Throwing Pearls to the Pig [Chapter Two]

I'm looking out the window, far off into the distance.
I watch the sky change from a dark blue into a warm velvet, and watch as rays of sunlight extend past the buildings and create shadows. I'm gazing as the sunlight hits my face and warms my cheeks.
It soothes me.
I close my eyes.
I am at peace.

I open my eyes and leave the diner. I'm ready for the day. I head to work, still watching the sky change from a warm velvet into a radiant red, and finally a peaceful blue with clouds skidding across it. Some things never fail to retain their beauty. I look down at my watch, I still have an hour and one half to get to work. I decide it would be nice to visit a bookstore.
I walk in, they're just opening. Inside it's crispy warm, and low music is playing, it makes me feel like it's already Christmas. I have no idea where I'm going, or what kind of book I want, so I just wander.
Off in the distance of the store I hear people murmuring, the sounds of machines, beeps, commotion. I continue to wander.
I turn a corner and bump right into someone, knocking a tower of books into disarray. Before seeing whom I bumped into, or offering my apologies, I watch the falling books. As they spin through the air, falling gracefully to the floor, I read them. I read them as a whole, their falling voices tell me I'm going to fall in love with this girl, whom I've just bumped into. They tell me, formed in their chaos -- like reading thought bubbles -- that this is the one I've been working for, the one I left everything for. She really exists and now I've found her.
Then the books slam to the floor, and their final arrangement lowers my spirit:

"No good will come of this."

"I'm so sorry!" The girl says to me in a panic, quickly toppling the books into a wobbly tower. I bend down to help her.
"No, its fine." I smile, my heart is racing, I don't know how to act. I can't remember the last time I've felt this way. "I should have been watching where I was going." We both manage to get all of the books wrapped in her small arms.
"Ugh, thanks." She says with a loud sigh.
"Did you want some help?" My offer has a chuckle trailing it.
"No, its fine." She says, her face peeking around the tower of books as she tries to make eye contact.
"I insist." I say, snatching more than half the tower. "Where to?"
She pauses.
"This way." She says. I follow her through the maze of bookshelves, my heart is racing faster now. I glance down at the titles of the books and notice they're all anti-depressant books. "So, do you read any of these titles?"
"Me? Yeah, maybe." She says setting some down on a table in between some shelves. "My father killed himself a few weeks ago, I'm still recovering." Then she was silent.
"I'm sorry." I tell her as I set my books next to hers.
"..." She looks at me. "Why do people say that?"
"Say what?"
"Why do people apologize to me that my father killed himself, even though they had nothing to do with it." She says.
"It's one of those things we're conditioned to say." I tell her as I sift through the books.
"But it wasn't your fault, so you don't need to apologize."

If he lived in this city, it was my fault.

"You know, I've heard somewhere," I meet her eyes. "that humans are unable to kill themselves or each other." Her face becomes cold.
"So, if my father was unable to kill himself, why is he dead?" She asks, her voice as hard as a coffin nail.
"They say," My eyes veer downward at the books again, I've never been this honest before. "that there are creatures who remove the souls of man from their body's."
"So, you believe in the Grim Reaper, and you think he killed my father?" She says.
"Why not?" I say raising my head. I see a crucifix hanging around her neck.
"I don't believe in the Grim Reaper." She says.
"So let me get this right, you say you don't believe in the Grim Reaper?"
"That's what I just said, isn't it?"
"So that cross around your neck, doesn't that mean you believe in an invisible man who can be everywhere at once?" She doesn't say anything to that. I continue.
"You say you don't believe in the Grim Reaper, but you must believe in Angels and Demons, right? How else do you think souls get to where they're going?"
"Okay, fine!" She says. "Maybe there is a Grim Reaper! But that still doesn't explain why humans can't kill each other! What are wars then? Just make believe?"
"No, wars are seasonal jobs for Grims, when the spiritual economy gets really bad they have a war." She just raises an eyebrow. "I'm serious! Look at it this way, you need workers, so you recruit. That just happens to mean extracting their souls from their body's. Then when you have workers you can get more done, which is why deaths always increase as wars go on."
"That's stupid." She says.
"How is that stupid?"
"That whole idea is stupid, whoever thought up that idea was stupid."
"Wow, you're very opinionated, aren't you?" I comment.
"I believe in the Savior, Jesus Christ. This whole spirit economy thing is just garbage." She says, sorting out the books now.
"..." I pause. "Some people think Jesus was an alien." She gives me a death stare. "It's true! Replace any miracle he ever did with alien technology, and it's completely plausible."
"Are you just trying to annoy me?" She asks.
"Not at all, it's just that cross you have on, its kind of like gang colors, you know?"
"Gang colors?" She stops sorting the books.
"Well, sure. If I were wearing a swastika, you'd freak out and call me a Nazi. You'd probably assume I hated Jews and handicapped people, maybe even kick me out of this establishment for being a homo-phobe."
"Well, duh. No one wants to be hassled by a Nazi."
"But who said I believed in all the ideals of Nazism, maybe I just respected Adolf Hitler for being able to rebuild Germany after World War One? But how would you know? You'd take one look at the swastika and just assume."
"I get your point, you can stop now." She says, looking down at the books again.
"I apologize." I say to her. She stops and looks at me, letting out a long sigh.
"For what this time?"
"For killing your father."

-Sir Jestro