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People keep telling me that perfection is unreachable and that what makes us sympathetic are our weaknesses. But being weak means being vulnerable and being vulnerable in a world where the strong kill the weak isn’t a very clever thing to do. This is all just natural selection; a game of life and I’m just playing along with it. And so, I can’t accept weakness and I can not accept the weak, they will only pull me down. Instead, I will continue to strive for perfection.
But perfection isn’t always pretty. And sometimes I need to do disgusting things, so I don’t one day crumble and let myself cry like a weakling. Who is to say a tragical perfection isn’t still perfection?
A razor blade on the tip of my skin. I want to be perfect in a tragically perfect sort of way.
In trance, my hand continued to do the same thing repeatedly. I painted a picture in my head of a machine that could never do anything wrong. But something didn’t feel right. I blinked a few times to get out of my trance.
As I pulled my arm up, I heard a grasshopper outside. Grasshoppers are naïve, they never know when to stop chirping. I also never know when to stop lining up the reds on my arms. At first, I didn’t even notice, the lines seemed perfect one under another, but one was off, it was not how it was supposed to be. It was imperfect. And it was too deep. Way too deep.
I messed up. My arm was in total chaos now. The razor blade fell to the ground, and I grabbed my arm, fanatically rubbing over it as if it could undo what I have just done. It was impossible, of course. But when did that ever stop any dreamer from dreaming?
Everything suddenly seemed too loud. How could this happen? All my work, all of this, just so I wouldn’t cry. The lines that were supposed to help to suppress sorrow. The lines that were supposed to make one feel alive. The lines that were supposed to give redemption and take all the sorrow and anger.
The lines weren’t what they used to be. The perfection of it was ruined and instead no more lines were to be seen as I rubbed more and more of the red all over my arms. This couldn’t be happening. No, no, no.
Deep shame overcame my heart as the tears hindered my vision and only demolished my vision of a perfect world even more. It was a piece of art gone wrong, so instead, I pressed my eyes together. I couldn’t die like this, not in such an imperfect way. Not in such a weak way. I can’t do this to the people who believe in me. I can’t do that to them.
I’m National Socialism, I strive for perfection. I will only allow perfection. I-
“Nazi. What the fuck are you doing?”
Tragical. But not tragical perfection. More like tragical destruction.
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As the other ideology didn’t reply Ancom made qis way over to the Nazi grabbing for his arm. It was an absolute mess. “Why would you do this? Aren’t you always the one to say something like this is weak?” Qi was clearly confused, but that didn’t stop qi from grabbing a tissue from Nazi’s desk and trying to stop the arm from bleeding all over the blue bed.
He was silent for a moment. “Physical wounds aren’t necessarily a weakness; it depends if they hinder you from doing what must be done or not. But what definitely is a weakness is crying in front of your enemy," he gritted out. Ancom stopped soaking the tissue in blood for a moment and looked up, directly looking into Nazi’s tearful eyes. This seemed to make something in the other snap, and he quickly pushed Ancom away from him and onto the ground.
While Ancom tried to confusingly get back up on qis feet again, Nazi stumbled up and angrily wiped over his face with his non-bleeding arm. “Fuck off! What are you even doing in my room?!” “I was going to get you for dinner, and you didn’t respond after I knocked on your door!” Ancom quickly defended and stood up again, tissue still in qis hand.
“Well, I don’t care about dinner, you can get out of my room!”“ “Are you for real right now? You’re going to bleed out! Doesn’t your arm fucking hurt!?” They screamed back and forth and Ancom was certain that Ancap and Tankie must have heard them by now.
It was dead silent in Nazi’s blue room and Ancom could hear Tankie’s sigh, closely followed by some footsteps. Nazi looked a bit like a scared animal that has been pushed into a corner and if it was during any other occasion Ancom would cherish that moment, but now qi really couldn’t. What was even going on? Why was he doing this? And since when?
Luckily Ancom didn’t have to think about it for long because Tankie and Ancap also made it into the room. They seemed as confused as Ancom, but then Tankie took the matters into his own hands, simply grabbing for Nazi’s hand.
