Living Life With a Monster

March 19, 2010
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I stood, shaking as I leaned forward into the hands of the monster. Her eyes were clear, pupils like pinpricks, starting at me with a hollow expression I didn’t dare to understand. Her cheeks were stained with tear streaks and rubbed raw with the dirt and grit that covered her well battered body. She was a few levels past a train wreck. But despite the weathered façade she played so well, she stood, erect, power oozing from every pore. I couldn’t detach myself from the gaze she had me bound to. There was something familiar about her. The way she moved, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, not impatiently, but just as if she was calmly waiting for something better. Slowly, I inched closer, reaching out into the abyss I felt was there. My fingers extended. Suddenly the want to stand with her and gain her presence turned into an overwhelming and raging need. I plunged my hands deep into the darkness but quickly became confused, memorized, and then completely horrified as my extremities could continue no further. My fingers were pressed against my bedroom mirror and the monster I was admiring and pitying held a striking resemblance to myself.





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