grendelandherdevil

the dreary, blood-soaked wool is removed from our eyes now. you with your sweet, angelic smile, you with your intellect, you with those slightly amused brows�it�s all over, isn�t it? you would rather be dead than imperfect. grendel in a cage; i was paraded through your streets as people booed and hissed and shielded their child eyes from me. what sort of monster was the first monster to be ? did she care about the right things? did she love the wrong ones? did she destroy the world as you know it?
it wasn�t my decision. i didn�t ask for you specifically, i had nothing to do with that part. but now, regardless, i�m holding your head, i�m watching blood pour from your nose and mouth, i�m closing your glazed eyes with finger tips, i�m rocking your limp body �and you could�ve left, you could�ve just left instead.
you asked me why i did it. the �why� was all we ever fought about. each and every time, you begged and screamed and cursed but i couldn�t bring myself to tell you. i was just so ashamed...

he waited for my shift to end. i came out smelling like sausage and coffee. he paced back and forth, smoking his dragon, glaring at me. he didn�t say a word. his eyes were locked on my own. i thought perhaps that a mistake had been made. he was just too perfect. he had black hair that spiked like a little boy from a nap. he had deep, red skin that seemed slick and smooth like a balloon and giant black eyes like a baby gorilla. two little horns spiraled from the beginning of his hair line. he looked tired and dirty from his long trip. i stared for a moment, not sure if he was the one. when he said nothing, i started to walk away. he stopped me then and asked, �what the fuck is your name?�
it wasn�t �love� like i'd been told. there wasn�t anything disgustingly sweet about it. it was a grinding, clumsy helicopter that smashed and chopped my insides into pulp. i waited patiently for you to ask, or see, or rather, realize that i wasn�t for you and point it out. i waited for you to grow tired of me and ask for a replacement. so many little horrible things... i would stand at the bathroom mirror, night after night, counting them and praying for a miracle. i was positive you saw every one though you never bothered to mention it. every word you spoke made me feel so alive. they made me so aware of the silence otherwise. i was convinced that a mistake had been made and any day, a drunken stork would show up with the right order. each moment with you became my last.   your magnificent smirk, the way your eyes lit on fire when you spoke, the way you thought of yourself as gross and cruel and ruthless and yet were anything but�it was all too great. i started to regret you were stuck with me. it was such a sickening feeling. i craved it and yet felt it ripping me apart. i started to want to back out not because it wasn�t good enough but, rather, i wasn�t. you were meant for so much more. it was my own hell to know you would be so much better off. i began to pray then for the day you would realize that you could leave.
there wasn�t anything i wouldn�t do for him. i became a vegetarian and learned to cook his favorite Ethiopian foods. i learned to speak latin backwards. i kept our apartment immaculate. he washed his own dishes when we ate. he made me little origami and left it in different spots of our home each day. he left messages on the answering machine describing the weather and advising on proper attire. he filled my tires with air when i wasn�t looking. he bought me cracker jack and coke when i was sad. he never made me do anything.   i would watch him, amazed that such a magnificent creature could exist. but it didn�t start out that way. the first few days, he spent curled in a ball in the corner of our room, sobbing and struggling to cope with the sudden change. he had spent his whole life in a warm, cozy cave. i covered him with a blanket and sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, ready to help if he asked. it was very confusing for us both. i wasn�t sure what to do as this was extremely contrary to what i expected. when he realized i wasn�t going to hurt him and became use to the inevitability of his own fate, he uncurled himself and ask in broken speech for food. i scrambled eggs and made toast. i squeezed oranges and chopped up some bananas. i set it in front of him and played bjork as he ate his food in a fury. after he finished, he pushed the dishes aside and rose to his feet, wobbly like a newborn giraffe. his black shirt was stained, his jeans were dirty, and his boots were covered in soot. i pointed to the bathroom and he nodded. i drew him a bubble bath and turned away as he climbed in. as i started to leave, he called me back and asked me in a soft voice to help him. he had never bathed before.
it was the first time that i touched another person�s body.   after we finished, i turned away again and let him wrap himself in a towel. i led him to the bed , tucked him in and left the room.
when i woke the next day on the couch, he was squatting at my side, studying me. i immediately sat up and struggled to cover my face. he pulled my blanket down and kissed me.
was it the deal or was it me? you�re telling me with your silence, i know it! was it the deal or was it me, god, answer, please! i can�t take it, anything but this. i can�t take it�
you had to know then, you had to. in my sleep, i am powerless to hide it all. my face was open for all the world to see, my immense body sprawled, exposed and repulsive. it was all there and god knows how long you were studying it. you had to know but then again, perhaps you just hadn�t realized you could leave. it was so easy to forget after that. i suppose i believed whatever i wanted to believe. you were so beautiful�anything you thought was wrong in you was right to me. it didn't matter to me why you were there. in the end, that's all that mattered to you.
it was possible you weren�t afraid of me, that you could want me the same way i wanted you. but the question was always there, even if just a slight whisper. the velvet moss on a decomposing tree. the deep magenta of a rotted apple. the dark violet of a bruised eye. it was always there, begging us both for an answer. it was there until i couldn't take it anymore.
ok, alright, now i can whisper it:
my dad told me of a woman so hideous no man would have her. she sold her soul to the devil for a husband. the devil decided to marry her himself. he beat, raped, and forced her to serve his every need. though she could have left at any time, she stayed until the day she died.   she�d rather be the devil�s slave than be alone. that�s what i expected. not this�not you�
you ask me now how i could be so forgiving and oblivious. you ask me how i could live so many years sealed up like a caged animal and still love. you ask me how i really feel about people. how could i love them when they fear me. you ask me what i really think about you. you beg me to tell you that i loathe you, to realize that you repulse me, that you are evil and hateful and greedy and weak. you ask me how i could truly love a devil if he can�t love me back. how could i love a monster that hates and thrives off the demolition of man? how could i be so hypocritical and selfish to love something meant to manipulate those i care about into relinquishing their souls; their only means of hope? you tell me that i actually hate you in this last letter�but nothing could be further from your tortured, loving guilt. you never were any of those things, as hard as you tried. it was a lie that you told yourself. you never knew what it was to suffer and create suffering. you never lived in a godless world. you never understood what it meant to be a machine without purpose. there was always a script for you. you never understood what it meant to thrive in spite of the lies and illusions. you were born with your reason blatant in every cell of your being and there was never any need to question�until you fell for me. and now� you realize the sweet, innocent, naive creature that you always were, still believing that you would rather be dead than to think i was a monster, too.
oh, if only you realized that had you been a monster at all, you would have left instead.