Nothing More

Preface

One usually finds oneself loving attention and praise. It is often hardwired into the human mind to want love and attention.

I'm sick of it.

Adults run to and fro, conversing with one another and discussing the latest gossip on the streets. They appear to be pretty, clad in ball gowns made of the finest of materials and brightest of colors. All for to hope of catching any prospective husband's eyes. Around the ballroom, they play the role of pretty little pets looking for a master they surely do not deserve.

See, while they doll themselves up to look better than one another, it is merely the same as placing a mask over one's face. While they flutter their fans and spin on their heels with fake, sickeningly sweet smiles, their mouths spew disgusting flattery with the intent to kill. They speak in airy tones but the words spoken are far from kind. They listen for anything they can to get one another into trouble.

I'm so sick of it.

The men are no better. The women dare not approach me because I have a maintained reputation for turning them away with a smile nearly akin to their own. But the men, they know no fear. Some possess too much confidence. However, more often than not, the line between confidence and stupidity blurs as they flock to greet the daughter of a very, very influential man.

They too smile and attempt pleasantries to me but are far less discreet in their disapproval of me when it occurs. They often talk for as long as they can in hopes that they will receive the attention they starve for.

But they will never get it.

My mother and father adore me. Everyone pretends to adore me. I hate it. The attention was nice at first. I had been young and was not old enough nor wise enough to see the shark smiles of the women and the nervous fidgets of men when they caught my disapproval. As I grew, I began to notice the little things.

They did not love me as they say they did. They loved me, yes. But they loved me in such a way that it resembles a travelers love for a bridge across the river that would otherwise prevent him from furthering his journey.

I was a gateway to my mother and father. I was many things. But more than anything, I was a mere doorway into the world everyone wanted to relish in.

The human mind had always intrigued me. When one path closes, individuals create a new door and continue on in any way possible, even if they are uninvited to walk that path. They so willingly force their thoughts and ideas onto one another, all for the sake of paving a path of gold. 

The path they dream of making is smooth and shiny, most closely resembling that of a polished diamond. While the notion of perfection seems harmless and good-willed at the time, they do not realize one fact. They fall into this pit of mistakes and pain every time they walk a new path, yet they never learn the most crucial of facts. 

The world is merciless. Nothing in life will be easy. The things that are easy will all be atoned for at some point. It is a law of nature. Everything has an equal and opposite force. They do not realize that with every smooth diamond they lay down for their path, they lay down the plans of their own suffering. 

They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. I believe it.

They smiled at me, talked with me, wiggled their pretty little fingers into any crack they could all in hopes of scaling my wall of distaste for the human race. This went on all night long.

And then, like God to a soul in need, the chime of the great mahogany grandfather clock became my saving grace.