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Albert Camus Rip Off Piece #187956
Matthew Grisom O'Hairy | | | | | |
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It was, for all intents and purposes, a predictable
day. I had finished my shopping in the local arcade,
and proceeded to the graveyard to visit my father
(RIP, twenty years). The air was cold and damp, and
the fast-decaying remnants of a snow-fall lay
scattered about. I had laid the flowers and was
sitting in a typical state of half depression, half
meditation, when she first appeared to me. It may have
been the beautiful finality of the crypts and
crucifixes that surrounded me, then again it may have
just been my head - I do not know, and that is
something that seems to have plagued me for most of my
life. A sort of automatically hazy indecision in the
face of something monumental.
She lay alluringly atop a lichen-smothered vault,
such sweet temptation to decadence, covered only by a
black velvet robe, and accompanied by that
distinctive, sickly perfume that warmed the air and
soothed my cold body. Her scanty state of dress
afforded me luxurious looks at her cold, pure- white
skin. I could, perhaps, have used the word snow to
describe her complexion, but snow is so corruptible -
her white seemed like it could never be violated. But
at the same time, I wanted to smash her perfect body
until it was no more than a bloody pulp - I felt
challenged by such beauty, you see, my brain does not
allow for anything to supersede me as first place. It
has taken 30 years, but I finally realise I am a
victim of my culture. I have an insatiable desire for
self prominence, and will stop at nothing to attempt
to satiate this need - my upbringing will not allow
anything else. At the age of 18, I was alarmed at this
desire, I even tried to stem it, to no avail. My peers
own egotism would not allow anything but pure male
egotism in me. At the age of 20, I hoped that
adulthood would cause it to pass, but at the age of 25
I found the force within me to now be innate, and
totally irreversible.
I shook my head and stood up. She stared at me;
beckoned with lithe, slender fingers. I turned away -
to give in to such temptation would be a defeat both
morally and in terms of willpower. I ran and ran until
I reached home, and went to sleep with the light of
midday pouring through my curtains.
I did not see her again for many weeks.
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