Defeat creeps into my kitchen. She wants to know what I’m having for late night snacks.
“None of your business” I say quietly and firmly under my breath.
I hate it when Defeat comes at this time.
She lingers around the kitchen and sits herself comfortably on a counter top. I feel her glossy eyes stare at me while I fix myself a sandwich. I look up from time to time and we catch each other’s eyes. I glare intently. Defeat gazes back at me empty. She isn’t one for emoting. If anything Defeat is the personification of utter indifference. If she were a decorating scheme she’d be modern, minimalist, with glass walls and doors. Eerily transparent and lacking any sort of distractible quality. In that way Defeat is at least not very frightening. Her presence is honest and consistent. When she arrives I don’t bother to make a fuss.
“How’s the sandwich?” she asks even though we both know she doesn’t give a rat’s ass about my sandwich. We both know why she is here and it’s certainly not for small talk.
“Sad.” I reply somberly.
“The sandwich or you?” she asks interested.
“Both.” I say as tears swell in my eyes. I feel a lump form in my throat. I feel my chest cave. And I feel Defeat wrap her arms around me tightly. She holds me until I’m done crying and lay down to rest.
“I’ll be back the same time tomorrow.” Defeat says as she turns to leave my room.
I watch her walk away.