Post by distortedamber on Oct 21, 2022 6:23:47 GMT -5
“You know, aside from the fact there are more Kardashians than I have fists…
Kidding.”
It's an empty stage and a redhead seemingly a little out of place. Until she starts speaking, only then does the room seem to fill with unseen eyes watching, unseen ears pricking up as though waiting for their mention. Pacing footsteps echo softly between syllables.
“We aren’t that close to the bottom of the barrel yet- give me time though and I'll make sure you’ll see every shitty inch.
Seriously though, if I walked out here and started spewing some venom about ‘insert vapid influencer bullshit here’ cause crash dieting and MLM’s are still semi-relevant or go on a massive lazy-eyed rant about the the next publicly-philanthropic backstage narcissist, with enough money for all the plastic surgery and no one brave enough to perform it, trying to organise their next big social media publicity stunt.
I could do all of those things, and maybe I’d even mean it…
… and you’d all rightly call me a liar.
You’d say, Amber - the fuck… You’re supposed to take this seriously, as though there isn’t going to be half a class of clowns looking for the last laugh on their monologue in hopes the Late Night shows get a little desperate. Told you we’d find that bottom of the barrel soon enough.
And you would be 100% correct, I absolutely should be taking this seriously- and I am.
I won’t pretend though that it took me long to choose- from the start there was only ever one option. I’ve got a rogue’s gallery of assholes longer than the line to any women's bathroom at a bottomless brunch. There's enough names that I could have paced back and forth, boring you into old age- enough rivals that sought my head with just enough vehemence that I almost felt bad when I mounted theirs on my wall.
In the end, I guess I chose the only person I was never able to best… my worst enemy… my greatest rival.”
Amber’s pacing stops and silence reigns momentarily.
“Guys, I chose myself.”
A crooked half smile fades into sincerity as the pacing returns.
“Not the one that stands here today though, not the one bearing a resume etched into her skin of success unwarranted and failure undeniable. No, I chose that little redhead girl with a dream bigger than she should have ever been allowed and a determination that should have given her the decency to quit before she went too far…
I chose that little girl at 13… at 15… at 17 …at 24 … at 29 … that girl who just yesterday looked in the mirror and still wondered how she ever got here.
I don’t even really want to fight her in truth- I just want her to understand. I want to take her by the shoulders and shake her till her mouth stops moving and all the things she thought she would be willing to do settle into a fine dust of nothingness at the base of her spine.”
Amber pauses, mimicking the motion with one hand, violently then softly until a hand grasping nothing falls away.
“See, I would fight her though cause she only understands violence- it's the only language that she fluently speaks- not that she knows it yet cause that's the beauty of hindsight, but she will and she’ll grow to speak it with such majesty that it's almost tragic to become so proficient with a weapon that cuts so deep.
I would tell her through gritted teeth that this isn’t the dream she wanted after all, that the path she’d be willing to take without fear of consequence would reap them beyond her understanding- and that she’d accept them in her stride like she deserved it, cause she believed she deserved it.
She didn’t though and I’d tell her that now between balled fists and broken noses.
I’d tell her that being the best was never supposed to be for us, but be damned if we didn’t do it anyways and the way the cost was everything else we had. That gold didn’t make us happy, but it certainly made it easier to pretend- the camera flashes weren’t quite as intimidating with a golden shield on our shoulder but that she’d given up the ability to love anything else for its protective glow.
I’d put my knuckles through that girl's mouth again and again, with a crooked smile, if it meant that I could somehow deter her from the addictive glitters of all that was gold.
She wouldn’t hesitate to slug me back, the stubborn little bitch, we always hit harder when it was out of spite than when there was something actually worth fighting for. I’d take it on the chin, cause she deserves one for free between home truths and hard lines.
Take her down to the ground with a bloodied lip and grind out the persistent fire that smouldered between her ribs- she wouldn’t be told no, after all. Still won’t probably. Wouldn't be told that she wasn’t good enough. Of course, I’d tell her that she was always good enough, not that she would ever believe me, that I’d gleefully obliterate that path I’d so forcefully carved before she ever took a step down because she deserved a modicum of success that wasn’t in spite of herself.”
Scratching her temple, she pauses trying to untangle the words.
“This left never quite felt right, and I’d be damned if I let her make those same mistakes again.
Wily and wiry, she’d clamber free and probably spit some venom at me- that I grew soft, that I fell in love. She’s right though- I’d tell her that we did too many times, that we were told that we were crazy… that we’d be the death of them… that we weren’t able to be loved. Until we found a man who proved us all wrong- and dislocated our shoulder twice in a match, before we’d ever even gone on a date.
