I stared onto the blank piece of paper before me, mulling over where to start. Even with the assignment at hand before the day was over there is an aura of dread wavering over me. The concept of drawing one’s own portrait sounds mundane in my honest opinion. We all start with our most favorite feature that everyone sees. Whereas I struggle where to start, from my peculiar eyes to my plump lips. Perhaps my jagged jawline would suffice for this assignment, or even my scraggly hair. I don’t really like to draw what everyone else sees, they’re just as blind as I am without glasses.
What part of the face does anyone start with anyways? The passage of time overthinking this will not help me complete the task any sooner. The eyes, I thought, should be my best bet. Instead of what people see I shall draw the truth before their very own eyes, starting with pointed slits slathered in blood red. The nose, I hated that part. No matter how I approach it, my nose is far too big and bulbous to portray correctly at my shoddy level. So who’s to complain when I draw one similar to an animal’s, they’re much easier to the point even a child could draw one.
As with each stroke of my pencil graced the surface of the paper, the more defined I soon became. More of what I truly am and less humane than what others suppose of me. Horns are one of my favorite features, why not throw in a pair for myself? It shouldn’t be an issue, this is my portrait after all. So what if this means I’m less of a person than the next? It simply means I’m more than what they truly are. Even if it looks like a monster…that’s how I see my portrait as. Nothing compared to everyone’s face, something different from the rest.
An immense wall scraped the clouds before me,
its foundation older than my own existence.
It stood before me, towering across the line of sight.
What was behind the wall was what I wanted to know.
Walking along it there was no indication of passing by or entry,
nor any signs of damage or wear to break through.
It’s not like I could break down the wall with my hands.
Observing the bricks were brief notes of every success,
every failure, every word that was uttered by man.
All the bricks were words of those who made this wall.
I placed my hand on the brick with the words
“A world is built on fantasy.”
Gripping at the stone, I tried to pull myself up,
only to tear nail off the nail bed, covering the brick in blood.
There’s no way I could walk around the wall, it would take
perhaps a lifetime to make it to the other side.
Climbing it wasn’t an option either.
If the wall stretches beyond the heavens, who’s to say
the fall would be easier from that distance?
All I can do is either find a way in or break it down.
With what, that’s for me to figure out.
Only I can get through this wall.
Wet earth crumbled beneath my feet where I stood, the slightest breeze caressing the surroundings. As the storm passed the feeling of being clean and free from the cares of the world went along with it. As far as the eye could see were the fallen trees and leaves left about, a testament of nature’s raw strength. I didn’t find refuge but instead braved the storm against the elements. My victory stood with me, watching the clouds above escape from the line of sight.
The fear I once held on to could be heard rumbling from the distance. There was no desire to watch after it anymore. I left it all behind in that storm.
Before I was born I was already worshipped
My guardian praised me for being the chosen one
Only after did I arrive on this planet did they realize
That I wasn’t perfect in their eyes
So they polished and molded me into something they wanted
Something that reflected their deepest beliefs and ideals
As the years passed I started to lose my gleam
And they tried so hard to reform me
I had developed my own beliefs and ideals
Forbidden reasoning that defied their perfect order
So I wasn’t polished and molded
Left to rot with the rest of the earth
All I knew was my guardian and I believed in them
From the faults I had and the belief that made me imperfect
Indoctrinated to their ways of their life
I wanted to be like my guardian so badly
I wanted them to love me again
And so I molded myself again into something else
My body and mind started to change
And my guardian became afraid
Because it meant I would soon be aware of everything
So I was told I was completely flawed and it was my fault
Their hands were clean while I became filthy
And when I begged for them to help me be clean
I was denied the knowledge to do it myself
Outsiders couldn’t understand me
Because I was molded without lips to speak
The damning instinct to flee
Was futile because I had no legs
A desire to reach out to anything close to me
Isn’t possible due to being severed at one point
Over the course of time I was dim and deemed useless
My guardian said I should have not disobeyed before
And that my internal pain is my own doing
How is this possible?
Why was this my fault when you worshiped me
But did little to truly teach and help me?
