Fandom Journals: Tony Stark, Part One
•••••
[A chair squeaks. There's a cough that echoes in the room, as someone prepares to speak.]
So.
Uh, this is day one, I guess, of the audio diary of Tony Stark. No, scratch that. Of me. Gotta keep it personal.
...This is harder than I thought it would be.
[A long pause.]
What am I supposed to talk about?...
Uh, well, let me explain why I started this thing. It's an experiment, really. My theory is, if I talk about my problems--all of the multitude of them--then, maybe, I'll be able to cope with them a little better.
Having anxiety attacks inside my suit is not my preferred MO.
But, the issue was, I can't just talk to people. They don't care. And anyways, all people do when you tell them things is take what you say and store it--turn it into weapons. It's all just ammo.
So, I, uh, worked around the problem. I mean, it's kind of stupid, just recording myself talk. I'll probably never even listen to these recordings, and God forbid anybody else does. It's just...
[Silence.]
It's...good to talk, you know?
[A pause.]
Ah, who am I kidding. This is pointless. FRIDAY, stop recording.
•••••
[Chair wheels are rolling across the floor. They gradually grow still.]
Well, I'm back. Day two. Of my...uh, journal.
Sorry about last time. I don't like getting too worked up about things.
...I just apologized to a recording of myself. Ha! I've reached a new low. A quite impressive achievement, really. That's me, Tony Stark, always finding new ways to screw things up. Maybe that should be my slogan. I'll adopt it as a mantra: "There are always more ways to fail!"
It kind of sucks, you know. I mean, by normal standards, I'm super successful! Famous, rich, head of a good company, "thriving" sex life--but that's another story. I should be happy.
The thing is, I'm not.
What's wrong with me? People would kill, literally, to be in my position, and yet for some reason I'm not satisfied.
I mean, I don't want more money. God no, I have enough of that. I've got enough money to last me the rest of my life. Which is probably not that long, which makes things easier, but that's beside the point.
What I'm trying to say is, I have it all, and it's not enough. What am I missing? What do I still need?
[A long pause.]
I don't know. This is getting me nowhere. I just go in circles, endlessly repeating the same mistakes--
[The voice chokes off. Silence.]
[The chair wheels start rolling again.]
FRIDAY, stop recording.
•••••
[A heavy sigh.]
Why do I bother? Obviously I've got to take some comfort from this whole thing. For some reason.
Ah, right--day three. My very own audio records of my steady decline.
Well, uh, I don't have any existential questions to battle today. Yet. So, I may as well just talk about my day.
Which, big surprise, was beyond awful. As usual. I mean, did I really expect anything else at this point?
See, that's the thing. Some people can take crappy day after crappy day, and still wake up in the morning with their idiotic all-American smile, and look in the mirror and say, "Oh golly gee, I'm gonna take on today and I'm gonna win!" And they put on their ugly star-spangled costume and go act like everything's fine.
Obviously not thinking of anyone in particular.
And I just don't get it! I mean, I can fake that, to a certain extent, and the news-people will never know. But to live like that? Every single day?
People can genuinely believe that crap?
That, I don't understand.
And I don't particularly care to; having peace of mind would be nice, but if I have to turn into someone like him...
No thanks.
I'll find my own way out of this hole--I dug it for myself. It's only fitting to get out of it on my own terms.
[A pause.]
That's what this is, isn't it?
My terms.
Huh.
...FRIDAY, stop recording.