Journal
It's so quiet here, since they died. I would say the house feels empty, but it isn't that really. I wouldn't think to fire anyone, just because I don't require the care that Mom and Dad did. But the employees never seem to want to spend much time in my presence. It's 'anything else sir' and then they're gone again.
I guess that's why I didn't hesitate when that orginization contacted me. I couldn't even think to, really. To have a child here? I'd like to imagine that the house might have laughter in it again, that it might feel alive. I worry some, my own projects keep me busy, but I am sure that hiring a nanny will do for that. I won't see the child neglected. I think I could be a good parent.
And so they send me this... transmitter, and say that talking to it will allow the child some connecting with me. That it will be comforting for it, and help with its adjustment when its ready. I will keep it with me, and do my best to speak to it. It feels strange, like holding a phone conversation when no one is on the line. But... I would like the child to be well adjusted.
The staff is getting the room ready, though I don't want much done until the child is here to choose the details for itself. But there's a shelf full of books, and I have taken to reading to it. Old fairy tales mostly, Puss and Boots, Snow White. Perhaps it will be too old for such things, when it comes to me, but for now, it will be good for it to have some memory of those archetypal stories of youth. To learn that good is meant to defeat evil, and that cleverness and kindness are quickly repaid.
I do not know what to say to it though, outside of the stories. I say, 'I will care for you' and 'you will be safe'. I describe the sky at sunset, the slow fade of light.
It has been two years now... the house so quiet. I tell it 'I hope you fill this whole house with laughter and light'.
