Masquerade

Masquerade (Prologue)

I sigh as I look in the mirror.

That isn't me.

The stranger staring back at me has a frown on his face. He is skinny, his skin pale and clear. His hips are narrow and his chest is flat. His arms and legs are slim, fragile. He is average height for a boy his age. His facial features are delicate, his cheekbones high, his lips too thin in his eyes, full to others. His eyes dull and free of any emotion.

Everyone gushes about his looks. His parents bring him to parties their high-class "friends" throw, simply to show him off to the other parents. Other adults seem to take an interest in him, as well. Some attempt to hide their sneer while they wish their children could be like him. Others smile and tell his parents things like "you must be so proud of him" and "he's such a perfect boy" or "you are such a perfect family".

None of these things are true. His parents only haul him around to their get-togethers to strike envy in the hearts of the other parents. They are confident that he has no problems in life, which greatly benefitted them. They live through him, you see. They smile and laugh as if they actually appreciate him. But they don't. They keep him around as a trophy, a prize of some sort to show him off as they please. They push him to do more than he is willing to, or able to. They talk to him as if they know him and he is the most important thing in the world to them.

It's sick.

They don't know, nor will they ever care to find out, that he is not happy nor perfect. He loathes his reflection in the mirror. He hates the way everyone idolizes him. He is disgusted by the fact that no one pays any mind to his talented younger brother, Jake. Jake has always wanted to be in the spotlight, like him. Jake deserves it more than he.

That will never be me.

I'll never be perfect. I'll never be what they want me to be.

And I'm okay with that.