I studied her with piercing scrutiny. Her lustrous, glossy mane, deep set liquid pools of black liquorice, with their penetrating gaze and her sensual lips filled with words of unspoken promises. She was a vision, and I was torn between glaring at her with thinly veiled contempt and devouring her beauty.
I tore my gaze away from her, and thought of my thinning, mangy hair, horn-rimmed glasses that mercifully hid the slits I had for eyes and the rolls of fats around my body. I couldn’t stomach the unfairness of it all. Why was she bestowed with the physical attributes of a Goddess, while I resembled a beached whale?
It didn’t help that we had been part of the same social circle since I could remember, and I was constantly subjected to everyone waxing lyrical about her abundant beauty. Sure, people complimented me. These compliments however, always rang hollow, for they often came across as an after-thought, meant to pacify what they (rightly) perceived, to be a envious heart.
Having gotten used to being cast aside, I always tried my best to not let it bother me. Little did I know, that the final straw would soon come, pushing me over the edge.
A week ago, the group had decided to meet up for a spot of supper, after a long day of lessons in school. Though I was numb with exhaustion, I forced myself to go, for I knew he would be there.
He, the one true love of my life. The man who had the ability to lift up my spirits when I was in the depths of despair. He was kind-hearted, caring and gave me much more attention than I felt I deserved. Some days, it almost felt like he was as besotted with me as I was with him, but I always pushed these thoughts out of my mind, for such were the harsh realities of life. Someone as amazing as he was, was never going to fall in love with plain ol’ me. As depressing as it was, I forced myself to be contented with revelling in the care and concern he showered upon me as a good friend.
I soon arrived at the restaurant, a beautiful 18th century themed eatery, filled with antique mirrors and furniture made out of tempered oak. I made a beeline for the seat next to him before it got taken up. She was there too, and I made a concerted effort to ignore her. I was not going to spend the night battling my inner demons. This was not to be, for I soon started noticing through the reflection in the mirror, that he kept glancing at her. Not once, not twice, but countless times. The tenderness with which he gazed at her left no room for doubt. How foolish of me to have even entertained misplaced illusions of his affection for me.
I was apoplectic with rage. I hadn’t minded living my entire life in her shadows, but for her to steal the heart of the man of my dreams was intolerable.
Can you then blame me, for standing before her now, desperate to see her writhing in pain at the agony I was going to inflict on her. I stepped closer to her, and drew out the razor I held hidden in my hands. I entertained thoughts of mutilating her perfect face, but decided against it. I needed her to remain perfect even in death. Needed her to know that her beauty was not going to save her life.
Before she could react, I slashed her across her long, graceful neck. Her eyes bulged open with shock and fright.
I fell against the mirror, blood gushing out of my arteries. Realisation sunk in, as I took a final glance at the liquid pools of black liquorice, my liquid pools of black liquorice, before darkness enveloped me.