You are the most beautiful one of all. That is what they tell me before they die, each and every one of them. They come towards me as if mesmerised, eyes glazing, arms outstretched. They have seen no other of my kind; I am unique in my perfection. I honour them with a quick death.
Once I have devoured them, they tell me other things, snaking around inside my head like little moments of madness. Becoming you was the deepest ecstasy, they tell me. Becoming you has made us complete. Now they are beautiful too. We have become vain together.
I hate the mirrors, though. Mirrors are liars, bitter liars with no true image of their own. They distort me with their dead, glassy eyes, slicking my body with oil and mouldering feathers, shaping my soft, red lips into a wicked, toothless smile. I like to smash them, their fragments reflecting back one hundred little pieces of cruelty as I picked the slivers out of my fingers. I like to grind the shards into dust with my heels. What do you see now? I ask them.
They are soothing me now, stroking themselves over my aching pride. There are no others who compare to you, they promise me. You are the most beautiful of all.
I believe them.
Thursday 22 July 2010
The Most Beautiful
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
I like this one, it's dark yet the monster seems to be painted as a victim
ReplyDelete