They came at night with their torches and weapons, like they always do. Teeth bared, eyes glazed, like they were in heat. Not for sex, but for the hunting of the less-than. Their idea of pleasure, always one-sided.
Nostrils flaring for the scent of fear, intoxicated by it.
Not my fear. Theirs. Fear of the Other. Of change.
Somewhere, faintly, fear of doing the wrong thing, of being found out, shamed. Of what they see of themselves in me.
I sigh and get dressed, head to my front door and open it. Making sure of standing tall, head held high, like a hawk.
Getting out to meet the mob always robs them of the joy of an easy catch of a scared and cowering prey, so they fall silent.
Staring down the leader I declare: “It is not I who is the a monster!”
“Well, you're just a lovely little ball of paranoid psychosis.” she said while peering down at me with a studying eye. Her voice oozed false lightness, the tone reserved for the lesser-than. Babies, puppies, the elderly, the mentally… less.
My mind was burning. “You sick sadistic FUCK! With what right…”, but my body managed only a whimper and an involuntary twitch.
With the arrogance of power she read this to her liking. “Ball! Yes.”, she cooed. “No 'play ball' – YOU are the ball, yes you are!”
They came at night with their torches and weapons, like they always do. Teeth bared, eyes glazed, in heat for the hunting of the less-than. Nostrils flaring for the scent of fear, intoxicated by it.
Not my fear. Theirs. Fear of the Other. Of change.
Somewhere, faintly, fear of doing the wrong thing, of being found out, shamed. Of what they see of themselves in me.
Getting out to meet the mob robs them the joy of catch and they fall silent. Staring down the leader I deckare: “I am not a monster.”
I've had That Dead Thing inside of me for so long, I can't remember where I picked it up – or when. We've grown so used to each other, the alive and the dead, we rarely notice we're not alone in this body. Sometimes we wake up screaming in one voice and remember with a sigh: Oh. Yes. Whatever happens, there's always That.