The Pursuit of Evil (1)

One girl’s quest to make life more interesting

Evil really gets a bad rap these days. Sure, I wouldn’t want an axe murderer to kiss me goodnight (unless his name is Christian Bale, in which case I’ve left the front door unlocked), but stranger things have happened.  And besides, aren’t we all just a little bit evil anyway? This morning my brother ate the last cookie from the cookie jar I had only refilled the other day. I think we can all agree that that is a truly evil thing to do, but do I disown him for it? Of course I toyed with accusing him of original sin and pelting the last crumb of chocolate chip cookie at his happy face, but I restrained myself.

But why be this reasonable all the time? Why all this niceness if to be nice is so incredibly boring? At our last big family dinner everyone cheered and rejoiced when Aunt Margaret announced she had a hernia. It was clear to everyone present that having a hernia at least means something interesting is happening in her life. I almost choked on my chicken, I was so jealous. She said some organ is pushing through something. For a moment everyone stopped chewing. Her heart is pushing against her lungs. Or maybe it’s the appendix, I don’t know, but something is happening in her body that shouldn’t be.

I’m not sure I can will any organ movement and I wouldn’t want anyone to think I lack originality, so in order to zest up my life and have something more dramatic to report than a case of chronic athlete’s foot, I’ve instead decided to become evil.  Where grandma once framed the 10 commandments, I’ve now hung up the 7 deadly sins for daily inspiration. Nobody but me will see this because no one ever uses the attic bathroom unless the one on the first floor is clogged (and that only happens once every June when I cook a “thank you” meal for my parents for paying my tuition fees).

 

Pride

I’m probably the least proud person I know. I’ve achieved many things in my life, but rarely, if ever, do I boast about these. Even in childhood I was a humble child and a model to my fellow classmates. When I got my first C on a spelling quiz I gave my mom a script to read when I re-told the news at the dinner table for all to hear. Like many works of classical genius, the original script no longer exists, but it went something like this:

 

Me: Mom, I got a 72 on my spelling quiz.

Mom: You are a credit to the human race and so much smarter than your big sister ever was and ever will be.

Me: You always say the right thing. Does this mean I get more ice cream?

 

I’m not sure she read it in the end -- I’m actually a little resentful of her general spirit of uncooperativeness toward what she calls her offspring -- but geniuses are often misunderstood. It isn’t my fault that conventional science rejects my personal interpretation of quantum physics and string theory. Did Copernicus stop believing the sun revolves around Earth when a few decrepit old goons claimed the opposite? I didn’t think so. He had faith in his opinions just as I do today. When some girl ambushed me after class today, I immediately put my new prideful nature into practice. “I heard you were going to the next Olympics!” She looked star-struck and asked me what sport I play. I informed her that I was thinking of taking ice skating lessons once the pond in our garden freezes up this winter, after which I would, indeed, be competing in the next Olympics. I asked her if she knew where they would be taking place and when. Her expression soured. I think she must have had heartburn or something equally familiar. I was just going to recommend some herbal remedies when she walked away without a word. Some people don’t want to be helped. So be it.  I, for one, feel buoyed by this pursuit of evil and can’t wait to see Aunt Margaret bow her head in shame when she hears how fun and exciting my new life is.  

 

To be continued...