The story of Stella – Unpublished from a two years previous.
The pain in my back had been coming on now for three days. Working its way up from just above the diaphragm to the trapezius muscle on the right to a position of chronic pain. Pain? What was that really? An old friend that had moved into the house formerly know as pleasure? Happiness? So here I was, drawn here to the is place on the simple promise of a look of a glance. And there she was. Galatea to my Pygmalion. Good genes and plenty of hard work to keep up that illusion. But who really existed there within the prison of beauty for beauty’s sake? We all have a weapon or a sword that is wielded to keep us safe. Some of us with very much less armor. Still ever so naked to indifference in the maintenance of our flagging egos.
There like a shining beam of light on the other side of the bar was her lifelong construction. Herself. A traveling roadshow of actual material perfection not seeming but actual. How hard it must be to keep the fiction up? Was I just saying that? Or is the heart of what really is a lifelong burden? Am I loved? Or am I just coveted? Who fate all could be a true beauty mindless of the consequences of really letting ones self wander free. The baby had been born from such and incident and she was thankful. It was a wonderful event that she would never regret it was true. But there was a but. . . That sense of lust and longing that had been harnessed to power the modern world in spite of itself had left her and empty vessel. Who after all could she trust?
So many could and would to freely avail themselves to sun their own fantasies for a while and mold her perfection into an unholy thing. Something that only served fantasy and not the need for honesty that her desire really craved. How cruel the world truly was as it placed her uniqueness as a mere commodity. Who after all was drawn first to that essence of entity that described her however unequally to the illusion that her material flesh surmised. It was a cruel fate to bestow. A Greek course of mythic proportion that only the heavens could set straight. for my own part I could only stare forth like a mouse. Grateful for every moment that was ceded me by such a goddess. Maybe the strength of the drink had bewitched me into such foolishness? Yet a part of me wished to reciprocate in kind for the recognition of the action of one lonely being to another in such basic acts of kindness and regard. or that I am both grateful and ashamed that I am not a better person and did not drop the pretense of indifference in the face of awe.
