Self-Portrait

Word count: 997

                                                            Self- Portrait


At first, the conversations were welcome in his lonely life. It was the small appliances that had opened up to him first. The toaster, his shaver, and one day the blender began chatting happily about the weather. After a while, it seemed odd when something mechanical didn’t speak. He found it unsettling when the vacuum had elected to stay silent, its one bright headlight flicking off and on.

However, when the new, large front-loading washing machine arrived, he became concerned. He tried to be friendly. He didn't simply stuff dirty clothing inside to be washed, he asked and waited for a reply, and the washer had growled at him. He was shocked by its aggression - there was no need for that kind of behavior. A few days later, after he had initiated the wash cycle and hurried from the room, he found the washing machine in the doorway waiting for him an hour later. It was most disturbing. One night it started on its own and he noticed it was 2:22 on his alarm clock. The next morning, the washing machine was sitting in the middle of the kitchen.  He had to walk around it all day, and every time he got too close, it growled at him. At that point, he had considered blowing the whistle on the lot of them. That was before He arrived.

Everyone needs a leader.

After his Mother's death, Ben had collected his Grandfather’s things, piled them in the attic and locked the door. Grandfather's childhood was spent in a strict orphanage in England. He had carried some unfortunate philosophies about children, one of those beliefs was that children should be seen and not heard. Ben was a noisy little boy and one winter’s day, Grandfather locked him out in the cold in his pajamas for hours because he said that Ben was too loud.

Ben got out of bed. There it was again, the banging above his head. He remained at the bottom of the dark attic stairs for hours. It was only because of the supportive words of the flash light that he had found the courage to go upstairs. He realized later that this moment of bravery was a turning point in his life and he had retained a deep affection for the flashlight because of its help in this matter.

He inched his way between the piles of furniture and boxes, his flash light beam bouncing erratically around the room, until it came to rest on a face.  Gray haired and stiff backed, he had the look of someone who was accustomed to being obeyed. There was no hint of friendliness in the face but when his rich, warm voice filled Ben’s mind and introduced himself as Earl, Ben smiled. He carried the portrait downstairs and they conversed long into the night.

The portrait joined Ben where ever he went. Picnics at the lake and lingering over coffee at the local cafe, they had deep discussions about literature and philosophy. After a while, awkward stares from people drove them back to their home and they couldn't think of a good enough reason to leave. Earl taught Ben to play Parcheesi and Backgammon and they ordered in food and bottles of good wine. He used his savings but he didn't mind, his life was here with Earl.

After Earl arrived, the washing machine’s nonsense ended and the vacuum apologized for its rudeness. The lot of them gathered in the living room and played rousing games of charades that lasted long into the night. For the first time, Ben felt loved and respected in his home.

One evening Earl dropped a metaphorical bomb and Ben, who had always felt small and insignificant, found it challenging to believe that his destiny could possibly affect all of mankind.

"Sorry old boy - no one chooses these things", Earl said.

He was the Chosen One and it was time for him to begin his work. From now on, he would be known as Benjamin. Secretly, Benjamin had always felt that he had something special inside of him. Badly bullied at school and horribly mistreated by his Grandfather, Benjamin had heard of many great men who had suffered much worse than he had and who had gone on to do great things.

It was difficult for Benjamin to understand that in order for there to be change, there would need to be death. Unable to grasp this philosophy, he argued with Earl for days on end .

“My dear boy, it’s the chaos before the storm before the end of suffering”,  Earl had said. The deaths would be small compared to the lives that it would save.

“Do this Old Chap, and the rest will be a piece of cake”. Earl said, and he was right. After he blew up the shopping center, the government buildings were simple and the complex even simpler. It was the high school that he found the hardest and he had cried himself to sleep that night.

“I know I was bullied at school”, Benjamin said, becoming testy when Earl reminded him of his high school experiences, “these kids aren’t those bullies”.

For the first time Earl was unpleasant and had called him weak.

In the end, he was weak, and Earl had been forced to retract Benjamin’s title as the Chosen One. Back to simply Ben, he had hung his head in shame. He had packed the explosives and driven to the school, fully intending to execute the plan, but when the four and Five-year-old children had paraded past him, laughing and waving, he had gone back home.

Ben placed the screaming portrait back up in the attic; Earl’s lovely English voice replaced by a verbal monster. He was surprised that he had not noticed earlier the similarity between Earl and his Grandfather’s voices.

Ben had a pretty good idea what was waiting for him downstairs. The appliances were busy plotting in whispers behind closed door, but he wasn't frightened.

The cigarette lighter  certainly presented a good argument why Ben shouldn't, and he truly appreciated his input, but in the end, he  strapped on the explosives and descended the stairs.

The End