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There she is, no, over by the left side of the floor in the dark outfit
- yes that's her. The one who moves like a bird in a glass cage. I've
been watching her for quite some time now. This place is where
she comes to exercise her demons. Fool, she doesn't realize that those
very demons she runs from are of her own making. Look, watch for
a moment:
Sweat flies off her, hits the ground and hisses like poison. She
wants to peel away her skin, to crack out of her body and escape, but
all she can do is raise her arms and move faster. She lets the
suffocating heat from inside her leak out and evaporate into the
pulsing crowd, strobes of neon cast odd shadows on the faces of the
dancers around her. Something claws in her chest; you can see it
moving just below the skin, it makes her movements even more
frenzied. Eyes slit open, pale and burning like diamonds set on
fire. But there's nothing left to burn, just ashes and a brick of
coal where her insides should be.
She has lost her self. I've seen her bury it deeper and deeper
under many different masks, living to please everyone but
herself. She's beautiful, isn't she? Everyone tells her so, and she's grateful for that, but where she
lives, all the mirrors are turned facing the walls.
I was there the day it first happened, when the first spider's web
crack appeared on her face. So small at first, but it grew larger
and larger until she fractured. Her whole being split into thousands of
different pieces and the masks that were set free overwhelmed her and
her own true self was swept away.
It was then she became the chameleon, no colors of her own, but instead
using those around her to blend in and cater to her surroundings. She
became their clown, their princess, and their *****. Anything she
thought they would want, so many multitudes of faces, how could she
keep track of them all? But for the first time people accepted her, or
at least what they thought of as her. And she gloried in it.
But I could tell that she was still broken underneath the painted
facade. She wouldn't listen to me though; she'd throw me away and pick
up another face. I could make her whole again, but she would
rather warm herself in their cold admiration. Soon she couldn't hear me
anymore and all I could do was watch as the masks piled up.
She breaks from the sea of bodies on the floor and makes her way to the
shadowy corners of the building, toward the bar and something cold to
drink. I can feel her pulse beating in her mouth from here.
Look - how
their eyes follow her appreciatively and how she moves on without
acknowledging them. She's never loved anybody fully, always one
foot on the ground. That's not to say she's never had a lover,
but they always went away in the end; besides, they would only love a
mask anyway. I'm the only one who knows everything about
her. Only I know why she comes here.
In this place, you can
let go; you don't have to be anything for any body. She thinks that if
she wears herself out enough she could sleep at night, but she's
beginning to realize the truth. Lately, she's been coming more
and more frequently. She'll show up as soon as the sun goes down
and dance until the throbbing music and faceless people fill up the
empty places inside her.
But it just festers in her bowels and
rises, dark and bitter inside her. It moves inside, scratching at
her skin, looking out from her burning eyes. That's why all her
mirrors face the walls. Somewhere deep inside her she knows what I've
been trying to tell her. She has all these different
personalities and faces, even the dark, bitter one, but without her
true self - without me - she is nothing.
But I'm so tired now; she's left me to bear all this
knowledge. If I forget, she's lost. So I remember, every
second of every day. Of what we were like before the box was opened,
when we were whole and not separate pieces. I remember our true self, I
remember and wait for her to put me back in my rightful place and heal
the cracks in her soul. It's only a matter of time now, anyways. Either
the masks will consume her and I'll fade away; or she'll remember that
the only face she needs to wear is her own and we'll be whole again.
Copyright 2008 Seshat
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