Little Monster

“Women age differently than men do. In a man, the left ventricle, the one that pumps red blood into the body, gets larger, thicker as he gets older. In a woman, it shrinks. I am now more than a century old. My heart must be just a few karats at this point. There is room there for very little, so what still fits inside means more to me than ever. It means everything. The last 100 years of my immortal life have been a lie. The illusion of control. In truth, I have controlled nothing. I have surrounded myself with fools and flatterers, put my trust in those who could not be trusted. Enemies without. Enemies within. It is time to construct something new. Something durable. With fortifications of iron, stone and steel. I will not be ruled. I will not be managed. My largess betrays me. Those to whom I have given much repay me only with resentment and ingratitude. Security can be found only by looking into oneself. Others only make a mess of things. A woman can only be pushed so far, and I’m right on the edge. I’m weary. Weary of the world failing me. Weary of the steady drip, drip of disappointment. I won’t be disappointed again.”