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“I find myself lacking.”
“Lacking?”
“I find myself lacking.” he repeated. His face was red with fire, protruding horns reached towards the sky from his skull, his sharp teeth black as night. He stared at himself through the thousand mirrors on the stone wall. His reflection staring angrily back at him. His hatred evident in the silver. Every glance caused pain, starting from the base of his spine and crawling its way up to his face. He looked, nonetheless.
“How are you lacking? What strengths have we not gone over? What precipitants have we not sought to improve? How many weaknesses have we crushed? You strive for perfection yet it is unobtainable, it is a mirage that you continually walk towards, only to find yourself surrounded in a sea of desolate dunes. There is no conclusion to your triviality, only emptiness.”
He smashed the mirror in front of him. He did not act from anger or frustration, it was mere impulse. The mirror broke as its pieces shattered to the floor in an orchestra of destruction. The monster sneered at the broken glass, his face visible in the thousand or so broken pieces. He thought of suicide as another pain shot up his spine. He wanted to look, desperate to see the flaws and correct them, but like it said, perfection is unobtainable.
“I must, I must do something-” He hacked, coughing in an uncontrollable manner. Something possessing him as the fire continued to grow from his red body. He pressed his claws into his face, blood ozing out and dripping onto the tiles beneath his feet. It sizziled as it melted through the ceramic.
“Why do you do this? Why is it important to be perfect?”
“Without it... I feel... mortal...”
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The sun was up now. Its always cloudy here. Always. The sun never shows itself. It seems to be banished. Disallowed. Neglected.
I usually stare up towards the light, but I can never truly make out the full image. I'll sometimes see part of a bright sphere. But that doesn't usually last.
The ruin I live in speaks to me.. I sometimes can feel it telling me stories. The drama between women, a fire with people around it enjoying eachothers precense. The children in the long pool that cuts the ruin in half.
I don't know how they lived up here. The top of a small plateau. It must have teemed with life. Now all I hear is the dripping of water and imagined laughter or crying. It was so long ago.
I wonder if I was apart of all of that. Why am I still here?
\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\\
I always liked the beach. I always liked the way the sun set and hit the water. Melting it. That cool gentle breeze dancing with your body. The smell of salt in the air. It's late. And I know I'll be ok.
Her dress seems hand made from cherry blossoms. Her eyes are serene, like the waves she seems not to notice as they brush up to meet her feet. The dress is appropriate. It matches the sky.
I'm glad she's the only one here.
I'm glad I shared this moment with her, even if she didn't notice.
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