The Figure Up Front

It was those kind of days when something pops up in your mind. Whether it is inspiration or a lost memory. The kettle boiling, the sun's rays hitting the surfaces of my home, the smell of incense and cinnamon. It was August 23 when the newspaper hit the wooden table of my home, igniting a memory. A man's photo in the newspaper. I remembered him, and I despised him, like all men like him.

But, I wanted to do something thoughtful for once for the dead. I was not to be contacted today, so I decided to do something, something good. And so, I sat down on my writing table, full of peoples names and descriptions, and scribbled away...

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The Figure Up Front

It has been weeks on end since I saw the figure. Its stiff hands, its covered face and long thin legs, following me into the depths of the world. I don't know as to why this is happening, and when this will end. Although I try to convince the figure to show himself, it never did. Somehow, even if I'm with other people, it's presence always asserts itself in the crowd of people. Although I try to get away, 'It' was always there; ahead of me.

I can vaguely remember as to when this person (or this mysterious apparition) came to existence. But I know that when it appeared in my normal life, my existential life had turned to the worst, or possibly; to the bottom pit of darkness.

Yet, all around me was still normal. The trees, the people, the houses and birds, it remained intact like it's pause in a scene of a movie. But, the more I look into this image, the more disoriented my vision to come along. The faces of my family and friends start to disorient into hideous contractions in which I could only stop by having myself run away into some place no one can find me. Then, that's the time that the figure would appear. Its stiff but young hands reached out for me, but I never took it.

From then on, no one talked to me, visited me, and, the worst of all, acknowledged my existence to this very world.

What happened to this man? Who always greeted people politely, who helped other friends through tough and thin, smiled at random times, into the man who fell in the depths of despair? I never expected it, and I was so scared and frightened that I tried to reach out, but no one did; except the figure.

I decided to sit by the bench alone, the empty park surrounded by hills and flowers. The aroma of the turpentine arouses my brain to a sort of daze, and the sky a light blue colour. Then, when I got comfy, the bench then felt like another force was seated beside me. There it was, the figure, except it looked ahead and not at me. But, what I realized from it was that, even with its stiff hands, he wore a beige colour suit with working shoes. But I couldn't read its face, for it was like a blank sheet to my eyes. I didn't have the courage to run away like I would, so I sat where I was seated. After a few minutes, the figure spoke.

"A nice day today, isn't it?"

I looked ahead of me towards the hills and flowers and said yes. The figure then reached out to his pockets and took out a piece of candy, the size of one's palm.

"Do you want one?" it asked. I declined politely. The figure put it back inside its pockets and said, "You're a very polite man, I suppose."

I took a peak towards the figure, and found out that it wasn't even chewing the candy but, instead, swallowed it whole. But I made no reaction, I just simply sat where I was.

"Hmm..." it said, "I would've thought you would run away from me."

"Who are you?" I said quite earnestly.

"Me?" It said, "Im am the embodiment of all man's fears."

'The embodiment of all man's fears?' I thought to myself. "What do you mean by that? You are a person, are you not?"

"Me? A person?" it questioned, "Well, I am viewed to be different things by different people. Some view me as a demon while people view me as a certain type of animal. But a human? I suppose you are the first." And it chuckled to himself.

"Why are you here?" I asked, daring to not look at the human figure.

The figure stopped chuckling to himself and, again, reached out to its pocket. It was a telegram.

I don't know what it said, for the figure placed the note back in its pockets before I could have the chance.

"You're troubled by something." It said defiantly, "something happened which made you so disturbed that it had made me appear. And I don't appear too often, more or less."

I sat idle, quiet as a church mouse. Where is he getting at? But sweat trickled my forehead, and my breath was captured from surprise. What does he mean? What is he saying?

"You're running away from something you can't face, even your own family and friends. You're delusional and paranoid, and I will linger on until you face up the courage to live again."

"What do you mean sir?" I yelled suddenly, and the figure stopped talking. "Running away? What do you mean, what is this? Who...?" But it was no use, it was the truth.

I contemplated as to what it said, and spoke, "Do you know what happened to me?"

The figure leaned back and crossed its arms, "No, but you do. You have the answers, and I don't."

The birds started to sing up in the trees far ahead as a gust of wind shook around us. I looked down to the paved ground and clasped my hands.

"I didn't mean to do it to her, I really didn't." I confessed, "I wasn't in  the best mood that evening. It happened so fast and to turbulent that, I wasn't in control of myself."

The figure nodded, "Did it come to your mind as to why you had to take it upon the people that did not do harm to you?"

I shook my head, "No. But I did anyway. "

The figure rose up, and I can sense that it was looking at me, and said calmly, "You cannot face the things you have done, sir. Until then, I will be here ahead of you, an obstacle you cannot pass onto. You are a nice man, but a diabolical fiend. You were kind to them, then you used them and murdered them." It paused.

"You are a superficial man, and that will bring you even closer to insanity. Trying to live your life without a shed of indecency towards those you used. You mask your face with the personality you want, but I know the real you. You murdered them for your own sake you selfish man."

I looked at the figure and gasped in surprise, seeing it without its haze. It was I.

"You are the product of a monster."

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In a busy street, pedestrians come and go to their designated place. I suppose that in life, not everyone is a winner. Still, everyone has a story to share, on the news or from rumors. What happened to the man that I was talking to? Yes, you might as well know.

While I walked the crowded streets of this earth, he appeared in the front papers; what a celebrity, but not the good kind. He was found with stones inside his pockets. Well, safe to say he drowned himself. But, not too far from our rendez-vous place was a long note. It was a suicide note containing all the facts of his heinous crimes. I suppose that it became unbearable to digest the fact that he was a murderer, and he took the cowardly way out for a killer.

Still, he was a man, and a man must take granted from his actions. I looked at the telegram inside my pockets: Meave Heimer murdered his wife and his two children. Dismembered them to pieces. Left it outside of a park prone to coyotes. Set fire to his own home as a reason of death of his family.

Where would I be now? I might as well wait patiently and defiantly, for I am man's worst fear and weapon: The Truth.