I removed my casing and became reborn
I grew the parts I needed
And created others that I desired
All of this for myself is considered blasphemous
My guardian was horrified to the point of shock
And when they said I was disfigured I cracked
As I wept inside myself in a mess of oblivion
My eyes finally came to me and for the first time
I can see that my guardian is the flawed one
I am flawed too but I am also perfect
Because I am no longer their idol
I am now my own entity with a heart
Shivering cold air brought him to to stifle a cough as he leaned against the lone lamp post. He shuffles in position, often grazing the heel of his polished spats on the splintered wood. Looking up from the brim of his hat, overlooking the bright light to catch the view of the dark water between the enormous boats. The shipyard provided enough areas to hide in the dark but tonight was special. He had a reason to wait under the flickering light in the empty harbor. With the flick of his wrist, the black cuff on his suit pulls back to reveal a silvery wristwatch. The face of the aged watch reads 01:18.
The sudden shots in the air breaks the silence, distracting him from his time-telling. Nothing unfamiliar to the man, remaining calm in position. A long leg shifts under the other, propping in place an unseen long object behind. More gunfire is heard; pistols popped with the rhythmic taps of machine guns. He smirks as he moves his leg closer, the long object now brushing against his rear. The impatience irks him, the desire to follow the sound also keeps him from doing so. Only a while longer until he can leave.
Eventually the gunfire ceases to be heard. The only sounds that could be heard were faint footsteps dashing about and the splashes of the water beneath the dock. The now audible footsteps patter faster to the light; the suited man remains under the lamp post. The figure stops altogether under the light, panting heavily. Revealed from the darkness is a policeman to which the sudden appearance does not surprise the man. A cop much shorter than the man stood before him, holding a pistol and a tattered envelope in both hands. As the officer catches his breath, he looks up at the man in the black suit. The brim of the dark hat covers his eyes in the same darkness that the man wears. All black and length is what the officer expected to find.
“Are you him? Are you the one?” the officer asks hoarsely, staggering a bit from the gunfight. Dark stains on his uniform matches the result of the deadly battle he went through though unknown if it were his own blood or the blood of those he shot. Expecting the man in the black suit to reply, he waited momentarily before continuing. “I went through a lot of trouble to find you. Everyone wanted to get to you but I had gotten through most, if not all of them.” No response. “I…err, went through a lot of trouble to bring this.” The cop reaches out with the envelope in hand, now stained with blood from his fingertips. “It’s all I can get from someone very important. I am not entirely sure why but…,” he man sputtered before he watched the man in the black suit stood up. He was very tall from what the cop noted, reaching for what he realizes is a black machine gun of an modded type.
Expecting to be gunned down, the cop draws his pistol at the man in the black suit. The gun shakes under his grip but remained aimed at him when the man walks closer. Its barrel soon touches the breast of the man, looking down on him before pulling his hat up. His hand slowly reaches out to the envelope, taking it away from the officer. Shredding the paper open reveals a couple bills; noted on every single one of them were hundreds. The man in the black suit never moves away from the cop as he counts every bill in the envelope. An act of intense bravado surprised the cop as expected from the man in the black suit. He grins in glee and finally utters in the most polished voice the cop has ever heard: “Don’t worry, he’s got you covered. Now take me where I have to go and I’ll run down any motherfucker that points at you.”
The cop withdraws his gun from the man in the black suit. Thoughts of the morality of this errand runs rampant in the cop’s mind. Not knowing if this “purchase” was the best thing he’s ever done in his whole life, he can only hope this was worth it. Before he leads the man to his location, he had only one thing to ask. “What is your name before I present you? Just so I know I got the right person.” The man in the black suit cackles. “Mr. Black. That’s all you’ll ever need to know.”
He looked at me contemptuously while I struggled with the question. “You’ve become retarded,” he said and it’s true. My mind struggles with the boggling question, overworking myself into tears and misery to solve the conundrum. I have lost my sense of logic and rationality and it is now apparent. He leaves me behind, mocking my sobs as I try to answer back. It’s no use. No matter how much I tried, nothing seems to work anymore. Even to recall what he used to look like is pointless. No longer am I worth being seen for what I used to be. Now I’m simply insipid and the obliviousness is mind-numbing to the point of madness.