Perfect Lies

Warning: This story contains brief periods of disturbing and suggestive language. Read at your discretion.

His hair...It's so silky and smooth.

I want to touch it...to caress it

His eyes...They pop like fireworks, so vibrant, so attractive.

They whisper, "You can try, but you'll never be as beautiful as me"

His elegant walk...his posture...his frame…

It's all perfect.

He's perfect.

No one will ever be as perfect as Naru Shisuto. No one.

I keep his pictures in my room. Maybe too many. I've had all of them signed. Everyone is probably...no....definitely jealous of my collection!

His face. His lovely, perfect face. It gazes down at me every day, brilliant and shining. Like the sun. They say you shouldn't stare at the sun, but if his face was the sun, I think I could stare at it for hours. I doubt my eyes would burn; if they did, only from his radiance.

I've been to every single one of his concerts. I've rewatched them hundreds...maybe thousands of times. I know all his moves. The cute walk he always does before reaching the center of the stage. His footfalls are so soft like he's walking on a cloud. Each step is more refined, and more graceful than the last. It makes my heart flutter.

When he dances, he always...always starts with his signature pose; he leans his upper body exactly 20 degrees to the right and folds his right arm behind his back. He keeps both legs together, still and unmoving on the ground, before sticking his left arm to display a peace sign! Then finally...he closes his right eye and smiles! The perfect, adorable smile that's been on the cover of so many magazines, articles, and TV Shows! He must rehearse it daily...yes. He does rehearse it daily. That's why it's so perfect. It's perfect every single time. No mistakes. Never.

You know, at first, he didn't want to be an idol. He wanted to be a cafe owner, but God thought he was too perfect to handle such a boring and meaningless occupation. What if he got his beautiful hands scalded? What if he had been assaulted by a dirty, ugly customer, who was envious of his flawless looks? All those ideal features would be blemished; I don't think I would want to live in a world where that had happened, would you?

Naru was finally persuaded into becoming an idol, and he generously blessed the world with his appearance, even though the hideous, ignorant world did not deserve his perfection.

I remember the first time he was up on stage. His performance was breathtaking; his appearance, his voice, and every single distinguishing movement emanating off of his lovely features seemed to captivate, to entrance the audience. They loved him, truly loved him. The ignorant and screaming fools gave all their dedication and perhaps their lives to this perfect manifestation of allure and charm. Even though he never loved them back. Did they realize, that behind this facade of smiles and lies, was a man who would rather die than come within an inch of their unworthy fingers? No. It was all an act; a convincing act, it is true, but it still succeeded in entrancing their pathetic, simple minds and brightening their plain, worthless existences.

That is not to say that Naru is not someone that deserves this recognition, of course, he deserves it! They all should be grateful; grateful that he generously bestowed the gift of his beauty upon them, grateful that he even so much as stared in their direction, the pitiful insects that they are. The very least they could have done to pay for this kindness was to grovel on their knees and offer their meaningless livelihoods to him. Naru was kind, too soft to accept the fact that this would never happen. He was very kind and sympathetic, to have granted mankind amnesty from this unforgivable sin. But was this the only sin they had the nerve to commit against him and his perfection? His perfection…what else is perfect about him, you might ask, even though his stunning reflection ought to be enough?

Naru is probably the most intelligent individual to ever have existed on this mundane planet. Simply comparing him to a regular “genius” would be like comparing a normal human to an ape. Then again, all humans are united in the fact that they are apes compared to him…yes. To continue, Naru has an incredibly, incredibly high IQ, at least 400 points higher than the average human being. He has the insight to perfectly memorize all his sequences, perfectly memorize them to the point where if two separate concert videos of his same dance sequence were placed side-by-side, there would be virtually no difference. He could also manage the hellish schedule drafted for him by his witless colleagues and managers, who had no eye for his prodigal skill. However, whenever Naru tried to discuss this issue with them, he was met with cold and flippant remarks…I imagine how much he would love to torment them if given the chance, to slit their skin off slowly, piece by piece, so they can feel how he felt each time he was insulted by their shameless and arrogant words. 

