He is Gone... Death to the Romantic

He’s Gone

Painfulhead tried the door knob, unlocked. It was now or never he thought. Slowly he turned the knob and pushed on the door. Quietly Painfulhead slid threw the narrow gap, silently closing the door behind him. The room was totally dark. A blind fold of black. Silent and still. As his eyes started to adjust Painfulhead could start to make out items and features of the room. A dresser with clean laundry folded and placed on top but not put away. Small piles of dirty wears lay haphazardly thrown on the floor. Sliding his back along the wall Painfulhead waited for his eyes to fully adjust. A mirror showed its self with a murky image of Painfulhead reflecting back. Now a night stand and bed came in to view. This was a very recognizable room to Painfulhead as he knew that it once belonged to him. After all it was his bed, his night stand, his space. A space that had been invaded by and taken over by someone else. he felt his anger and distain growing.
All the details having become clear now Painfulhead turned his full attention onto his bed. In the bed lay his target rhythmically rising and lowering. The metronymic breathing of someone in deep sleep. After spending months trying to drowned out the voices in his mind Painfulhead now let them speak.
‘look at how comfortable and worm he Is. All the goodness. The compassion and understanding. All content in his feelings of superiority. Better then every body else. Love, the end all emotion, What a lie.”
The voices empowered and confused Painfulhead. Striking hard on the bell of ethical dilemma. He knew what he had to do, seeing this instant as the turning point or high water mark. The perfect ambush. This was action in motion. Absolute truth, no question about out come or what ifs. This was no doubt. It had been in the planning room being revised and gone over time and time again to insure the final out come. Painfulhead’s life would change forever in the next few seconds. His heart raced and his body tensed. The extra blood flowing threw his muscles made him feel like he was swelling.
It was his own fault. Painfulhead had opened the door and let the Romantic back in on purpose. Not just opened the door but moved him in and eventually gave him his bed. There was no one else to blame. For years Painfulhead ignored the Romantic blocking him out of his life and there for denying him existence. In the past the Romantic’s influence had been a detriment to Painfulhead and he knew very well this influence must stop. The Romantic back stabbed him, clouding his goals and road blocking success. The two had always been at odds. With out the Romantic’s influence Painfulhead could act for himself in his own best interest. Putting himself first with selfishness to guide him. Answering only to himself reliant on no one. This was a liberating time filled with new gifts and achievements. Fulfilling himself for himself and by himself. An empowerment of self, allowing him to for go love and connection, in pursuit of self love and self connection. Things that would aid him in his true search for human companionship. Not finding someone to fill the void but filling it first then finding someone. Painfulhead lost this part of himself when ever the romantic showed up. The Romantic had confused Painfulhead and made him act weak. The Romantic gave of Painfulhead until his well ran dry. The Romantic made others feelings more important, plotting and scheming ways to make others feel special. This always ended on a one way street towards loneliness and self loathing where Painfulhead would lose all direction giving in completely to sorrow.
Painfulhead felt the moment approach. Like the lion that has come to the end of the stocking and readies its self to pounce. Envisioning the kill and in its mind walking threw the steeps, unable to stop its body from twitching or muscles from flexing. Again the voices ring out.
‘Better off without him. He weakens and enchants. The unrealistic love sick. What makes him so great? Do what you know you must do.’
At the last second Painfulhead wrestled with the how. Blunt force trauma to the head? Quick and decisive. Or suffocation by pillow? After some thought he decided there was only one way. Skin on skin, hand to hand, face to face. In a explosion of power Painfulhead jumped on the Romantic. What followed was Neanderthal and primitive. A caveman like killing void of societies teachings and moral code. Painfulhead let it all out and held nothing back. The lose, the anger, the rejection. The wanting to but not knowing how. All of the confusion and questions. A sole cleansing that could only come if the Romantic was dead.
Painfulhead left the room leaving behind the lifeless body of the Romantic. As he walked around his house he felt new freedom, new hope, a giant exhale. Pouring a big cup of coffee he felt good and knew things where going to get better.