Metamorphosis
By JAIA

A/N: One, this is not related to Kafka's short story. He is a master at his craft, and I am a tyro dabbling at the surface of the water.

Two, this random segment of writing is in no way an autobiographical piece. In fact, I've never really experienced what the narrator goes through, and I hardly even agree with her thoughts. This was a practice piece, if you will, and thus has no point to it whatsoever. If I haven't yet frightened you off, do keep reading and let me know what you think at the end. Any and all critique is welcome!

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I sit here crying with my face in my hands and I’m all alone. Usually, you would be here to comfort me, to hold me close, to whisper soothing words of affection to me. Usually, I would feel your warm presence beside me, your strong arms around me, your sweet breath on my cheeks. But not this time. This time, you’ve finally come to your senses and realized how much you’ve wasted on me. This time, you’ve finally seen the harsh reality and escaped it. This time, you’re the one these tears are shed for.

Your absence tears me apart and leaves a gaping hole where my heart once dwelt. Not my heart—I’d lost that to you long before this, the first time we met—but your warmth was always there, mingled with what tender hope I had, to fill me to overflowing. You never made any promises or offered me any sign of “forever.” And really, I never truly believed it could last. I think I knew from the very beginning that you would leave me one day—perhaps tomorrow, and if not, then the day after. But I foolishly clutched at whatever hope was there, unwilling to relinquish the slightest chance that you feel enough for me as to keep me by your side till our deaths.

Oh, how foolish that sounds now! But I’ve always been an idealistic little girl who lives only in her dreams. I knew I was weak, stupid, and silly, and I knew you preferred sophisticated, independent, and clever women, women who could think quickly on their feet, women who had ambitions and were strong-willed enough to strive for them, women who were talented and successful in many areas. Those were the women you spent time with, and you really could have had your pick of them. So imagine my surprise when you came to find me instead and opened up enough to tell me your thoughts, your worries, and your fears. I’d always admired you from a distance. Honestly, I was in awe of you. …I think I still am. And never would I have believed that you’d actually confide in me. Me, the epitome of all that you disliked in a woman. Me, the timid, awkward, and clumsy girl who always lived in someone’s shadow and whose sole goal in life was to please. I wasn’t witty or funny or smart in any way. I cried at the slightest provocation. I wasn’t even pretty. But for a reason still unfathomable to me, you came to me, the one most unworthy of your attention. And you let down your mask for me, allowed me to glimpse who you were inside. And if I had admired you before, when the closest I’d been to you was across a busy street, then I plunged head-over-heels in love with you the day you showed me who you really were. But as for you, I never really could tell what you felt for me. You must have liked me somewhat at least, or else I can’t think why you bore with me all those dark days and long nights. Most of the time, I was crying, and I know you hate crying, so I have no idea why you never just left… Well, I mean, I’ve no idea why you never did so till now…

I struggle to hold myself together now. I make every effort not to cry. But I always have, for you, and I’ve never quite managed it. I’m just weak, I suppose, and there’s no changing that. You left because of that, in the end. You found me crying again, and I tried to stop. I swear to you, I tried so hard to stop! But that only made it so much worse. The sobs lodged in my throat and I choked on them, and even my sniffling intensified. Through my blurring vision, I looked up at you in shame, half-expecting you to wrap me in your arms as you so often do, but you didn’t. You only looked down at me with disgust in your eyes. You’ve never looked at me in disgust. You’ve certainly shown some distaste towards my clumsiness perhaps or my dim wits, but you have never before stared at me with that horrible revulsion in your eyes, twisted in the lines of your face. It froze me in shock and a chilling horror. Because suddenly, I knew my time was up. I knew the Devil had grown tired of the game he played and decided to finally let you see me clearly for who I am. And even though I knew all this, I couldn’t manage to say anything more than your name. In fact, I didn’t mean to say anything at all. Your name just escaped my lips in a strangled plea. That one word triggered you into action and you turned on your heel and swept from the room, leaving me behind in the darkness, dropping me back in the ditch you’d picked me up from but more broken than I’d ever been before.

I suspected this would happen, but like I said, I was content to shove my fears away and go on dreaming. I wasn’t prepared to face the suffering your absence would bring. But I don’t think any preparation beforehand could truly have been enough. It is agony to cry now, knowing my tears will never again be wiped away by your gentle fingers and all my sobs will be returned only with emptiness. Emptiness is a good word. I don’t know how else to describe the gaping darkness in me, the hollowness.

