The Mirror

So… here we are again. The blackened eye looks particularly beautiful, adds to the charm if I may say so. And this sleek jet black suit I purchased last week: exactly the kind of thing that burns a real hole in your pocket and stitches up an imaginary one in your self respect. The perfectly polished shoes, the designer watch, the exotic cologne… the works, you know. The only thing out of place is that book having Jaun Elia’s poetry in my left suit pocket. Why would anyone carry that with a suit! But I never understood or had any fashion sense, did I?

And with all of this paraphernalia, all I am doing is sitting below the wash basin in this smelly shit of a washroom… reminds me of that epic scene from Trainspotting. My head buried firmly in my knees, the palms of my hands threatening to take my own eyeballs out… I do present quite a sight, one no one in their right mind would expect. But to me, it seems second nature, almost everyday business.

And so, as I said, here we are again. Where is today going to lead to? Will it be another day of cussing under my breath or will today mean action? A big part of me votes for action, it says it has had enough of long winded abuses and rants that mean nothing.

And since I can kill for action today, I’m absolutely ecstatic that I’ve got my little gun on me today. What I lack in willpower, it more than makes up through firepower. One wrong move, and its Game Over… or in this case, the right move!

And so, finally… it has come to this! I know my enemy and he knows me… the familiarity is almost too much for the two of us to be in this state. But then, don’t they say that familiarity breeds contempt?

And so… I finally muster up the strength and the courage to haul my sorry arse up from the fetal position I was in for God knows how long. I look at my enemy in the eye. And this puts me off… he looks eerily similar and he has a blackened eye to boot. What on earth could prepare me for this sight?! But then, not for nothing have I been patient and ice-cool in much worse situations. There have been times when the little gun has been with the opponent and I haven’t batted an eyelid… I’ll get past this too.

And so, I look across the hallway in a dead straight line and walk the menacing walk up to him. He’s walking towards me and taking long strides to hide his indecisiveness, his insecurity. One last long and cold and piercing stare is my farewell gift to him. I train my little gun on to him and I notice that for the first time ever, I can sense my hands trembling. I look at my hand and I look up again… and I drop the gun. I take a step back from the mirror and collapse. I don’t remember anything after that except for the fact that I never rose again.

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