Summary: What he was waiting for was a goddess...

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Title: Perfection

Author: Hana Rui

Note: written for musemuggers Prompt # 100: Photo 1

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It was never too late for anything. Yeah, right. If it hadn’t been for that age-old adage he had so faithfully latched his finicky claws on to, he wouldn’t be in this wretched situation in the first place.

It was true how time could wizen a mind that was once too resilient to look at the reality of the world around. But his lessons came in such ironic proportions that he ended up feeling dumber in knowing more than how he was when he was younger and knew nothing.

For old age did not only wrinkle the skin, but one’s overall outlook as well.

He would never have admitted it then, but now that he dared looking back at how his life had been, he readily acknowledged the fact that he alone was at fault. He had actually begun making that journey downhill before he could even reach the top because he had been such a fastidious asshole all his life.

It all began when he became a degreed professional and grew a brain large enough to contain such an imposing word as “perfection.” He had always made that the standard of his choices, and even surpassed a monk in following his restricted preferences through to the minutest dot.

And it was mostly the women who suffered rejection from his highbrow taste. He would ban a woman from his vantage point easier than he would even put effort into knowing her. A woman was never good enough if she as much as had a mole on her nose, or any other marks on her face that shouldn’t have been there in the first place.

He could never bear being with a woman who had a terrible accent, or eyes the dull color of the ground. A spot of make-up dabbed at a wrong angle bothered him so that he never did give second thoughts about bailing out on the sweetest or the prettiest date.

If a woman couldn’t even put much care on applying her own make-up, how much more of a clod could he expect her to be in other areas of life?

Yes, he had such sharp eyes for the littlest faults, always plotting them out on a bigger scale. And he got too busy making mountains out of an awkwardly-placed birthmark that he never did see beauty in the simplest sense.

Beauty had always been synonymous to perfection where he was concerned. And a flaw as diminutive as having a snaggle-tooth could deftly stifle any woman’s chances of swaying his affections in anyway.

No one had never really been good enough for him. And the ones he initially thought were all ended up being a much bigger disappointment for, of course, the littlest of faults.

For what he was waiting for was a goddess. And during those times, he found it easy enough to pointedly ignore all the desperate angels falling and fawning upon his feet.

It is never too late for anything, he would always tell himself.

Now as he lay dying in his deathbed, alone, cold and uncomforted, he found himself resenting the very thought of that.

For not even the angel of death would want him now.

end

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