This is SO SAD
|“Beauty is truth, truth beauty:
That is all ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.”
-John Keats, “Ode on a Grecian Urn”
A monster: that is what he is. He may look like an ordinary person. But he is a monster nevertheless. He feels trapped by the burdens of his life, stuck in a cage like an animal in a zoo or a prisoner in a jail cell. Even though he seems like a human, his face is littered with little pimples and whiteheads. He wears a pair of thick horn-rimmed glasses. He knows he is ugly.
Nobody looks at him when he walks on the streets. That is why he prefers to walk on the streets at night. He will not attract the attention of others if he hides his face. He wears a black coat with a hood in order to hide himself. All anybody notices (if they see him walking) are his legs.
Nobody talks to him when he speaks. He spends most of the day in his room. He listens to the radio. The melody, the rhythm, the chord changes: all of these things hide him, shelter him from the cruel world that lies beneath the calm exterior.
One day he looks at his reflection in a shop window. He sees the horrid glasses, the marks on his face that have not completely vanished. He knows he is a monster. He sees the proof of this horrible self. He tries to flee. But everywhere he looks, he sees the ugly face, the impurity within himself. He must vanquish the monster.
Once upon a time, he fell in love with a beautiful girl. But she did not love him. She turned away from him. He has spent his days in solitude, hoping that he can win her heart but knowing that it is impossible. She wouldn’t want to be with an ugly person like him. He knows it. He cries when he thinks about her, about how she rejected him, about the way he felt when she told him (in other words) to buzz off. He cannot forget her.
He thinks about the Summoner in Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales. Even though the Summoner had big pimples whereas he does not, he feels that they’re roughly the same. He must break free from the monstrosity that holds him prisoner. He must rid himself of the ugliness so he can be happy.
He knows that no girl could ever fall in love with him. The whole “there’s somebody out there for everyone” school of thought is pure baloney. There’s nobody out there for him. He is destined to spend the rest of his life alone. He knows it.
Monsters are ugly; so is he. But he wants to be human. He wants to be loved. He wants to have someone care for him, be there for him. Just the way it should be. He knows that it will never happen, so why bother wishing for something that will never come true? It’s just a waste of time. Besides, the girl he once loved is going to the prom with someone else. He feels as though his heart has been broken for far too long.
He knows what he has to do. He must kill himself. Nobody cares about him. Why should he have to endure the hate, the cruelty, the heartache, the loneliness? He must erase the pain. He must rid the monster that dwells within. He must die.
And so he does. The monster is no more. The world moves on. La-di-dah.
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