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The glaze of success
The naked slight man in the HARE mask lies motionless, no movement besides a slightly quivering chest. A chest full of pride, buoyed by the joy of success, of winning, of staying in the fight for yet another day. Everything feels possible, easy even.
Th naked slight man with the HARE masks rolls over, lounges with legs dangling akimbo. The feeling is more than a sense of achievement, it is a sign of entitlement rooted in being born of a favourable race, and class, and gender. Born to elderly parents, in particular a mother who had all but given up hope of parenthood and viewed the child as a miracle, regularly. Miraculous drawing. Miraculous singing. Miraculous homework.
The naked slight man with the HARE mask knew it was all a facade, no matter how many times the story was repeated, the qualities of the hero, the messiah, even the accidental heroism of Hazel were far beyond the naked slight man with the HARE mask's skillset.
However, in the postcoital glaze of success the naked slight man with the HARE mask felt invincible with a cock flopping left, then right, then left, then right.
THE TORTOISE AND THE HARE SHALL COMMENCE IN TEN MINURES.
The naked slight man with the HARE masks nods slightly.
Oh the fool, it cannot last.
The HARE and the TORTOISE
HARE ridiculed TORTOISE with her softness...
