That Man

We all know that man. That man we all hate. He who casts a shadow so overwhelmingly large that any hope of escape is dashed by the acceptance of the fact that you may never see the light again. I despise that man. It is that man that is constantly one step ahead. The same man with the crooked smile that has convinced everyone else. But not me.

I know the truth about that man. He lies at the bottom of foxholes, waiting. He thrives on that moment to pounce. Ready to one-up any effort ever conceived to once again bask in stolen light that he does not rightfully belong to. That man is a virus. A cancer of sorts. It is that man that prevents your own individuality by incessantly becoming the standard by which you are compared and critiqued. That man knows. No naïve thought crosses his mind even for a mere moment. He is the exception to oblivion. He figures out the recipe of the antidote to human flaws. His ignorant perfection frustrates me. Only an act of God, the one force that may overcome him would be enough to erase him. That man haunts me.

I see him every night. In my home. He is expectant of the mortal columns that support the monument of his ego. Any break in the supports is unacceptable. That man will not fall. He is the leech that feeds from surrounding souls to perfect his complexion. That man has gone too far. He walks with the unwavering swagger and out-puffed chest that refuses to retract or cave in. That man has been handed many blessings. I want him to count them.

I want him to feel the sacrifices tributed for his well-being in the form of curved metal. He rises to great heights in order to look down upon those of us that will never measure up. That man must fall.

He has been following me all my life. He not only steps on my toes but proceeds to excessively mash them to an unsavory paste. He is the dark looming creature that snares my hopes in bear traps. Poking them with pointed sticks to evoke sorrowful cries from their woes. Taunting, antagonizing, torturing the helpless emotions that beg aimlessly in the agony for release. Moaning and chomping at the chains and yanking restraints just to flee to a dark corner of the mind to find solace in. Enough. I killed that man.

There were hundreds at his funeral. Many loved that man. I could muster only a handful of crocodile tears at his casket. At least I tried. I looked down on him. My mother and father shed an overabundance of tears for that man. I could not emulate their sentiments. I have no remorse for that man.

Many wept for that man. We stood over the grave for what could only have been multiple eternities. It was a warm day. Partially cloudy. The birds were chirping. I yearned to join in on their song. A hand on my shoulder moved to establish a mission for comfort. I remembered that man. That man was my brother. Now that man is me.