Written Validation

Cody didn't speak much anymore, he didn't know how to. At least not to James. Not in a way that was constructive, or that would help him with whatever internal thing he was wrestling. He sat at his computer closing down his internet pages, and opened up a blank note document.

    Tentatively, with James watching over his shoulder, he began to type. 'I can't do this anymore,' he tapped out gently, 'I can't keep making these for you.'

    James ran his fingers through his dark hair, and as Cody turned to look at him he saw something he'd never seen before. Confusion. "I only want to help you, Cody. I don't understand why you won't let me help," James said, reading over the text again. He leaned forward and squinted, as if getting closer to the screen would help him understand; it didn't.

    Cody faced forward again, typing another message, 'struggling to come up with new ideas isn't making me depressed. Low points are just a part of the process.'

    "But you've completely hidden yourself away from everybody, it's... it's like you're a recluse or something.” James shook his head in defiance. Why was Cody being like this? So... so stubborn? Why was he refusing help?

    Cody offered his friend a hard stare accompanied by a frustrated, barely audible sigh. 'When you're around me, I feel physically ill,' he typed, his pace faster now, 'you've so infected my personal space that maybe I did start planting solutions in my work somewhere. Just to make you happy.'

    James’ eyebrows furrowed while his gaze skimmed over the text. He was hurting Cody. Slowly the mist lifted and he understood. "I'm the reason, aren't I? The reason all your inspiration is gone... I poisoned it for you."

    Cody’s silence lingered.

    "I forced you to write things I could try to find meaning in... try to make sense of, try to... use to figure you out," he explained, resting his elbows just above his knees. His stare hit the hot pink carpet Cody had been so adamant on choosing when they'd moved in. He rested his palms over his eyes, "I felt okay as long as I had your work to see myself in. I wanted to know you through the things you wrote, but..." he paused, eyeing Cody through his fingers, "because your work is dark and incomplete, I assumed you were too. I thought you were lonely... desperate for help. The whole time it was me. Searching for... something."

    'My work doesn’t need a solution,' Cody typed, 'why can't you just let it be what it is?'

    James looked completely lost. Everything in his being was telling him that Cody was wrong. Writing should be complete, a piece should have an ending, and it should be good enough to reap external validation. But why?

    “When I showed people your work, they acted like I was the important one, for somehow discovering your talent..." James pursed his lips, chewing on loose skin, "they were interested in what I had to say." If James knew that his life depended on finding something to be driven by other than external validation... what would that even be?

    “Nobody has ever praised anything I've made... I actually cannot conceive of what that would be like," James mused.

    Cody didn't know what he was supposed to do or say, but watching the life slowly drain from his friend's face pained him.
    Without hesitating, he turned to his keyboard again, 'you're not my problem to solve.'

Signed,

Elijah.

Meta Sentience.

27/11/17