How much he would love to deliberately rip off each of their filthy tongues in turn, so that he wouldn’t ever have to hear such words again.

I’m not insane…No…no. They’re the ones that should be locked away, the ones that should be subject to this injustice, this pain, this maddening anger that envelops me constantly at their treatment of the one gracious enough to share his purity with humanity.

I wish they would all die.  

Aside from these mishaps, Naru’s career continued to move along smoothly. His fame grew and grew, almost as much as my consistent love for everything he personifies. He was outdoing himself with each concert, becoming more and more hopelessly brilliant, reaching new heights with his performances and subsequently a higher form of stardom. Nobody was his equal; he was alone in the fact that he was perfect, and isolated from the world as a result. Each day drew a tone of monotony, as it would have for any being as flawless as Naru. The same schedule, the same boring little dance, the same sounds and cheers and songs that now sounded like meaningless noise. Even the smile, the same intact, beautiful smile that had at one point been his reason for living, seemed to feel more underwhelming each time it was performed.

It was enough to drive any person insane.

He persevered, however. For the sake of the world, perhaps for the sake of himself, he strived to be even more faultless, even more superb. I remember reading the March 2015 issue of “Classy,” a famous Idol magazine originating from Japan; the headline? “The Shisuto Craze: How Perfect Can He Get?” That’s a good question, isn’t it? 2015 was the golden era for Shisuto in terms of publicity, in terms of stardom, in terms of magnificence. He was performing at incredibly high-class locations, attending late-night interviews with huge celebrities, and even finding time to write a few original songs to publish in his upcoming album. Everyone believed that within the next three years, he would be able to peacefully retire and live out the rest of his life in complete luxury. I could tell that wasn’t about to happen.

You see, I am confident when I say almost completely understand Naru’s psychology. This means I am also confident when I say that he was bored out of his mind. For someone that had dedicated his entire life to his continuous improvement, the realization that he had reached the height of his potential was one that he refused to believe. Retiring? That was unthinkable, impossible, a ludicrous idea. How could he give up when he had come this far when he alone had come the closest that humanity had ever been to utter and complete perfection? This was merely the beginning; he continued to add to his vast array of talents and continued to steadily grow his publicity by increasing the flair of his performances and concerts. It seemed that there would be no end, but he probably didn’t care. He was obsessed; he had a wonderful and unbreakable obsession with the thrill of fame. The simple and humble dream of becoming a cafe owner was a part that had belonged to Shisuto, and a part that had died the moment he entered his dangerous pursuit of refined flawlessness.

But sadly, with each great success must come a fall. 

It was indeed a pursuit. It was dangerous, unsteady, and destined to fail. With his life now in the hands of the incompetent, idiotic society constructed by humanity, what other outcome was there? Naru Shisuto should just have relied on himself and his perfection; anyone else was far too inferior to be of any help and far too greedy to ever be trusted with something as precious as his future. No, he had only himself to rely on, only himself to believe in. What is a universal truth in the cutthroat industry of entertainment is if you reveal your true self to the world, you will be punished. You must shield yourself with lies, and behind a brilliant smile, you must keep yourself and your true intentions hidden. And that was the rule Naru followed until that fateful day in July when it all went to pieces.

Perfection is so fleeting and so very fragile.

“A Lovely Evening” was a late-night talk show not known for its kindness towards celebrities. The singular goal behind its pathetic existence seemed to be to test the tolerance of every single interviewee that came to sit on that deathly red couch that perpetually rested in front of the rolling cameras. The host, Yamato Kosei, was known throughout Japan for his sharp tongue and shrewd persona; he was without doubt an expert at provocation. He especially excelled at breaking people at the height of their careers, and Naru was no exception. Coming straight out of an unprecedented upset at the Japan Record Awards, Naru was as popular as ever and had proved that he was not just a pretty face, but a talented young prodigy who would be able to rock the entirety of Japan’s entertainment industry. And so Kosei decided to rise to the challenge.

