The Metamorphoses of a Villain

I’ve resurrected this from the depths of that vortex in my office, while actually searching for a completely different story.  It’s a bit too fitting, and may seem a continuum from my fairytale piece, but I promise it’s not a theme I’m after… though the approaching winter; the shorter, darkening days may be playing havoc on my subconscious.

Little things happen all around us, as oblivious to our woes, hopes, dreams and thoughts as we are to their existence.  A tiny moth the color of dull beige flutters against the screen of an open window in hopes of escaping, like the humidity trapped within the same house where a human is unaware of either.  Dust, seemingly born in mid-air, settles on shelves and nick-knacks, continuing the vicious cycle of never-ending housework no one ever wants to do.  A mother steals precious, quiet moments after tucking her children into bed, only to spend them praying that they’re still young enough to have the pure dreams of the innocent.  They age, as she ages – with every passing tick and tock, while the world goes on around them… unaware of their existence.

This is a contemplation of obscure moments purposely happening in a state of unawareness.  Of how, in our endless pursuit to be smarter, stronger and more advanced, we have provided the perfect habitat for our ignorance to thrive.  Because, we are completely happy with our own intolerances and denials.  What does not affect us directly, is blissfully ignored, somebody else’s problem, or must be a lie… a conspiracy theory, those things covered up.  What we don’t see, can’t hurt us…

Breed a villain, breathe a villain and give it means to grow.

They’re born in the legends. Our parents or grandparents may have read them to us at bedtime.  Used our own naive, limitless imaginations as tools to frighten us into good behavior.  Cinderella was nearly discovered for not following instructions.  Little Red Riding Hood strayed from the path and nearly got eaten.  A Prince is cursed for his vanity, a Shepard boy cried wolf too many times and almost paid for it with his life.

As we grew to teens, the tales lost their glamor.  They were no longer fantastical threads woven around a moral compass… they were fire and brimstone – and they were shouted at us, rather than lovingly read.  The focus of the plot shifted to the very salvation of our souls.  The juvenile villain became red-fleshed demons with horns.  Damnation became a far worse fate than being eaten by a wolf.  Suddenly our sins were manifest on the pages of horror novels.  An evil scientist with a God complex creates a monster that turns against him.  A man’s lust and a woman’s weakness to temptation, becomes a legendary vampire Count.  An upstanding doctor becomes a monster for giving into the darker side of his humanity.  We won’t even talk about what happens to horny teenagers at lake cabins in the woods…

Then, quite abruptly we’re adults.  We’re the ones reading the gullible Snow White to our children in hopes of instilling some of that humble goodness, while we look around and realize that the threat has become a far more tangible and frightening beast… Us.  Men at the heads of armies, bent on conquering all.  Governments selling weapons to the very people they claim as enemies.  Corporations built on greed, human trafficking, drug cartels, poverty and oppression.  We look at our children and no longer fear damnation but pedophiles, black market adoptions, whack-jobs that simply like stealing other people’s kids.  The only bad guys of print now are the robbers and rapists, dealers and mobsters gracing the morning newspaper.  Identity thieves and insurance frauds; anyone and everyone bent on gaining from the destruction of other people’s lives – and this crude gestation of the villain is its last.  It will never go away, but follow us to our graves.

So, the mother sits in a quiet, muggy house, unaware that in reading the legends to her own children, she has begun the evolution of a villain anew…