her anal activities. If a child does not overcome this stage, he/she develops an anal fixation- he/she becomes fixated on control, hence the term “anal” (ex. You're so anally neat). This has nothing to do with the sexual connotation one might think of. I assume Yohji has an oral fixation of some sort… haha.

 

**Well, he might not be THE most, but he certainly was a sexist. The horny part, well, it was the Victorian era. Everyone was sexually repressed, raging hormones all about town. No offense to all the Freudian disciples or fans to have read this.

 

*** remember in “A Snippet Of Things” chapter one, Ken asked Yohji how come Aya always wanted to kill him blah blah blah. You can look it up.

 

ERRATUM: LoneCayt, I swear I already edited the chapter to correct my mistake with your name. Nevertheless, I'm sorry. I'm such an idiot with remembering names and whatnots.