The Interview will forever be ingrained in my memory; it always reveals itself on restless nights of sleep and will linger until I take my last breath. It is often referred to as Kosei’s 9th Symphony. The beginning was quite standard, with the usual exchange of greetings and introductory questions. Kosei offered up a toast to Naru’s success. Naru smiled. Always the same, perfect smile. Everything was fine. It was going along too smoothly for halfway through the show. And so Kosei decided to turn the interview onto its head.

“Speaking of mirrors, is it true that you stare at your reflection for two hours each day before breakfast? That’s quite an interesting talent to have, Mr. Shisuto.” 

Laughter from the audience.

“Ah, well, it’s important for me to maintain my complexion. I’m sure that no one would prefer for me to perform with a healthy amount of blackheads attached to my left cheek.”

More laughter. It wasn’t even a funny comment.

Kosei’s eyebrows furrowed at this remark.

“If you put this much effort into your face, what about the rest of your body?”

“What? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Is it also true that you couldn’t carry a forty-pound camera off the stage when the operator sprained his ankle after the performance?” 

“Oohs” from the audience.

How about you stop talking before the only thing you can carry is the weight of your meaningless existence?

“I had just finished a five-hour concert. I was quite tired.”

“Hmmm…Are you sure that it was because of that and not because you lack a substantial amount of arm strength? Just saying.”

More “oohs.”

No answer.

“I seem to have touched a nerve. The point I’m trying to make is how everyone can call you perfect when your arms seem to be more underdeveloped than a malnourished seventh-grader.”

Laughter.

Oh, how I would have loved to lock him in a basement for a week and see how his arms would have looked when I opened the door. 

“Shut up.”

“What was that, Mr. Shisuto?”

Would he still be smirking if I had sliced off his lower jaw?

“It was nothing.”

Kosei grinned. “Are you sure it was nothing? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe I heard you murmur the words, “Shut up.” Why don’t you continue so we can hear what else is produced by that so-called silver tongue, Mr. Shisuto? I’m sure the newspapers would love to hear it.”

Laughter. The type of laughter that removes all rational thought from one’s mind and substitutes it with an insatiable desire to maim, to injure. 



To kill.

“Well, Mr. Shisuto? What will it be? Would you prefer we move on to claims that you are the illegitimate son of a corrupt business mogul or assertions by former staff that your penis resembles a half-melted golf ball? What topic should we cover-”

And with the thrust of a fountain pen, Naru Shisuto demonstrated that his arm strength was in fact, considerably greater than that of the average man and that this would forever be the last interview Kosei ever gave.

Even as Kosei’s lifeless body hit the floor beside him, Naru showed no signs of visible anger or remorse. No one had a right to live after they had insulted him. To Naru, it was just his way of exacting justice. 

Unfortunately, the corrupt court of law and the ignorant populace thought otherwise.

During his examination, it was supposedly discovered that Naru was suffering from numerous afflictions cast upon him by humanity.

It was noted that he was prone to fits of violent anger and was extremely aggressive. He also had developed Dissociative Identity Disorder and Narcissistic Personality Disorder from his time on the stage.

It was all lies, all misinformation created to tarnish his perfect image. 

Despite being placed in a remote building in the middle of nowhere by the name of “Hana Hitoshi Psychiatric Ward for the Clinically Insane,” at least he was given a room of his own, littered with posters to remind him constantly of his fallen brilliance. 

It is a room where I can see his hair, still silky and smooth.

It is a room where I can still see his eyes, which still pop like fireworks.

It is a room where I can still observe his elegant walk, his perfect posture, and his perfect frame.

It is a room where I can see his face each day, still gleaming and radiant, still unblemished and undamaged, in the cracked mirror hanging just above the door.