This was a short story i started writing - dont know if i will ever complete it or edit it.
I woke up to the ringing phone. The name on the display chased away the remains of sleep and I sat up caught in a dilemma. Was I ready for this? Will I ever be? Should I just pick it up and go with the flow? As if in an answer to an unsaid prayer, the phone stopped ringing. I had lost my sleep and I wondered if it was without reason. Would it have been better to have never woken up or is this state of awakened inaction better? I don't think I had the answer to that as I realized my question was around something much deeper than just this phone call. I think a lot. I think that is why I am able to see this transformation. That is why I am caught between two shores as I can see what I am slowly becoming and a part of me is still shocked of what I am capable of.
A few weeks ago, I would have not had this hesitation or dilemma. I know that this was just one phase in the transformation process. One of the final ones as far as this relationship was concerned. I know that the phone will stop ringing one day if I am careless and I know that, I would not like that. It is so much easier to be in demand, to spur the object that wants your attention. It was fun to tease, to hear the silent pleadings and take hours to do those things you can do in the blink of an eye. I never knew I had it in me. I never knew I could hate anybody so much and so fast.
I thought of my previous avatar. My version of myself, the way I wanted the world to see me, the way I saw myself. The way I am now is different and I hope that they still continue to see me they way I want them to, the way they always have. It was so easy fool. In this elaborate boring drama of life, I realized I was a talented artist. I could give my audience what they wanted and sway them, perhaps even against each other. When did I start doing it? I knew not. I feel like a woman who is seeing her reflection in a broken mirror. It is but who she is but not how the complete pieces would make her seem like. In some she is too grotesque. Those are the ones she will hide.
The name in the display, one of the numerous I have been testing with – to see if I have it in me, to project beautiful images across multiple pieces of a broken mirror. The apology act will soon follow and then there would be the consummation act. I hate the world. I hate my life. I find nothing to be happy about or sad about for that matter. I feel like a playwright lost in the drama of her own making caught somewhere in the middle unable to get out. I know the direction I want the play to take. But I am not sure if any of my many actors would want to do a new role or walk out of the drama. I would have to have replacements ready and waiting. I would have to do a lot of work that way.
The world exists because something else doesn't exist. It is afterall all about opposites. How do you know pain if you had not experienced the lack of it? How do you know happiness if you had not experienced sorrow? How would you know anger if you had not experienced peace? I knew hatred. I recognized it the moment it entered my life for I had known love. Known it and felt it in every cell of my body when I had been in love. That was an event not supposed to be a part of any play. That was an event by itself. I had not thought about dramas then. I had not thought of myself as an artist. That was in my previous avatar.
Now all I can do is look back and realize that that was the prologue. The day I lost my love, the day I woke up to an empty bed and an empty life, the day I lost to the world, that was the day I slowly became the playwright. I know there is a bigger director out there and I know that I am but another part of his huge ensemble cast. Like a movie with multiple short stories. Oh but how long just this one seems! I hate the world enough to want to destroy it. I want to destroy he who created all that is there, he who made me the drama queen I have become to myself.
They told me that I would get used to the loss. They told me I would walk forth putting it all behind me as I had it in me to do greater things. Did they really understand what they were talking about then? They were all unaware, fast asleep in their own cocoons moving around the way he wanted them to. I could not put it behind me. I could not forget the loss. I could not. I can see the four walls that restrict me here. I want to break them down into pieces. But when that is again going to land me in another jail, that of the world as the ignorant ones around me see it, I do not see the point. I do not see the point in anything at all. Why the elaborate drama? Whom does it satisfy?
I have to play act the part I have written for myself - that of the one driven by the desire to destroy. It does not matter what or who or why. Everything possible has to be destroyed. Some like a beautiful piece of manmade art immediately and something like a piece of his work slowly, over time - in such a way that the destroyed does not know the destroyer or its own destruction. It starts with contact. It grows over cups of coffees in beautiful gardens or expensive eateries, it is nourished with the best food – that of supposed love, the one that it thinks it needs. It culminates in a night or even a day of rapturous joy and once you show the pinnacle, the promise of what can be, what could be, you withdraw. The meetings reduce. The calls dwindle and slowly there is nothing left, but memories.
I do this all the time. My wonderful memory, the one I curse so, helps me in this process. I remember every tiny detail about every damn thing no matter how unimportant it is to me. I have to destroy. I have to wake them up. They will be lost. They will seek solace. They will not find it because I will continue to tease. They will wake up to the loss. They will not get over it. They will understand the betrayal. They will give up. They will begin their plays. I will laugh at him then. He is not the only one capable of it. I am there. I am not going to stop destroying until he is forced to retire me. I will not stop. I will continue. I want my freedom. I want to take it out brick by brick, this beautiful, elaborate imbalanced prison of mine and destroy it beyond recognition.