Nowhere to Hide

Taking a shot in the night.

It stems from a lack of anonymity. Everyone knows your name. Of course that’s what you’ve always dreamed of, so how could you give it up? But now with your world crashing down around you the desire for privacy has grown like a cancer, threatening to take you down with it. You sift through pictures of hundreds of others with the same name as yours. You wish you were just a face. Just a picture. Just a name.

But of course you’re not. Everyone knows who you are. You’re honest, reliable, adored by so many… it makes you sick to think that people hold you so high. Right now you are nothing they thought you to be. Right now you are cynical, bitter and unkind. The darkest of thoughts all race through your mind. It’s almost depressing, stressing you out, messing up all of your best-laid plans. Your purest intentions are smoldering ashes. The night is now day in your upside down life.

So you run from your troubles. It works for a while. You dodge all the hunters with cameras who write to expose all your secrets. The venomous vultures that used to adore you… they wait for you outside of your sanctum, the very last place you can hide. But as you step outside they are waiting. With flashes and fury they start to overtake you. The darkness comes out. Quickly you strike.

And in this harsh mood your cynicism turns true. Your worst fears manifest in a single headline. You see it on your screen and your own newspaper. It gives you such chills, the personification. It just isn’t who you are. This can’t be your life.

But it is your life, and this is your venue. Anonymity might as well be a crime. As they watch you fall they will follow your footsteps giddy and gleeful that you’ve come to die. Once so very proud, once loved by the public. This is a true story and you’re terrified. They feed on your fears, your pain and your sorrow. They know that it will sell. But you don’t know why.

Why must others feed on failure and division? Why must others look for suffering and strife? Why can’t they let someone fight on in silence without all the scrutiny of the public eye?

These questions all haunt you as you lay your head down. You put down the pictures. You shutter the blinds. The stars are out shining although you can’t see them. The air is still warm. You might call it nice. But here you are hiding from your very image, wishing you’d never found out what it’s like.