Confusing Questions Novels & Stories

Holding the presentation board in my left hand, I slowly introduced several ceremonial pistols, revolvers, and family commemorative firearms preserved from the nineteenth century. Halfway through the presentation, a little boy with curly hair suddenly raised his hand. “Hi, did you used to shoot guns too?” The room fell quiet. Everyone was waiting for my answer. I looked at his bright eyes, paused for two seconds, and then calmly nodded. “Yes. “And I used to be very good at it.” The little boy blinked and asked again, “Then why don’t you do it anymore?” Freya stood nearby, as if worried I might feel embarrassed, and was about to step in for me.

My mind is just jumbled, and I don’t know how to clear things up. Colby is just as confused as I am. We both know that there are questions there that only she can answer. The problem is that she doesn’t look like she’s going to be willing to answer anything. Maybe I can convince her if I stay on her. I can try to wear her down and get the answers that I need. Then again, the pressure from me could make her retreat further. I really don’t know what to do at this point, and it’s driving me crazy.

Hilda orders, and my hands hit my knees. I pant and groan as Hilda approaches. "Stand straight—hands on your head. Open the lungs," Hilda orders, and my body moves to accommodate her. As I catch my breath, questions form in my mind like always. And even though womanly charm won't work on Hilda, I test the waters anyways. "So you and Gunnar seem to have a complicated relationship," I say, hinting for information. "Yes, we do," She answers while scanning our surroundings.

Our relationship was frayed, so I asked for some time to evaluate how I feel, but it hasn't helped, I think I'm more confused. — Confused, why? — My question was too direct. He looks at me in a strange way, as if he's afraid of something, or maybe he doesn't want to say the reason for his confusion. — Sorry if I sounded intrusive! [...]

I read through some and then I shook my head and dropped it as I got to my feet, placing my hands over my head. “This is ridiculous,” I said. He looked up. “What is ridiculous?” “These questions. One of them is asking whether I’ve had an abortion. What kind of stupid question is that?” “Like I said,” he reiterated, “these are possible questions… questions to get you off guard, to get you angry, mad, to make sure that you are put off your game.” “Well, I’m surely put off my game by these questions,” I said. “What do you want me to say in court when they ask me all these questions?”

Dangerous. “I’m asking you a question.”

“Yes, that does make sense, doesn’t it?” “What,” I ask, seriously confused, staring between them. “What makes sense?”

What is he trying to accomplish by making me this confused? "hayy"

He probably had a hundred things he had to worry about so why was he caring about some nightmare I had? He noticed that I'd stopped so he stopped too and turned to give me a puzzled glance. "I'm sorry, I know you're probably just being nice and everything but do you mind not asking questions like that because it's confusing me to hell." I told him sheepishly and gave an apologetic smile. "What do you mean?" "Well… with the way you seem to ask these questions you're either an emotional psychiatrist or for some reason you've decided to get involved with my wellbeing and frankly it's confusing me a lot because I don't know why."

I cried out in frustration. "So what do we do?." Are they all confused or what?