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The Bottom Feeder

In the common light of day, she was just another face in the crowd. A busy woman. When she walked, she threw her feet out, like a duck and her eyes were searching for that which she would distinguish as less than herself. Pitiful, angled eyes and the outer corners were turned upward.

Her plight as a girl had been a sad one and she had searched for meaning in magazines and she stood on the periphery watching the more fortunate and pretended that they were concerned of her existance. She chose colors of their clothing, and she used their language.

Her name was Envy and she grew to be an empty shell, within which echoes of other lives reverberated. Her brain filled with the recordings of her youth, she lived her fantasy as an adult. But she found no place. Alas, she stood at the periphery, giving lip service to her objects of adulation. The more charmed lives, she'd always watched.

When Envy had raised her children and built a house, she went to the street corners calling out for the less fortunate. And in so doing, she wished to build herself. Perhaps she would be a hero or an object of adulation.

Envy found her victim and soon the tragedy began. Lives were unfolded and looked at and the villain was sought. For there must be a villain in the game of politics which Envy plays. How else to make herself look good?

And what better ploy than a daughter against her mother? For if Envy could play blood against blood, was there a more perfect plot? What could be easier than playing a daughter against her mother?

For this was the day of feminine sacrifice and Envy knew the game well. She'd cut her teeth on the knees of her own mother's sorrow. She had sold out to the good old boy way and she felt confident in her reserve of politics. She cleaned her house well. She worked the cross word puzzle. She hid the pitiful woman that she was and her mouth could not be stopped. Deep and stagnate well that it was.

She spewed the vicious, laying the trap for her victim. But she did not know that her victim's name was Catalyst.

Catalyst understood the plight of the pitiful, even in their moneyed position and she watched the various facets of the schemes of Envy. Catalyst went a long mile with the woman who was so miserable. She listened to her angst, comforted her and cheered her.

But when the day came that the daughter of Catalyst was dressed in the armor of war against her own mother, Envy was hewn down and Catalyst stood over her, looking down into Envy's pitiful eyes.

"Woe be unto you, Envy, for you not only crawled over my fence, you injured my love."

Now Envy hides in the shadows, having been laid bare and she introspects upon her self, that one so neglected, and in need of her attention.

Learn more about this author, G E Barr.
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