Once upon a time an unspeakably beautiful woman came up to me at a party.
“What is it you fear most?” she asked.
Oddly enough I had never thought of it before. There were things I avoided but not necessarily out of fear. The usual answers of death or pain weren’t fully honest either. Curious, I cleared my head and followed the traces of anxiety that ran down into the darkness.
“Anger. Of all things I fear anger the most.”
I grew up on the whim of others. It is a herd instinct to weed out the sick and the weak, and by the basic social standard, that was I. Omegas get what the alphas leave behind, and any omega that tries to jump ahead in line is severely punished for that transgression. Omegas know this. They just know. If you wanted to survive and you could not be an alpha, then you must remain in their good graces at all costs. And if you failed…
Years passed and I left that tepid little pool of a high school. I could assume an alpha role for myself out here in college, at work, in any new group. But my omega status was so deeply ingrained that I didn’t.
I couldn’t risk being punished if I was to survive.
I couldn’t risk their anger if I was to survive. I’d roll on my back to appease. Any respect I could have had I gave away for the endearment of those I felt could guarantee my safety.
I wasted away looking for shadows to stand in.
Then, one night, an unspeakably beautiful woman came up to me at a party and pointed to my crumbling frame. Slowly the spool unwound. I put this poor woman through hell in the years to come, a malformed blob seeking support. Growing bone and muscle takes so very long and I didn’t know what was happening.
But I was changing. Each horror I endured from that moment on was one step away from my parasitic existence. And it hurt. Every fight hurt. Floating World 08′ hurt. Losing my fantasy RPG online hurt. The entire ridiculous ride that was Tilda hurt when it ended. The odd fallout afterward hurt.
Then, this. I have faced down a rage I have not seen in all my life from one so close to my heart. As the fire came down I cowered, then stopped. I raised my hand against it. No longer a cry for mercy, not out of hope that I might survive, but out of pure rejection.
I reject you that see me as weak. I reject your assumption that I am sub-human based on your social standard. I reject any lack of respect you feel due to me. But most of all,
I reject it from myself.