Second Life: A Second Chance

O'er the Arcoiris (III)

Upon waking from a draining nap, I rub my eyes in pure exhaustion. My eyes hurt so much from the nap I doubt I slept any shorter than four hours. I shift my body up and sit myself at the center of the straw filled under bed I woke up from. Having shifted my position on the bed from the center to the upper right corner, I stand up and take two steps forward toward the mirror that hangs at the wall. I stare straight at my reflection held within the mirror's surface. I am pretty lucky to even be looking at this mirror given that I, Kevin, the son of a head Nehlot, just above an agri-worker Nehlot, should not even own one. Only a policing Kurakaine family unit is allowed to have such nice things like a mirror. Yes, I may be the oddball in all this as I am the only Kurakain son of a Nehlot, but I am just as unfortunate as the rest of the Nehlots. I am not entitled to much, less even so to a mirror yet I have one, the only exception to my family unit. Everymale works hard to get where they are and mirrors are such a cost to obtain due to the continuing silver shortage, making it impossible to even get one, but thankfully I own one, all in thanks to my Fathe's position in the fields. Then again, looking at this from a different angle, policing Kurakaianes are lucky to own one as much as I or my Fathe. Even if silver were not in short supply, I highly doubt they would ever give mirrors to a lower class male lower than my Fathe or an Kovashyan. Mirrors come across as dangerous in town and as much as they are reflective, only the policing Kurakaine family units in town along with high ranking officials or owners of every social group, are allowed to be entrusted with such a gift.

Now realizing I have been staring at this mirror for quite some time, a thought enters my mind. Mirrors, come to think of it, are actually very beautiful when compared to most objects one encounters in life. The mirror makes you see what you cannot see, a luxury not many have here, even with a mirror. The mirror is a doorway to a whole other world, one's inner world to be more precise. I adore the fact that not only am I a proud owner of a mirror, but I get to look at this mirror of mine every morning and allow myself to self-reflect. My Fathe even still has his when he was given two at his ascension to top status in the farms. My Fathe is not very bright come to think of it, which would have me assume he broke or at least sold his some time ago, but he did not. It still stands on his side of the room, in well shape I must admit. Come to think of it, the mirror is also kind of a turn on. I am a male attracted to other males and I see myself, a male, naked every morning, naturally arousing me. Well, either that or I am mentally ill. Either way, I love seeing myself nude and cannot help but admire the way I look in the mirror every day.

Now depressed by the realization of the state of mind I choose to ignore, I observe myself from the mirror's reflective surface, noticing the usual of my weary appearance. I first see the pale white skin that decorates my outer being, the short dark brown hair that covers my scalp, the calm colored blue eyes I call mine, the brown spotted hair that lines my facial structure from the cheeks to my upper lip, and something else, one that usually does not make its presence known unless I am bound to suffer. The presence that manifests itself within me, the hidden weak and dark soul that I call I, one that has been exposed from hiding now since the incident, harming my mind's mental state the more days pass by I. I whisper to myself slowly before painfully releasing a forced back tear. 

"Is this really the way I should look like? Is it true that I am unloved because of the disgusting look and behavior that plagues my personality?" 

My heart is full of repent and pure sorrow. I am torn between guilt, betrayal, and utter depression. 

I stop thinking and move away from the mirror, lazily heading toward the side of the thin room where the room divider stands open between my absent Fathe's half room and mine, pulling it toward me before closing it shut with one gesture. Now hidden from foreign view, I begin changing into my clothes. Thankful for Ai'nala's grace, I have this divider to shield myself from another's view, allowing myself to change in peace. My idiot Fathe, when around, loves degrade my self-esteem for his amusement, especially when I change into different or rather, the same clothes. His annoying banter toward my body now no longer hurts me as it has grown to feel numb to me, merely acting as a prick I am able to ignore every now and then. Even if I ignore his stupid words, the way he acts, even when the divider is on to shield me from his eyes, continues to bother me. Luckily, he and I now have different sleep patterns as of last week, allowing me the chance to avoid his stupid talking for good.

I fold back the divider by pushing it open after changing and head straight toward the cubicle door a few feet away from the divider. As I reach the door, I notice the Pict that hangs from the wall before the cubicle exit. I look at the same image contained inside and observe it with nothing but pity. The Pict hanging on the wall depicts a younger version of I, Frank and Fathe all sitting next to each other, smiling genuinely for once in our miserable lives. I pay attention to the blue haired brown eyed boy seated in between a younger I and Fathe on the Pict's front cover. Ah Frank, my Fathe never once frowned while he was around. He was his main source of joy beside his once casual obsession of Dresnaxice, the name of the drug that killed Frank. As noticed from the mention of Frank's death, the happy image before me did not last long following that Pict capture. Shortly after the image was taken, little Frank had overdosed on Fathe's supply, accidentally ingesting an entire quantity of the bottle. Even though we were both told to never touch it, Frank was always a curious boy and did so anyway. Sadly, him being too curious is what cost him his life. Since Frank's burial, my Fathe has never been the same. He has become extremely distant over the past few years and insulting me whenever I am left alone with him. He cannot stand knowing he is the cause for Frank's overdose so he blames me for it, very disappointing, especially when coming from a male who used to have so much pride. I would have expected him to own up to his fault by now but he has still not owned up, what a pity.

I turn back from the door, having decided I will head to the makeshift table a few feet away from the door rather than to exit out the cubicle. Arriving at the makeshift table composed of chairs and a cloth on top, I skim through the food placed on top of a brown basket at the center of it all, staring closely at an item that immediately caught my attention the minute I was near the table. I am not hungry enough to grab and consume the carrot on top of the basket but I reach for it anyway. I remember what Frank would always tell me during times of empty hunger: "eat food even if you think you are not hungry, all food is good for you Kev." I should have paid more attention to him at the times I was anorexic for a while while he was still here. I do miss him a lot, especially today, given that it is a few days past the annual anniversary of his death. It's been five years since and I know, I should not be fixating on his death right now but reminding myself of him brings the lost sense of community he once brought with him, something I did not see as important to cherish until I truly lost it. Even though he was annoying at times, his sweet little smile and innocent six year old voice made everything feel so much more lasting and special you know? Following his passing, I found myself with no one to truly depend on, not Willy, not my Fathe, and not Caemanor would bother to help me during my time of grief. Recalling my younger youth, I remember having to choose from only two options in relation to friends, either hang out with careless Willy who I was in love with or spend a lot of time with friendly Frank who would often cheer me up. Either way, they are both gone. The saddest irony to come from all this suffering is that Willy was murdered right on the anniversary of little Frank's death. Looking back to my actions of now, my nose has become bothered by the recently noticed stench of filth that has been emitting itself from my clothes for days. I should really wash my clothes. I continue walking amidst the stench, ignoring it as I pass by a blue cabbage stand, far away from the cubicle homes and inside the square, heading for the interview. I have been walking for three miles now from the Nehlot housing units to the center of the valley. Approaching closer and closer to the federal building now ahead of me, I glance upwards at the sky. How convenient it is that such a bright and sunny day happens to occur when I am at my most miserable and now anxious.