[ This piece
is a hybrid between poetic and short story, and it is about how the characters
in novels all appear different to each individual reader, as we all build
personalities, looks, feelings etc. not just from the image the writers tells
us to build, but from our own emotions and thoughts as well. We all see
characters, even the most infamous ones; in a different way. ]
I close my eyes and I can see you.
I open
them, and now I hear you.
A character
that was built from your vocabulary is now ripped from the pages and given a
new life here with my commentary. For I will see you as the heroin you truly
are despite the hand you were dealt, I construct you now to know the emotions I
have felt.
I open to
the book to the beginning of our journey and wonder what your author wants me
to see, what do they want me to know? Standing in the wings are the characters who
await your plot needs, but do you really want to be the hero they see to lead?
As I am stuck
within this crucial stage in deciding your morality, our fictitious
relationship becomes more than just a single commonality. The human side forces its way out in a manner I had not
expected, but now you are so small, not weak; just unable to move.
This causes
me to wonder, what does this character mean to me, am I just as small? Is that
why I’m reading her to be like this now? I begin to ponder, why do we read
stories about the struggle of heroes? Are there no villains with powerful
stories who struggle as well? In fact, who is to say they are the villain?
I look at
you intently, trying to discover the true characteristics buried within. You
stare straight back, and we begin to wonder the same thing, who are you really?
With these eyes opened wide and large pupils that divide space I realize, you
are not me; but you are becoming me.
You are becoming the villain.
As I draw
near the end of our story I reflect on the journey that has been. I contemplate
the tale of our villain, and how we both have grown to connect with one
another. I turn to you now in gratitude for allowing me to meet her, as the
bond of something greater than friendship has been woven.
I close the
book and place it on the floor; I turn off the light and close my eyes once
more. It is dark, but I can see clearly now, who you really are.
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