There was an awkward silence while the four made their way down the stairs and Ancap didn’t even dare to say anything about Nazi spilling his blood onto the carpet. Tankie walked Nazi into the kitchen as if he was a kid, hands tightly around the other’s hand, forcing him to follow him. The rightist looked down in deep shame as if his mother had caught him during something horrible. He has successfully suppressed his tears, but that didn’t make the bluish figure any less miserable looking. Or maybe that made it especially miserable. To not even allow yourself to cry in such a moment.
The communist heaved Nazi onto the kitchen counter. “I will sew that up, stay where you are.” While Tankie got the sewing kit, Ancom grabbed for the vodka and Ancap just kinda stood in the kitchen, awkwardly, not sure what to say or do. Quite frankly, he has not expected this. He was about to start eating his bread with honey, not in the mood to wait any longer for the other missing ideologies when he suddenly heard the two screaming at the top of their lungs at each other. So of course, he had to follow Tankie and see what that was about.
Finally, the tallest of the four made it into the kitchen again and placed the sewing kit next to Nazi, who didn’t even dare to look up. Ancom quickly followed next to Tankie’s side. “We should clean it first.” He stated and Tankie nodded, getting a small towel where they could soak the alcohol in. Now finally Ancap began to speak up, peeking his head in. “He’s not going to die, is he?” Ancap asked and Tankie chuckled a bit. “No, he’s not going to die.” ”Sadly,” Ancom added, which got him an offended expression from Ancap and a disappointed expression from Tankie. Ancom even saw Nazi’s shoulders slump down in the corner of qis eyes from that statement. Qi swallowed. ”Just a joke. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry.” The anarchist quickly added, grabbing for the alcohol-drained towel.
”But for real Nazi, I don’t understand why you did that.” Qi continued speaking as qi pressed down the towel on the wounded arm. Qi carefully rubbed over it until the blood was at least partly gone, where then Tankie took over the control and poked his needle through the skin to sew the wound shut. Nazi just made his hands into fists and tried to ignore the pain that was going through his arm. He had been ignoring it for a while, but now it was hitting him full force.
“Well, you don’t need to understand because I never wanted you to know anyway. I… ” He swallowed for a moment and Ancom wasn’t sure if it was because his arm hurt too much or because he internally struggled to speak his mind. “I appreciate you helping. Thanks. But can we pretend this never happened after it’s done?”
Tankie was now finished with sewing up the wound and traced a finger over Nazi’s arm. It made the rightist flinch. There wasn’t just one cut gracing his arm, but there were multiple. This one specifically was weirdly angled and a bit too close to the artery for Tankie’s liking. The others were all in perfect order. It almost looked like as if Nazi had held a ruler against his arm to always have the same space between them. They weren’t as deep and the older ones looked like Nazi did take good care of them, as they weren’t infected, but all of them were worrisome, nonetheless.
The cuts weren’t worrisome in a physical way, as they seemed like they could heal easily, but rather worrisome in a mental way. A normal, healthy person doesn’t intentionally grace his arms with scars. He rubbed the towel carefully over Nazi’s arm one more time. “I think we need to talk about this though.” Tankie stated as he finished his work by bandaging the arm. He looked Nazi directly into the eyes, which made the rightist look up and back at him.
“No.” “Yes.” Nazi looked like he was about to cry, but Tankie didn't want to make him cry, so instead he picked him up again and onto the ground. “Alright, we can eat first. We will talk about it later?”
There was silence for a moment until Ancap eventually nodded. “Yeah, sounds good. I’m really hungry!” He stated and then patted Nazi’s back for a second. “And I’m glad you’re here, y’know, can’t miss out on that honey!” He tried to lift the mood and licked his tongue over his lips to indicate that the dinner would be delicious.
Nazi laughed but crossed his arms in a protecting way. “Sure, let me just quickly grab a hoodie.” As quickly as said, he was out of the kitchen. The three ideologies looked at each other for a moment. They decided to stick together after the Centricide, believing they were all very close friends, but apparently not close enough.