Paranoia - Malevolence of the Mind

February 21, 2013
Picture this, you find yourself in a vast, void of light open space, nothing appears to be below you but emptiness, as well as around you, yet you’re seemingly laying on a flat surface; you’ve no recollection of events prior to awakening, and you look around, still lying in the blankness, not even knowing if you’re floating or falling—you attempt to rise.
It appears to be safe to walk; your footsteps make loud reverberations throughout the empty black space.
Suddenly, as you’re inert, there comes a thunderous thud from above you; you look up to see nothing. But as you direct your line of vision back to where it was, there stands a mirror just about your height, yet there’s no reflection.
You inspect the mirror carefully—even go behind it, but still… nothing.
Then, in it, you see a shadowy figure coming closer; you try to run from it, but now—no matter how hard you try—the distance between you and the mirror remain the same as the figure walks closer and closer.
As the figure reaches the end of the other side of the mirror, it extends its arm from out of the mirror and seizes your leg, yanking it and makes you fall to the ground. You rise and look back up at the mirror to see yourself glowering down at you.
“Yes,” an echoing voice said out of nowhere, diverting your attention. “In this mirror you currently see yourself, but soon, you will see the you that you so vapidly desire yourself to be—whether that consists of physical and/or internal properties. Think you’re happy with yourself? Well, think again as you are put under this trial against yourself.”
You look back to see your reflection still, but now with the body you desire, your features how you’ve always wanted them from envying another’s.
“You’ll never be me,” your reflection tells you in a menacing tone that sounds reminiscent to your own voice.
“But, I am you!” you shout at it, trying to verbally combat it.
“Wrong. I am the you that you’ve fancifully seen yourself as in those dizzy daydreams of yours, you fool; people like me better than they ever will you; I have and will always achieve more than you ever can aspire to; and everyone loves me better than you,” your reflection grins. “Do you want to know why?”
You start to look flustered as you have no choice but to listen to it; it mimicked every motion you’ve made and continues to, but it speaks on its own—you cannot speak at the same time.
“The answer is staring you right in the face: you’re weak,” your reflection jeers.
Your legs start to tremor. “N-no, I’m not.”
“Hmph. Then what is that in your voice I sense? Weakness.”
“People are too afraid to say they really hate you because they’re afraid they’ll drive you over the edge, or hurt your poor, delicate feelings. How naïve can you truly be?” your own reflection’s voice was becoming darker and its tone more aggressive as you could feel its words stabbing you like a myriad of knives.
“No. They love me; they wouldn’t do that to me. And I’m smarter and more aware than that, you’re wrong!”
“How can you be so sure? Have they expressly told you any of that? And says who? Yourself? Of what consequence does thinking you alone that you’re intelligent and conscious of everything hold? How presumptuous, how vain. You know who likes people with this two disgusting qualities? No one. And that’s what you are: a nobody, a nothing.
“Even if you’re right, I still like myself—like for my body, even if I’m not the fittest person around.”
“Ha, your love-handles, calves, arms, and lower body may beg to differ. I wouldn’t know, since I don’t have such vile things; or they’ve been crafted to my liking, because that’s how I wanted them.
Despite your limbs quivering from hearing yourself spout everything at you, you make a fist, angrily looking up at your reflection as you’re hunkered down, and send it barreling at the mirror, only to hurt your own hand and cause no damage to the mirror itself.
“Aw, tried to fight back, did you? That only affirms how incredibly weak you are. Weak and pathetic.”
You feel a searing pain fill your hand that you punched the mirror with; you start cringing.
“You feel that? That’s the righteous punishment you deserve for trying to reject the truth,” your reflection maniacally cackled.
“Friends, someone, anyone… where are you?” you desperately call out.
“Screaming for help in the darkness won’t do you any good when there’s no one who cares to hear you! Everyone is on deaf ears to your pathetic pleas.
“But—why?” you whimper.
“Why ask a question you refuse to acknowledge the answer to?”
“Everyone hates me and so do I,” you blurt without realizing it.
“Wait, I didn’t--”
“No, but we both know it, so I said it for you; I’m consuming you.”
You make another endeavor to punch the mirror again but only to have your reflection react to it and punch you square in the face, knocking you back.
“Accept it: you are not fit or meant to live in your world. I will take your place as the better you, the you that everyone wanted you to be but you were too weak to do anything about it and change. I’ll do everything that you couldn’t, for yourself, and for others. You will die here, at the hand of your own self.
Tears begin to well in your eyes as you have nothing to say back to your malevolent reflection; you’re barely standing, about to collapse to the ground, as your reflection continuously chortles at you triumphantly, feeding off of your pain and hopelessness.
“What good will your silly tears do you? Have you honestly deluded yourself into thinking shedding any will change reality?”
“Now,” your reflection clasps their hands together, “Take this, obsolete slime!” It hammers down on your head and slams you jaw-first to the ground, causing you to fall. “You never belonged anywhere, nor will you ever!” it says, driving a kick into your downed body. It lifts you back up only to continue its onslaught of both physical and verbal punches; you can’t even catch your breath to cut it off from speaking.
“Are you ready… for oblivion?” your reflection dryly asks, raising their foot above your head in the mirror.
“NO!” you bellow; your hand suddenly places itself between your head and your reflection’s foot, fending it off.
“Still you’re resisting the truth? Wh--”
“It’s my life!” you roar as your fist guides itself into the mirror, cracking it.
“But how did y--”
“My. Life. Mine!” you cry out, lashing out against the mirror with another punch packed with pugilism, cracking it in another spot.
“You attack me, but look at yourself—you’re not any version of me. Honestly, you’re hideous, inside and out, and that’s not me at all; the cracks I just added to your image are improvements,” you say, looking and sounding collected, swiftly dealing another blow.
“How dare--”
“I am loved! I do have worth! I’m fine as I am and will improve for myself only!” another two punches and a kick fly. Your reflection falls to the ground as you continue your indignant fury and positive affirmations.
“You’re the one who’s nothing—nothing without me! You’re simply a vapid manifestation of my vapid desires that, one day, will be a thing of the past; and I’m starting with making you a thing of the past, whatever the hell you are.
You draw your dominant arm back with a tightly clenched fist, and find yourself able to distance yourself from the mirror until you’ve decided that’s enough room. As you’re backing up, all you keep blurting is, “You’re not real!” to stop your reflection from trying anything.
You gallantly charge toward the mirror with a valiant war cry, exclaiming, “IIIII ammmmmm meeeeeeee!!!” with a sense of determined finality and your fist collides with the mirror, shattering it completely upon impact as the shards turn into dust that scatters to the empty winds.
“And this is who I’m proud to be,” you declare, head hanging in relief, as tears of joy stream from your eyes.

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