a tragedy of some kind

mirrors and marionettes

"Those who hate most fervently must have once loved deeply; those who want to deny the world must have once embraced what they now set on fire." ~ Kurt Tuckolsky

He caressed it lightly,

the obsidian metal,

coloured as those that go bump in the night,

with a sort of stymied detachment.

He hoped she would be waiting for

him.

a little to much to ask,

he supposed,

considering everything.

He knew,

he fucked up.

He finally got it.

So he would do it for her.

His one final act would pay homage to

the girl of his dreams.

All the fairytales,

they paint such a pretty picture,

yet pale in comparison to this,

because it was real.

None of that bland perfection,

so often found in romance novels.

The cliches forgotten,

dismissed behind flaws,

and passion,

and wit.

He wished he had understood,

back then,

who had come hurtling into his world.

Turning it upside down,

inside out.

Hurling him into a cyclone,

of clandestine liberation.

Opening him up to a parallel universe,

far divorced from his own insular one.

So often concealed by one-way mirrors,

behind sanguine confidence and self-
assured smirks,

those of the lopsided kind,

he sequestered himself from her world,

from everything she stood for.

But she saw right through him,

to the insecurities beneath.

Ripping the laces that kept him

straight,

cutting his puppeteer strings,

bringing him out from behind the

mirror and placing him before it.

Revealing the marionette he had

become,

a product of his experience,

but guilty all the same.

The movie he was directing,

in which he played the lead.

A blazing catalyst,

that lit him up in flames.

He hated her for it.

Perhaps if she had stayed away,

he would have been saved from this

guilt,

remaining in control,

content to lead his lackies from one

cliche to the next,

reveling in the 'best' four years of his

life,

at Shermer High.

Hah.

Perhaps he would have been satisfied

with it.

Maybe he would have graduated,

attended university,

for no other reason than he had none,

settling down somewhere in the

suburbs,

with two point three children,

and a loving wife.

But that is what they expected,

what was ordained by the masses.

Because apparently wanting anything

else was dubious and suspect.

What more could the perfect golden

boy desire?

To the untrained eye,

despite his taciturn reluctance,

it appeared as if it was exactly that.

But even if his doubts overshadowed

his mission for acceptance,

his desire to utlimately fit in,

the hesitancy he endured to avoid

sparking dissention,

to destroy the empire he ruled,

prevented him from voicing his malice.

Deterring him from breathing life into

his silent hatred,

his inexhaustible revulsion,

for everything that was pointedly

implied,

by his approval of their expectations.

In truth his desires destroyed

everything.

His thirst for idolizing renown,

led to its very downfall.

He suspected it should have been

obvious even then,

she was held in far greater esteem than

he ever was,

then he ever would be.

If he had only seen how obtuse he was

being,

he might have comprehended,

the insignifcance of the damage she

would inflict,

on his scrupulously noble reputation.

But he had become accustomed to

acting charming,

not earnest.

-Logan