Chapter Seven: Narrator (First Person): Wrong
What the fuck is wrong with us?
People are so messed up. Tyler and his mood swings like a PMS-ing girl, Natalee trying to get beat up, and me. . . being me! Beaten, bloody, hated, we had hit it.
We had hit the bottom. The only way out is up, up, up. Scrabbling at the sides, clawing to light, we all fall back in. Can we get out? It's a matter of time before we destroy perfection and everything starts from the magical number of oblivion.
Zero.
Silent, sharp, frightening zero. Cold.
And if you can't make it out of the hole, well, there's always seven feet under.
Tyler knew the way out, but he likes it down there. Why wouldn't he? He's the ringmaster, the circus leader. He says jump, we say how high? He says kill, we ask who? He says follow, we obey. We, members of Fight Club, are the animals in the circus, leaping through hoops, fearing the whip, becoming angrier and angrier with our shitty lives. But we listen. Fear is holds up better than anger.
In the battle, in the moment when animals meets, in the ring of men, we can either forgive and let up or continue our onslaught. We see the look in the other's eyes and we know. We are weak. We are human. But our cause, Fight Club, our stories will be strong. They are immortal, they are dead but alive in the ears and mouths of the innocents.
I looked in the mirror and saw my face; black eye, split forehead, cut head. What had I become? I was a monster, I was a monster. For a second, Tyler's face flashed over mine and our similarities stood out like red dots of blood on white tile. He and I are twisted in the same way.
What the fuck was wrong with us?
Another short blurb but I've been busy. I like the fact that The Narrator always talks about Fight Club, which, yes, is what he does in the movie. So this is kinda modeled after the movie blurbs.
Love,
Fel