And now, I think I finally understand you more than I ever have. For I feel your disgust. I am as much disgusted with myself as you could ever be. I am a fool and a weakling, an inferior creature who knows only to lurk in the shadows and bemoan her own misery. I know I’ve never deserved you. But only now do I realize just how worthless I am.

Even this knowledge of myself isn’t enough to blunt the pain. It continues to sear through my veins and pound in my head and chest. I wish bitterly that I were different, that nature could have gifted me with a more likable personality, a stronger personality. I wish I could be someone you genuinely liked. I wish so many things now, which only makes me despise myself more.

I’ve stopped crying at last, but I’m still alone. Perhaps it’s my fate to be alone, to wander life in its shadows and never feel the light. I couldn’t begin to know what fate is mine or if I even have a destiny. I wouldn’t be surprised if God forgot me while He was deciding what fate was whose. Probably, He cast one look in my direction and said, “Oh, that one will drown in her own weakness and kill herself.” And then, He forgot about me. There are so many people on earth after all, and I’m probably the one most likely to be forgotten.

But I wonder if God leaves it to us to decide our fates? Do we get a choice in what we want to become? How impossible and ridiculous of a thought! Nature made us the way we are, and we can hardly change that. It’s not as if we had a magic wand to wave that would immediately make our dreams come true. No, I, the Queen of Dreaming, know for sure that dreams never come true. They weren’t meant to. Oh, they might occur for a brief time, but they would be transient and gone before we could enjoy them properly. It’s impossible.

But my foolish mind has taken hold of this ludicrous notion and won’t let go. It will insist on gnawing this bone to its end. Could it be possible that we might really have control over our own lives?

I feel a strange restlessness course through me, numbing the pain at last. I want the answer to my question. No, I correct myself. I want a positive answer to my question. For once in my life, I want to be in control. I desperately need to be in control. Without control, I really am lost and adrift. I would become a puppet with no purpose. If I knew at least that I was not a puppet, I could find myself a purpose and climb out of the ditch I’ve lived in all my life. I could be free.

I suddenly stand and walk to the door, repeating that word in my mind. Free. Free. Free. Free from the sickening, groveling creature I’ve become. Free from the perpetual fear that makes me check and double-check all my words and actions. Free from my life of darkness and tears.

I slowly open the door and squint out into the afternoon sunlight. There are people out there, bustling up and down the streets. Are they free, I wonder? They must be. They have such purposeful strides. They are in control. So that means I can be too.

Before I can step out and join those free people though, I am reminded of a painful thought. I am not like them, after all. I was not meant to be free, to walk the streets of day. I have always lived in darkness and so my destiny lies in no other place.

I feel my forehead wrinkling in frustration. And angrily, before I can stop myself, I storm out the house and right into the center of things. I think I’ve had enough. That must be it. There’s only so long one can live in disgust towards oneself without being driven insane. And so, like the lunatic I must be, I fling myself down the street without a second’s hesitation and the first person who looks my way—an elegant, gray-haired lady whose eyes widen at the sight of my disheveled appearance and maybe the smoke blowing from my ears too—I say “hi” to. Then I stop because I’ve never said “hi” to anyone in my life. Or rather, more accurately, I’ve never been the first to say it.

But this gray-haired lady doesn’t know that of course. Her surprised expression smoothens out into a pleasant smile and small lines crinkle around her eyes, making the electric blue of her irises stand out even more. Her eyes are…captivating. “Hi yourself,” she says to me with a wider smile. “It’s quite refreshing to see someone run from their house in nothing but pajamas. I think I ought to try that sometime.”

I blink at this unusual response and look down at myself. And, as it turns out, I am indeed wearing my bunny pajamas, wrinkled and old as they are. When I look up again and see the humor in her eyes, I feel it well up inside me too. So I let it out and free myself in the same breath. I laugh so hard it seems as if I’ve never laughed in all my life and am making up for it in this belated debut. Peals and peals of mirth roll from my throat and infiltrate the atmosphere, making the day seem brighter still. And the lady is laughing with me.

I know not everyone is this nice. But if I’m lucky enough to meet someone like her by charging out the door on a whim, then maybe I’m lucky enough to be a free person, a person who can take the reins of her life and find her direction at last.

I suspect you always wanted to change me, make me more of someone you could truly like, but I think you recognized your failure, so you left. And it is your departure from me—betrayal, some might say, but I say departure—that finally achieved the effect you wanted. You could never forcefully mold me, but I wonder if you’ll ever know…that you did turn out to be the one who changed me more than I can ever thank you for.

-Fin.

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I'm astonished if you've read to this point, poorly written as it is. :) Thanks for reading!

JAIA.
August 17, 2005