True beauty comes from within – he despised this saying, for it was the biggest lie he had ever encountered in life. He was a master of words, weaving and juggling them in ways few could. He helped people, encouraged them, and gave them a view of their own hearts. Yet, no one dared to look into his heart, for what they saw there displeased them. He was the monster, the aberration, the creature to be mocked and driven away, the thing that bore a guilt not of its own making.
He had his ideals, his own perceptions of beauty, and this allowed him to understand others. Beauty is the key to happiness in life. A key that is granted to few but holds the power to open many doors. He liked to look at the pictures of beautiful people, imagining what it would feel like to stand beside them, but when he looked in the mirror – the mirror of his soul, a mirror only he could see – he saw the deformed creature mocking him, laughing at him from within the glass, shattering his dreams on the harsh ground of reality, like a glass thrown in rage against a wall. He was a monster, yet a being capable of longing and dreaming.
Over time, he grew quieter, accepting that he could never walk down the middle of life’s path, that he would never be like the young gods around him. Dandies dressed in the latest fashion, blessed with gorgeous bodies fit for actors. And yet: weaklings with hearts of stone. He admired and despised them in equal measure; they, who would never share their space, who would still shove him even if he stepped aside and had nowhere else to go. Yes, he admired and despised them simultaneously. He watched as they broke hearts, bragged about it, and laughed. But he was the monster among them…
He was an outsider, a freak. He simply had to be – he was different from everyone else. And freaks are feared, monsters avoided, and he was both feared and shunned. Yet he didn’t understand why.
He was so different that even the river rejected him, leaving him gasping and choking for air on its banks. The rocks didn’t crush him. Both inflicted pain, brought suffering and sickness – even the pills he took to end his wretched existence wouldn’t kill him. He was different and yet only wanted to be a normal person. A freak who had to reconcile with being an absurdity. A creature that even death didn’t want…
One day, as he wandered alone through the streets again, some approached him – loud and aggressive, calling it „fun“ – their loudest one bumped into him as usual while he stepped aside. Still, the loudest reacted with anger and contempt, pushing, kicking, and spitting on him. Something inside him snapped that night. He realized if he remained still, things would unfold as they always did: someone would find him, help him, and he would feel happy – a hand to comfort him, someone to say kind words and provide the illusion of affection, when it was really only human decency. But he didn’t want that anymore. He didn’t want pity anymore – for the price of pity was tears and pain. Something broke inside him that night – a door opened, and behind it lived a real monster, hidden within…
He stood up, grabbed the young man with his hands, and hit him – for the first time, he felt blood on his hands that wasn’t his own. For the first time, he realized the other was as weak and strong as he himself was. Even weaker. He struck again and again, feeling the bones beneath his hands give way, sensing something he had never known before.
A darkness and a hatred that frightened him, but which he was powerless against in this moment. The young man’s friends fled, leaving their friend alone with him. Something older than himself, something that wanted to destroy, had broken free and dictated his actions. Where once poetry and music had filled the space of his despair with light, now there was hatred and destruction. The accumulated rage of years, the unreflective cruelty of others, now filled his heart.
There lay this asshole – one of those types he had thought invincible – now whimpering and pleading for mercy before him. Sobbing, wetting himself, and calling for his mother. Just as he himself had often wept, pleaded for mercy or help, while writhing under the kicks and blows of others.
A body like a Greek god, and inside that body, a whining coward. Someone strong only against the weak and who had never learned to endure pain. He looked down at him, his eyes burning with rage, observing his handiwork, and left the coward sobbing. He fled, fearing pursuit and punishment, and it took a very long time for him to realize that no one would come after him…
Fear filled him because he had discovered something within himself that he had not wanted to see: the ability to hate and destroy. For the first time, he had felt his own power – how effortlessly he could hurl this strong body through the air, how fragile the other’s bones were, how quickly hands could destroy. He was afraid when he realized how easy it was to win. A dark side within him, which he feared, and yet, he became aware that there might be other facets of himself he had not yet known, and he began to seek them out, to explore himself…
At first, he found it difficult to approach others, but it became possible – what he initially mistook for pity gradually turned into the realization that he could inspire people. An absurdity, surely, but perhaps not such a terrible one. He learned that when someone attacked him again, he had control over the destructive power and strength dwelling within him. The rage stayed – as did the sorrow – but not the fear. Over time, the blind fury that overtook him when he was struck gave way to controlled action, and he moved differently – more confidently, more upright, more powerful…
He began to pay more attention to his appearance, dressing according to his own taste and no longer trying to mimic others. He was still an outsider, but that also made him unique, so he allowed himself to design his own clothing, creating outfits according to his ideas and ideals. He continued observing, continued writing down his thoughts, and tried to talk to other people. At first stammering and hesitant, later more and more confidently and assuredly. He stopped seeing others as superhuman and began to view the beautiful people of the world with a mix of admiration and pity, rather than the admiration and contempt of before.
He understood their innate weakness, that they often elevated themselves only by belittling others, and that their eyes were blind to beauty that was not immediately obvious. Those he had once considered friends distanced themselves when they realized he no longer wrote for them, no longer did their work, no longer showered them with gifts. He was no longer willing to let their hearts be corrupted for the pleasure of someone he had never dared to know. His friends left with scorn, contempt, and anger at having to fend for themselves now…
One day, he met a woman – she seduced him, took him into her bed, and he experienced for the first time how beautiful touch could be. How it felt when another person kissed with sensuality and desire, how it felt when warm hands caressed and warmed his cold body. He basked in her warmth and the words she gave him – glorious words that penetrated more than just his body, and he felt something bloom within him that night. Long after the time he first defended himself, he felt that light within him again. The fire in him that forged words into chains, linked the individual rings together, and with their magic could make the hearts of others gleam.
At some point, he realized he was not a monster but someone special, and he looked more closely at the mirror he once thought reflected his true self. He saw that he had been gazing at a distorted image of himself, channeling all the negativity others had inflicted upon him inward, nearly breaking under its weight.
Today, he roams the world, walking his path and meeting others – often those who have also struggled through life – and he tries to offer them a bit of optimism in a world full of monsters. He doesn’t know how far his journey will take him or how long it will last, but whatever he experiences and endures along this path will be his legacy, and he treads this path upright…