Not its appearance.
No, that was mundane.
but its appearance here.
so similar to myself yet so far.
More observation was necessary.
I first saw the being with my children.
Again I saw the being with my other.
Not at the same time, no, but separate.
They would prefer it that way.
First I thought the creature a fool.
My Basil would rear, attack, and strike the creature yet it stayed by his side.
It was pathetic.
Like a dog coming back to an abusive master begging for scraps.
What could be gained from trying to befriend the little antagonist?
Yet the forced kindness and affection continued.
I vaguely wondered whether the being shared
my sick pleasure of causing him discomfort.
Yet there was no out of place chuckle
nor bemused smirk.
It was following the tragic clown.
I thought I can found common ground here.
It had donned the appearance of the child
and was mocking his behavior.
Or so I thought.
They both found humor in the silly display.
It drove me insane!
What is this being’s motive?
What consequences could be in this place?
Was it ignorant due to it’s home?
This place rarely saw death
Poverty? What was this to a deer?
Yet when this came up
the stag watched.
Seldom collected nor commented.
You could your health on it.
And somewhere in the
distance a blue jay
reluctantly raises its head
towards the sky and breaks the silence
with one warbled note.
How many take noticed I wonder?
One day I told it that it did not live in reality.
A proud creature with many points and colours is noticeable.
A shape slinking on the edge of reality
a warm body to the side of shivering.
A sympathetic ear to the ground.
Unconcerned with rumors;
and yet, always concerned.
No flashy effects nor glorious appearance.
One day it was there.
One day it will be gone.
And only the absence of a single note
will herald the disappearance
of the archetype of consideration
I told it that evil existed in the hearts of all.
That below the surface of every mind
the ugly truth waited for the chance to raise its head.
The second self that even the most
reserved noble doe cannot contain
and the rotting stags flaunt.
I ordered it to tell me what it wanted.
What it expected out of the forest.
it considered all I had said at length.
And in a hush voice replied “I wish you would smile more.
Unless of course you prefer sadness.
Then I wish that you would cry more.”
It then calmly turned its back to me
and left me speechless.
The supreme architect brought life to ideas.
And yet, a universe away one mind
and one soul struggled to dissect
the creation of another.
tried to pin down the creation of a self-defeatist.
And in the grand scheme of existence
one insignificant bond was formed.
The Realist brought pen to page.
Then hand to keys.
And finally story to life.
In that precious moment the realist looked
Yet in another,
at what he had done and he
worried as to whether it met the expectations of the self-defeatist.
the self-defeatist read the words
and wondered whether it had met the expectations of the Realist.
In that brief time Atvana celebrated the undeniable perfection that is the brief moment of hesitation.
The snow felt.
And Dhina lamented at having to share a page with a fool whose brilliance she could never comprehend.
Meanwhile hundreds of eyes reluctantly scanned a page feeling as if they had come upon dialog not meant for their minds.
The clocks ticked.
The earth rotated as the
urgency of time moved the human race forward.
A Realist lifted up his hand and stared at the graphite
with reluctance of whether to wash it away
or celebrate its inevitable appearance.
She runs out of things to say.
To a Self-Defeatist
From a Realist.