Picture a small young man, thin and delicate of frame, standing but five foot three in his high-heeled boots. He has a thin, angular face, browned from long days in the sun, framed by thick, dark curls. He wears a work glove on one hand, a rather ridiculous gesture since it is clear he does no serious work. His clothes and boots are too expensive, and far too clean for a farm worker. He must be management. Angry brown eyes glare out from under dark lashes, and both his hands are curled into tight fists, white knuckled with the force of his rage. This is Curley.

On the surface, he appears to be an arrogant, belligerent brat; he pick's fights, he talks down to the workers; he's loud and annoying and He is, in a word, a jerk.

But underneath the harsh façade, behind those brown eyes, lies someone so lonely, so broken, only a miracle could save him.

You would never know just how broken he is, unless you were him.

So let us, for a short while, dip into his consciousness and see the world through his eyes.

You're a small, fragile looking young boy; dare I say, effeminate? You live on a large ranch in southern California, year 1923. You go to school in an old, one room schoolhouse, along with the boys and girls from a nearby town. You're far better off than any of them, and that sets you part from them. That makes you better.

Or, that's what you thought.

But they refuse to play with you, they make fun of you, behind your back and to your face. They say you're a wimp, a girly little brat. They say that you're stuck up, and stupid; that you think your better than them. And you are, right?

Its not like it's your fault they're poor, is it?

But having no friends is a lonely existence, and you don't want to be that way. So you stop talking about how wealthy you are, stop trying to impress them; maybe if you act as low as they are, they'll like you.

But you don't know how. You watch them silently, trying to pick up how they act and emulate it.

It takes a few months, but finally, you think you have it.

And then you start talking again- but its too late. You have already faded into the background, labeled as the quiet shy kid with the wealthy father. The scapegoat for all blame and the kid ot play cruel pranks on, but they cant see past that, to who you really are. They can't see you anymore.

You are invisible.

To them, you are nothing, just a weak little boy who's too small, too quiet, and too girly looking to ever be anything. It's not even like they hate you, it's that they don't care.

You don't matter to them; you are nobody.

Sure they tease you, but even that is impersonal. If you weren't around, they would find someone else. Who they make fun of doesn't matter.

Just like you don't.

After a while, they don't even bother to tease you anymore. That lost its fun once you learned not to cry in front of them.

So now they ignore you completely, just like everyone else. Even your parents ignore you. Your father is too busy with the ranch to bother with you, and your mother has to take care of your numerous younger siblings. She has no time for you now that you can take care of yourself.

A few years pass. You're not unhappy, not really, but- you feel empty. Alone.

You're all alone.

You don't want to be alone.

So you lash out, fighting anyone and everyone, desperate for attention. Even negative attention. You know your peers will never like you, and you've accepted that. But maybe if you can't be friends, you can be enemies. Hatred has to be better than nothing, right?

And it works. They hate you now. At first it was funny to them, you trying to fight; just another joke. That changed once you started actually winning fights. Then it was personal. You embarrassed one of their own and they hate you for it.

They hate you.

And you're happy.

Every time they seek you out, even if it is to fight with you, you're happy.

They hate you, so you do matter.

They hate you, so you're not invisible.

You're not nothing anymore.

But it doesn't last long. Eventually, they stop coming after you. Their memories are short, and they can't beat you anyways.

They go back to ignoring you.

They forget about you.

You try desparately to recapture their attention, but you fail. They don't see you.

You've become invisible again. And there's nothing you can do about it.

You withdraw into yourself, hiding your true thoughts behind a smiling face; you tell yourself you never wanted to be friends with them anyways. You're better than them, better than they will ever be. Their thoughts, their opinion of you means nothing.

They are nothing.

You spend years telling yourself this, and maybe you come to believe it.

Or maybe not.

But you never show any doubt, you never let on that inside you long for their approval. You show the world a flawless mask, while inside you're bleeding, empty.

Outwardly, you're obnoxious, arrogant. You see people glaring at you, you know they don't like you, but it doesn't mean anything. They are nothing.

You take up boxing, wrestling, anything to take your mind off the numbness. At least when you're fighting, you can feel.

Anything; you will do anything to feel something; even pain is better than nothing.

And then, you meet someone who brings sensation flooding back into your body. Her name is Maria Wilder, and she's beautiful. Long brown hair, red lips, pink cheeks…perfection. And she seems to notice you too. She approaches you, tips her head prettily, and says hello. She asks you why you're all alone.

You say because you want to be.

She says she believes you but she doesn't leave.

instead she talks to you, and flirts with you, and months later, unbelievably, she agrees to marry you.

I love you, she says.

She loves you, you repeat to yourself, over and over. She loves you, and you her. You'll never be alone again.

Happily ever after.

Or so you thought.

Only a few days after the wedding, you begin to notice a change in her. Where she once was sweet and soft, now she's harsh and demanding, wanting you to buy her gifts and do things for her. You're happy to do so, but its not like her to be so vocal about her desires. You decide its just new-wife jitters.

But now she's wandering around the farm, wearing outrageously provocative outfits, flirting with the farm hands.

Doesn't she know what she's doing? She must not realize how the men will interpret her actions.

So you do your best to keep her away from them, for her own protection.

Not because you're jealous. You're not jealous, because she's not flirting. Not intentionally.

But she is, you soon realize. The things she says, the little gestures she makes- there's no way she doesn't know what she's doing. It's far too calculated, to blatantly flirtatious.

You overhear one of her conversations, and you recognize parts of it.

She said the same things to you, once.

You don't know what happened. Does she not love you anymore? Did she ever really love you?

You push that thought out of your mind. Of course she loves you, she married you, didn't she?

You must be doing something wrong, you decide.

You remember her saying once how rough your hands are, how they scratch her face. You take to wearing a glove full of Vaseline, trying to please her.

But still she flirts with others, ignoring you. You don't even know where she is half the time.

Maybe you're too skinny.

You start eating raw eggs every morning, working out, anything; you try desperately to make her happy, to make her love you again.

You can feel yourself panicking, can see yourself becoming ever more abnoxious as you try to gain back her love.

But she won't.

She won't love you.

You are nothing to her.

You don't matter.

….

…Slowly…

…Fall…

…Into…

…Darkness...

Nothing.

You are nothing.

-Fin-