Joseph

Mirror, mirror on the wall
Who is the maddest of them all...

1Likes
0Comments
559Views

1. I am we

 

                                                                                      “How are you feeling, Joseph?”

Noise.
The continuous noise from the woman’s foul mouth.
A constant cacophony of disgusting words spewing from her wolfish smirk, grinding and grating. I told that woman, that cretin, not to address me as Joseph.
That is not my name. That is not who I am.
I know not of this Joseph of whom she speaks, the incessant babbling about this man, this mythical being of whom I have not laid eyes upon, and yet she still insists on bestowing that phantom name upon me.

“That is not my name. Cease calling me by that name, for it is not mine.
I am not Joseph. I am not him”

 

She is looking at me as if I have slapped her upon her face, and yet I have said none but two words. I do not know the cause of her cautiousness. The basis of her uneasy glare, but the woman looks as if she is preparing to bolt. The rabbit eyes behind the spectacles, blinkblinkblink, darting from my face to her book, constant scribbles in illegible scrawl. She licks her lips with her pointed, oh-so-pink tongue, and begins to speak.

“If your name is not Joseph, than how would one address you?”

 

“Why, dear Lady, I assure you, for I am in fact Joseph. Never have I claimed it to be otherwise, for whom else would I be?”

 

The woman continues to insist that I am not Joseph, and it is growing tiresome. Trying to convince one that you are but oneself is madness. True! I have committed heinous felonies that would make even but the strongest man weep, but I remain Joseph. I have been Joseph since the day I was born, and will remain this particular gentleman until the day I breathe my last breath. The poor fool, the poor beautiful fool. For such perpetual beauty, she is but a senseless ignorant twerp.
 The beautiful fool pauses, sucking in a lungful of air. Pretty white porcelain exposed.

“Joseph, do you understand why you must speak with me? Why you have spoken to me all this time?”
 

The woman will not cease her relentless rambling.
I know why I am in this godforsaken place, of course.
But, of course! My actions for the greater good, my actions to save this slovenly world from the likes of the harlots and tarts, the likes of this very woman sitting before me!

The first cut.
           Pallid flesh falling to reveal uncut glittering ruby.
                    Haunted eyes, staring. Staring.
                           The sweetest symphony of that very last breath
                                     Lost to the wind.
                                               The grossly gorgeous scent of decay.
                                                                 The satisfying stench of success.

 

                    “I know what I have done. I accept what I have done, graciously. 
                                 For who would not, pray tell? This courteous act”

 

The look of unease growing more and more pronounced on the fool’s face, but I cannot help but to notice the heaving of her chest, the wetness of the pillowed lips, and the half lidded eyes with which she gazes upon me.
The subconscious desire this poor fool feels towards me is laughable. The poor woman is no more desirable than a dead cat. But, true! Who am I to turn down such fanciable advancements? So delicate, so fragile, the air trickling through the pastelplush lips. So alive. So - beautifully – irrevocably - alive.
 

                                                                                        “Joseph?”

Silence.


                                                                                         “Joseph..?”
Silence.

 

“Joseph, What do you see when you look in this mirror?”
 

What futile nonsensical activity. To look upon ones face is merely an act of absurd vanity. I do not wish to look upon my face. I would rather look upon the beautiful planes of the fool’s body. The gentle, tantalizing pointed features upon which I take most pleasure to look upon. She is but a--

Mirror.
Piece of icy, frosted glass.
Reflection.
Able to see who I am; what I am.
Who am I?

Well.

Mirror.
Reflective surface upon which I can see my face.
Ordinary, nothing exceptional. Aesthetically boring, if one must ask.

But there! There! The right eye.
The corner of the right iris. Amidst the glowing blue coals.
Blinkblinkblink- -

It does not go.
It will not go.
 

Inhale.
Us.
     We married the knife and the neck.
             We joined the pain and the pleasure in a holy matrimony of upmost destruction.

                         Exhale.
                                   We slit the throat.
                                                 The broken smile.


“Joseph, what do you see?”

Silence.


I am me.
We are one.

 

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...