superkitty

My life is a complex collection of pitched battles. I call it, simply, "The War."

It all began in the dark, early hours of a late winter morning as my parents drove, with headlights painted black, to a bomb-ravaged hospital in the Middle East, where they gave birth to a very small, very weak and very angry baby girl.

Barely a few moments old and already outraged - by her own helplessness, by her own weakness, by the indignity of having things happen to her that she could not understand and over which she had no control. It was the first battle of many more to come. Nine months of forced inertia had whetted her appetite for achievement, crystallized her resolve, the thirst for victory having grown more unquenchable by the day. The long, difficult passage through the womb was frightening and painful. Not knowing where she was going or what was happening to her was mortifying and the bitter cold at the end almost unbearable. But she survived, and her very first battle gave way to her very first victory.

By the time I was born, I was already programmed to smash my way through obstacles. Leap over and duck under them, shoot piercing lasers at them, drive flaming cars right down the middle of them. Stand behind me and let me fight and I'll blow you a kiss as I hand you the heavens on a sterling silver platter. But stand in my way and you'll wish you hadn't. Don't underestimate me, don't look down on me, don't ridicule me because I've done it all for you already. If I'm not a glowing golden image of perfection, I'm a worthless festering pile of human garbage. There's no in-between and there never will be.

So you see, at first it may appear as if I wage my battles against the world and all its forces of darkness, but if you step in a little closer you may just be able to hear me muttering desperate war cries under my breath at the demons in my head as they point their slimy fingers and cackle back at me.