This picture is over ten years old. I looked a lot better then. Before debauchery had its way with my face, I appeared (almost) friendly. A twisted nature always hid inside of me, though. It comes out in photographs, or at least, I think it does.
When I was two years old, I decided to dress as the Wicked Witch for Halloween. I secretly wanted to ice Dorothy at that tender age (not the dog, just her). The Disney Villians? I loved them all! The Disney Princesses? BORING! Villians just have more complicated histories. They’re flawed and authentic, more like me. The general obsession with heroes continues to baffle my mind.
I rooted for Darth Vader throughout Star Wars, wished I could conjure electricity as the Emperor did. That ability was absolutely mind-blowing! I would stare at my middle school teachers, focusing all my negative energy in their direction, hoping a spark would radiate from my eyes. Nothing ever happened. My mother got called down to the school for a special conference. That was about it. I follow Baby Yoda or “The Child” now, hoping he turns dark, knowing he probably won’t.
Of course, this demeanor makes me a veritable cat person. My first owner, the Madame la Poof, Princess of Tilapia, passed away last year. You see, cats own their humans, and anyone who lives with a cat might realize this eventually. They’re fluffy villains, in their own right, and perhaps that’s why I like them so much. Dogs are fine animals too, and honestly, any animal is better than a person.
My favorite writer, Ernest Hemingway, also loved cats. I dream of visiting his home in Key West, mostly for the many wandering feline overlords. Another favorite of mine and another animal lover, Charles Dickens, preserved his dead cat’s paw by converting it into a letter opener. The New York Public Library had it on display. I’m not sure if they still have the taxidermied foot available for public enjoyment, but if not, they really should crank it out for Christmas.
Like I’ve said, a twisted nature always lurked inside of me. I wrote a novel, 90k words of fiction, and every single character is morally ambiguous. It’s titled Wait & Hope, after the final lines in The Count of Monte Cristo. I hope someone publishes it one day, but for now, all my dark and twisty musings belong to the internet. Thanks for letting me inside your head. -Alicia