Seeing Red: Giles' project

I sit, staring at it. The monster glares back; mockingly silent, almost daring me to do something. I can’t help but think how unfair this is; I mean, I worked hard only to be rejected. This wasn’t the first time, either. Rejection has become synonymous with my name.

It started over three years ago when I tried for the first time to gain acceptance. We met in the lobby of slick New York hotel, and she treated me to dinner so that we could chat, discuss the future. I didn’t know then what the monster truly was, so I brought it along, even showed it to her! She simply smiled politely, flashing those beautiful white teeth, and told me we would not work.

Undaunted, I flew to Seattle and met my next prospect in a coffee shop on the waterfront. I showed him the monster as well, and he seemed intrigued. So we met again, for several weeks we would sit and talk over coffee, and it was going well. Until that fateful day when he didn’t show up. I waited for over an hour, only to receive a phone call. He was polite, but he said this would work for him, or the people he worked for.

Denver was even worse: she led me on for almost a year, even working with me in my attempts to create new masterpieces. Every day we labored, sharing in each other’s lives. But she completely ignored my original creation. She would not accept that part of me, and so I could not accept her. They say rejection is easier when it is mutual, but that’s only another lie we tell ourselves to make it easier.

I tried again and again, each time falling flat on my face. It wasn’t as if it was my fault, it was this thing, this monster. So I sit, glaring. Now I’m going to fix this. I will not be rejected again.

I reach into my desk drawer and remove an ancient weapon. Unsheathed, it has the power to destroy lives or make me into a king. Naked, it sits in my hand; I’ve mastered it’s use over the years. I think I can see the monster change before me, but I no longer hear it’s plea for mercy. With due prejudice I slash! It lies before me, bleeding helplessly on my desk, but not dead, so I slash again, over and over! For hours I sit there, butchering the thing that ruined my life.

I cannot recognize it anymore, not as the work I carried with me all those years. I see it for what it truly is: a beast in literature form! To think that I could naively present this abomination to the public makes me sick, so much so that I nearly wretch. But I have found satisfaction so I will lay myself down to sleep.

And as the sun rises on a new day, I will begin anew. The monster is dead, and from the ashes of the creature, I will bring forth a true work of beauty, something they will have no choice but to accept.