She would be wrong though, and my willingness to fight from the beginning should be proof that she wouldn’t accept- I haven’t gotten soft. I got tired. I got hurt. Over and over again.
I’m the end of the twisted rainbow that she’s determined to follow and doesn’t see the lightning scars from a career of chasing storms.
I built this bridge for her, and now I’m going to burn it down in front of her.
She’s young and invincible though, and I’m running on the fumes of good intentions. She won’t ever get the better of me though, cause I’m always going to be willing to go further than she knows she can- that the depths to which she would one day see herself plummet might make any reasonable God reconsider their policies.
Blow after blow, after crushing blow- she’d tell me that I’m wrong cause how else would we be standing here bleeding into each other's scars. That we must have got it right at some point.
Being right is relative though, being good is being subjective. Being last… that's what led us here and I hope to beat enough sense into her precious little heart that she never learns that lesson herself.
Amber leans in, as though telling a secret although her tone doesn’t soften. Almost mocking instead, a satire for only those in attendance.
“See, they don’t make Hallmark cards for losses like ours.
Not the types crying in a shitty motel bathroom, trying to jam a tooth back in cause the dentist doesn’t take payment in handshakes and hotdogs. Not the types bleeding under blinding lights while a crowd roars their approval while you try to count just how many shards of glass are scratching against bone, knowing the number is always going to be more than that.
Not the types telling you that ‘what doesn’t kill you…’ like it's a fucking mantra to live by instead of another easy to get you back out there the next night when you’re seeing three locker room doors where there was only one before.
No, I’d see her dead by my hand before allowing her to commit the same atrocities I have. Perhaps at least then she’d find peace where I had previously only found war.
In a heartbeat, I’d take the girl that I was and drive her into the ground in hopes she doesn’t emerge anything like what i’ve become. Perhaps one day, she might even have a couple cute kids and a white picket fence thanking me for it…
Except she won’t.
She’ll hate me. Not because I’m right… but because she knows it.
After all… she’s just like me.”
Amber sits gently on the edge of the stage, an almost sheepish shrug.
“… and I hate her for it.
So, I guess we’ll end up right back here in the end…
Cause I never listened when I had the chance… and neither will she.”
Kidding.”
It's an empty stage and a redhead seemingly a little out of place. Until she starts speaking, only then does the room seem to fill with unseen eyes watching, unseen ears pricking up as though waiting for their mention. Pacing footsteps echo softly between syllables.
“We aren’t that close to the bottom of the barrel yet- give me time though and I'll make sure you’ll see every shitty inch.
Seriously though, if I walked out here and started spewing some venom about ‘insert vapid influencer bullshit here’ cause crash dieting and MLM’s are still semi-relevant or go on a massive lazy-eyed rant about the the next publicly-philanthropic backstage narcissist, with enough money for all the plastic surgery and no one brave enough to perform it, trying to organise their next big social media publicity stunt.
I could do all of those things, and maybe I’d even mean it…
… and you’d all rightly call me a liar.
You’d say, Amber - the fuck… You’re supposed to take this seriously, as though there isn’t going to be half a class of clowns looking for the last laugh on their monologue in hopes the Late Night shows get a little desperate. Told you we’d find that bottom of the barrel soon enough.
And you would be 100% correct, I absolutely should be taking this seriously- and I am.
I won’t pretend though that it took me long to choose- from the start there was only ever one option. I’ve got a rogue’s gallery of assholes longer than the line to any women's bathroom at a bottomless brunch. There's enough names that I could have paced back and forth, boring you into old age- enough rivals that sought my head with just enough vehemence that I almost felt bad when I mounted theirs on my wall.
In the end, I guess I chose the only person I was never able to best… my worst enemy… my greatest rival.”
Amber’s pacing stops and silence reigns momentarily.
“Guys, I chose myself.”
A crooked half smile fades into sincerity as the pacing returns.
“Not the one that stands here today though, not the one bearing a resume etched into her skin of success unwarranted and failure undeniable. No, I chose that little redhead girl with a dream bigger than she should have ever been allowed and a determination that should have given her the decency to quit before she went too far…
I chose that little girl at 13… at 15… at 17 …at 24 … at 29 … that girl who just yesterday looked in the mirror and still wondered how she ever got here.
I don’t even really want to fight her in truth- I just want her to understand. I want to take her by the shoulders and shake her till her mouth stops moving and all the things she thought she would be willing to do settle into a fine dust of nothingness at the base of her spine.”
