There’s Nothing As Eerie As Perfection.
BHD recently wrote the following sentence as subtitle to this story.
If You Meet Utopia at the Side of the Road Cut It’s Head Off.
This sentence resonated. It’s absolutely right. In a way that has very little to do with the rest of the story. (Which is why this isn’t a reply)
Maybe it’s just me, and my steady diet of Stephen King, old Twilight Zone episodes, tv series like Supernatural and numerous viewings of Hot Fuzz. But an image — doesn’t matter if it’s painted with pictures or words — of a perfect place where everyone is friendly, optimistic and happy, with no apparent problems makes the hairs on my neck stand on end.
Anytime such effort is made to hide the dirty laundry, I am absolutely sure we’re not talking about some grass stains. That laundry is shit smeared and blood splattered, its rotten fibers held together by deadly molds.
This is the sort of place where your car is guaranteed to inexplicably break down. The one mechanic in his too clean garage will sympathetically tell you that he needs to order this part you need. Cars never break down in this town, you see? And the elderly couple that runs the only Inn in the neighborhood, where you will be stuck for the night, will give you free pie to make you feel better.
You will never see another morning again.
The same sort of thing applies to individuals. The sort of person who never frowns, never curses, never gets into any arguments. Who doesn’t have a problem with anyone. Who is always selfless and helpful, never complains, never gossips. Never even plays their music too loud, or jaywalks, or litters. Watch that person like a hawk. At some point the facade will crack and when the years of repressed resentment and murderous rage finally spill out, you will want to be well outside the fallout zone. So you can tell the local news crews what a friendly and quiet person they always were. Hopefully you’re good at feigning shock.
Perfection just isn’t natural. When you encounter perfection, it’s an illusion. It has to be. The state of perfection just does not exist.
When you encounter Utopia at the side of the road, feel free to cut its head off. I would cheer you on. I’ll be honest though, if I encounter Utopia, I’m not going to fight it. I’ll be turning around and heading back where I came from as fast as I can manage.
