TAKE YOUR SILVER SPOON DIG YOUR GRAVE
The Insistor is very busy today. Today she has many mirrors to paint. The Insistor is an organizer and an artist, but most importantly, The Insistor is the boss. She knows it and you know it. Or maybe you don't know it, but that's only because you're an idiot. The Insistor hates idiots. The problem with idiots isn't that they're dumb, it's that they have yet to come around to the obvious: that The Insistor is always right. To help the weasly idiots, The Insistor has pledged her precious time and her considerable intellect to showing the idiots how desperately wrong they are. The Insistor knows she's destined for greatness--in fact, she's rather perturbed with the Universe on this day because she has yet to have greatness bestowed upon her despite the fact that she expected it last Tuesday--and it is because of this greatness that she is doing the charitable thing. Today is the day she paints the mirrors.
In the amazing world we call The World, there are many mirrors and The Insistor is going to paint each one so the idiots can come into the light of enlightenment and see The Insistor for the perfection she is.
She starts first with the mirror hanging on the wall of the train station. The mirror is six feet tall, three feet wide, no frame. It makes the lobby of the train station seem larger than it is. The Insistor pulls her spray paint can out of her snakeskin bag and sprays horizontal rows from top to bottom. When she's done, the mirror is no longer reflective, it is instead a beautiful shade of Boss. Now, all the idiots who look into the mirror will not see themselves, or and extra large lobby, they will see The Insistor, on her throne, looking benevolently down at them. This, The Insistor believes, is right and correct and she is proud of herself for helping humanity.
The second mirror is on the side of an iconic building. People pass by here all day and all night. It is never not crowded in front of this mirror on the side of this iconic building. The idiots pass by her, obviously unaware of her greatness, going about their day as if they matter.
From her snakeskin bag, The Insistor pulls out another can of spray paint. This mirror is a large oval in a white frame with curlicues at the corners. The Insistor sprays horizontal rows across the mirror, from top to bottom. When she's done, the mirror is no longer reflective, it is instead a beautiful shade of Righteous. Now, all the idiots who look into the mirror will not see themselves, they will see The Insistor, surrounded by a white heavenly glow, bluebirds perched on either shoulder, looking down at them. The Insistor pats herself on the back for once again saving humanity from itself.
The third mirror The Insistor comes to is in the town square. It hangs in the center of the square as though somehow attached to invisible chains coming down from the clouds. The Insistor has been looking forward to spray painting this mirror most of all because this is the mirror everyone always looks into and it is also the mirror that is most honest. The Insistor has been fighting a raging, passive-aggressive war with this mirror since she was little and now is the time for change.
The Insistor pulls her spray paint can out of her snakeskin bag and sprays horizontal rows from top to bottom. When she's done, she expects to see it cast a beautiful shade of Talent out on to the square. She watches instead as the spray paint casually slides off the mirror and collects in a pool at her feet. She looks into the mirror--behind her she sees the faces of the idiots in the square, going about their day as if they weren't in the presence of her greatness. The Insistor is frustrated, but undeterred. Until she takes a closer look at her own reflection. What she sees in her face is a desperate need for acknowledgment, a begging desire for unending praise.
Looking back at the idiots in the square, she can see they don't see her and a sharp panic rises from her stomach to her throat. She is The Insistor, for crissakes, who do these idiots think they are?
She pulls another can of spray paint out of her snakeskin bag. She sprays horizontal rows from top to bottom across the mirror hanging in the center of the town square. When she's done, she expects to see it cast a beautiful shade of Intelligence out on to the square. She watches instead as the spray paint casually slides off the mirror and collects in a pool at her feet.
The Insistor is flabbergasted. The Insistor is in full-blown panic mode. None of the idiots swirling around her in the square notice her. All the time and effort she's put into making the world a better place for the idiots and now look at them--oblivious and happy, walking around like they're important. The Insistor is sick to her stomach.
She rummages around in her snakeskin bag for another can of spray paint, but there are no more. This wasn't the plan. This is maddening. This is frightening. She turns to scold the mirror, stupid mirror, and there is nothing in that mirror except her own face. The lines carved out around her eyes and lips. The skin sagging around her jawline. The heavy-lidded eyes, crossed and confused. The worm of red where her lips should be.
Emanating from her reflection, The Insistor smells the rotting fish odor of arrogance and entitlement, the sweaty feet aroma of pompous self-righteousness. Though they are no longer reflected in the mirror, The Insistor can feel the idiots in the square walking around, talking to each other, laughing easily, breathing openly.
Then the mirror smiles, a white broad smile, and from between it's amazingly shiny teeth, a blue tongue darts out, curls around The Insistor, crushes her into a tiny bug-like square. And then she's gone.
As they pass, the humans in the square smile at the mirror with happy gratitude.