Amber pauses, mimicking the motion with one hand, violently then softly until a hand grasping nothing falls away.
“See, I would fight her though cause she only understands violence- it's the only language that she fluently speaks- not that she knows it yet cause that's the beauty of hindsight, but she will and she’ll grow to speak it with such majesty that it's almost tragic to become so proficient with a weapon that cuts so deep.
I would tell her through gritted teeth that this isn’t the dream she wanted after all, that the path she’d be willing to take without fear of consequence would reap them beyond her understanding- and that she’d accept them in her stride like she deserved it, cause she believed she deserved it.
She didn’t though and I’d tell her that now between balled fists and broken noses.
I’d tell her that being the best was never supposed to be for us, but be damned if we didn’t do it anyways and the way the cost was everything else we had. That gold didn’t make us happy, but it certainly made it easier to pretend- the camera flashes weren’t quite as intimidating with a golden shield on our shoulder but that she’d given up the ability to love anything else for its protective glow.
I’d put my knuckles through that girl's mouth again and again, with a crooked smile, if it meant that I could somehow deter her from the addictive glitters of all that was gold.
She wouldn’t hesitate to slug me back, the stubborn little bitch, we always hit harder when it was out of spite than when there was something actually worth fighting for. I’d take it on the chin, cause she deserves one for free between home truths and hard lines.
Take her down to the ground with a bloodied lip and grind out the persistent fire that smouldered between her ribs- she wouldn’t be told no, after all. Still won’t probably. Wouldn't be told that she wasn’t good enough. Of course, I’d tell her that she was always good enough, not that she would ever believe me, that I’d gleefully obliterate that path I’d so forcefully carved before she ever took a step down because she deserved a modicum of success that wasn’t in spite of herself.”
Scratching her temple, she pauses trying to untangle the words.
“This left never quite felt right, and I’d be damned if I let her make those same mistakes again.
Wily and wiry, she’d clamber free and probably spit some venom at me- that I grew soft, that I fell in love. She’s right though- I’d tell her that we did too many times, that we were told that we were crazy… that we’d be the death of them… that we weren’t able to be loved. Until we found a man who proved us all wrong- and dislocated our shoulder twice in a match, before we’d ever even gone on a date.
She would be wrong though, and my willingness to fight from the beginning should be proof that she wouldn’t accept- I haven’t gotten soft. I got tired. I got hurt. Over and over again.
I’m the end of the twisted rainbow that she’s determined to follow and doesn’t see the lightning scars from a career of chasing storms.
I built this bridge for her, and now I’m going to burn it down in front of her.
She’s young and invincible though, and I’m running on the fumes of good intentions. She won’t ever get the better of me though, cause I’m always going to be willing to go further than she knows she can- that the depths to which she would one day see herself plummet might make any reasonable God reconsider their policies.
Blow after blow, after crushing blow- she’d tell me that I’m wrong cause how else would we be standing here bleeding into each other's scars. That we must have got it right at some point.
Being right is relative though, being good is being subjective. Being last… that's what led us here and I hope to beat enough sense into her precious little heart that she never learns that lesson herself.
Amber leans in, as though telling a secret although her tone doesn’t soften. Almost mocking instead, a satire for only those in attendance.
“See, they don’t make Hallmark cards for losses like ours.
Not the types crying in a shitty motel bathroom, trying to jam a tooth back in cause the dentist doesn’t take payment in handshakes and hotdogs. Not the types bleeding under blinding lights while a crowd roars their approval while you try to count just how many shards of glass are scratching against bone, knowing the number is always going to be more than that.
Not the types telling you that ‘what doesn’t kill you…’ like it's a fucking mantra to live by instead of another easy to get you back out there the next night when you’re seeing three locker room doors where there was only one before.
No, I’d see her dead by my hand before allowing her to commit the same atrocities I have. Perhaps at least then she’d find peace where I had previously only found war.
In a heartbeat, I’d take the girl that I was and drive her into the ground in hopes she doesn’t emerge anything like what i’ve become. Perhaps one day, she might even have a couple cute kids and a white picket fence thanking me for it…
Except she won’t.
She’ll hate me. Not because I’m right… but because she knows it.
After all… she’s just like me.”
Amber sits gently on the edge of the stage, an almost sheepish shrug.
“… and I hate her for it.
So, I guess we’ll end up right back here in the end…
Cause I never listened when I had the chance… and neither will she.”