My One And Only Hero

There he stood. My One and Only Hero. Tall, statuesque and individual. There was no-one quite like Him. No-one with the same soft, pleasing features and floppy blond hair. No-one else worth stalking.
Every day after school I would follow Him. He would walk his friends to their bus stops and continue on into town by himself. On Mondays He would go to a friends’ house and they would listen to music and play computer games. On Tuesday He did the shopping in Tesco. Wednesdays He would go skateboarding with friends and on Thursdays He went straight home, alone. On Fridays, however, He went to the music shop.
I would stand nearby, hidden in the soft, dark, caress of the shadows and watch for hours as He sat, playing different guitars; Tanglewood, Yamaha, Fender, Gibson, Ibanez. He sat, picking and strumming, worshipping each guitar as I worshipped him. His “darlings.”
This was the way it was, for months and months. I never once became known to Him, He did not have a clue who I was, and that was the way I liked it. I was free to watch Him, intently and peacefully, To watch His life, His beauty; happy.
Until one day, it all changed.
There was a new girl in town. He no longer went skateboarding, or to His friends house. He spent all his time with Her. He would hold Her, stroke her, sing to Her. Soon He began to take Her everywhere. You never saw Him without Her. Wherever He went She would be there with Him. and people would gather round, in awe of her beauty and charm. They loved Her.
I didn’t. I loathed Her. I abhorred her with every tiny molecule of being. My hate her was as pure, unadulterated and true as His love for Her.
Days, weeks, months of torture and hatred passed, and She still did not fall out of favour with Him, all day, every day, everywhere, if He was there, She was there.
One day I saw them go home together. So, just like I had done before She came along, I followed. Through the dirty, mucky, sinister streets of the town I trailed after them, shrouded in the shadows of the setting sun, to His house.
All night I sat and watched, spying on every action, every little thing They did. The more I saw the more the rage, the jealousy, boiled inside me, welling up, a lava of odium ready to erupt, until I could no longer take it.
I snuck into the house early the nest morning. It was dark and I could hardly see a thing, but I managed to navigate my way upstairs and into His bedroom. Even in the blackness I could see Him, and His golden hair, curled up in bed. Alone.
Wait – I could hear Her, humming. I turned. There She stood at the window. I snapped. All the anger, all the envy, the disgust, the jealousy, the abhorrence, burst from within me. I grabbed Her neck, flung Her to the ground. She screamed as I tore at Her, howled as I pounded Her, pummelling and tearing her with all my strength.
He awoke, yelling and screaming. He leapt out of bed, tried to grab me. He yelled that I was insane, what the hell was I doing, was I mad? Stop, stop, STOP!
I didn’t stop. Not even He could hold me back. She screeched and wailed as I kicked and smashed, slamming and ripping and pounding until I collapsed in exhaustion on the floor.
He kneeled down beside me, sobbing as He cradled what was left of Her limp, broken body.
I stared, marvelling at his pain, as He held Her, her, the bane of my life for so long, now gone, now finally obliterated. And He left, heartbroken, My One and Only Hero clutching My One and Only Hate; a beautiful, cherry red Gibson Les Paul.
I never knew you could hate a guitar so much.