Every Man's Fear

A glimpse into the mind of a boy who wishes to compare his masculinity to the rest of the world.

There I was, standing naked with a ruler in my hand measuring the thin strip of paper I had torn not too long ago, making sure to place the beginning as close to the line as possible, stretching it along the length of the ruler as far is it could go. Using a pencil, I mark where paper ends on the ruler and compare it to last week's measurements.

"Four more centimeters, I need four more centimeters."

Standing there naked, staring at the mark on the ruler, I feel a heavy weight fall on my body, trying to drag me to the floor and hold me there. Gravity has increased itself, my body can no longer take the amount of pressure dropped on me and i fall to my knees in depression.

"How can I call myself a man with measurements like these?"

Not knowing what to do, I just sit there, in my room with the blinds closed enough to barely allow the slightest bit of sun to sneak a peek. I hear the children outside playing, the laughter and cheerful voices annoying me, as if they are mocking me, telling me that I am but a mere child. I cross my legs and stare at the wooly carpet, my only source of warm as the chill air from the air conditioner brushes over me, wanting me to cover up.

"It's not that bad right, I'm sure there are others who have it worse than I."

With new hope in my heart, I leap to my laptop and get online to search for an answer that will set me free. Staring hard at the screen, i can almost click the icons with my gaze. My fingers move themselves, puppeteers to the keys, making each dance with a mere touch. The dancing keys are only the frst act of the show, as magic makes letters appear before the crowd, forming into words that make up the question that my heart so desires to have answered. Dance keys dance.

Soon the full question is ready to be sent into the search engine, eager to tease me with more bad news and empty promises of how it can make it all better. I click on the first possible source of redemption, yearning for a way out of the truth that embraces me so tightly, begging for reassurance from those I want to please so much. My head races, my eyes follow, hardly able to keep up with the thoughts that zoom in circles deep inside.

"Where do I stand? How bad is it?"

The answer shocks me, an electrifying blow to my heart, beating faster and faster with the sudden surge of negative energy. I can't believe my eyes, I continue reading every comment, every post, every mere mention of my doomed fate.

"What does this mean? Can a woman ever love me now?"

In a worse position that I started, I close my laptop and slump over my body succumbing to the gravity's wish of making me feel small. The internet made it clear, I am less than average. I look over at the torn strip of paper that is now shriveled up on the floor beside me. I pick it up, stretching it back out as far as it could go.

"Don't worry little buddy, at least we have good personalities."

Author's Note

Hope you enjoy this.

Reviews

[Nusquam Esse]

This is actually quite hilarious! It is funny how something as small as four centimeters could be such a huge deal... The obsession here, and then the searching on the internet, which just further condemns him; great stuff here. It is a common subject among men, but one that few want to address or write about. He should just be grateful that he is 'four centimeters too short' rather than a 'short four centimeters'.

[Thomas H.]

i rally liked your story , you did really good one this. i couldn't response on your comment so i'm here to thanm you for that awesome comment and i also made a second part , please also let me know if it was bad. I'm going to tead more of your work now.

[Shunny Houston]

Thanks man! I'll check that part two out! Thanks for reviewing this one and my other work