Dopey's Lament

Dear Brothers, a shaking hand wrote.

By the time you read this I will probably be dead.

Melodramatic? he mused to himself. Definitely. Over the top? Probably. He sighed to himself, and scratched his head. They’d never been his strong points, eloquence and self expression. God, he’d never even bothered to speak aloud. Not one word. To anyone. His brothers assumed him mute, but this wasn’t true. It was a strong indifference, an intense apathy that saw him keep his thoughts to himself.

I wish I’d told you all how much you meant to me, brothers. I regret the silence I kept all those years, through the seasons. I loved each and every one of you, appreciated you all more than you can ever know.

He paused and tapped his teeth with his pen, looking around the room. The only light came from a small oil lamp, the dancing light trying to escape out through the heavily curtained windows. Small empty plastic bags littered the floor, the ghosts of a thousand highs. A pair of crackling speakers, their wiry insides exposed, begrudgingly pushed out some down tempo number.

After She was brought to life by the Prince, we were lost brothers. Lost. After years of watching over Her body in the forest, suddenly we were without purpose. Our mining jobs gone, our home in ruins. Depression reigned.

Would they judge him? He wondered. Deny that he’d existed at all?

We coped in different ways. Some of you took up sports. Some took up other careers; butchers, bakers, candlestick makers. I envied your strength.

How long had it been? When was the last time he’d seen their faces. He tried to picture them. This room made time stretch and contort until it lost all meaning.

But as for me? I wallowed.

He paused again, collecting his thoughts. There had been a time when he’d considered Her his everything. His refuge. A time when he felt content and his heart still knew of hope.

She found me one day, on the outskirts of the Prince’s castle. She was as beautiful as ever; lips as red as blood, hair as dark as the window frame, and skin as white as snow. I was so happy to see her; overjoyed, ecstatic. She promised me a purpose. She promised me an escape.

The door burst open, purple suit and gold heels swept into the room. A saccharine smile was plastered across her face, the lipstick’s rosy hue foreign on her otherwise pale skin.

“Great work tonight,” she said, flinging a full gram bag of snow-white at his feet. “Enjoy.”

The door closed again.

I should have seen the warning signs. At first She wanted nothing for the snow-white. It was free, as much of it as I wanted. Then She wanted small favours; maybe an errand here and there. I obliged, of course, and gratefully too. I was in debt.

That subtle fuzziness that started in one place, and grew and grew until it blossomed and exploded, demanding attention, swimming in the blood and warming the heart.

Big debt. The favours became more brazen, more outrageous. Eventually I would go on to steal for Her, fight on Her behalf. I killed for Her. And still She gave me the bags of snow-white.

That glorious feeling as the senses succumbed. It filled that strange little hole he had inside, that hole where the other six used to be. It satisfied him. It completed him.

I was stupid, brothers, stupid. Thought I was immune to snow-white’s allure. Childish and ignorant, I thought I could use it in moderation. Self medicate.

The next three words took him a long time to write.

I was addicted.

Would this room, this godless place he’d learnt to call home, really be the last thing his eyes saw? Surely he should be on a cliff top somewhere, watching the sun dissolve into night’s cold embrace one last time. Surely he should be watching some image encapsulating the very essence of being.

And so I lost my principles, my standards. My self respect. I became drained, empty. A shell without its tortoise. A shadow of myself, committing horrific acts in exchange for more snow-white.

He picked up the full bag off the ground. Mechanically prepared a dose. A big dose. Closed his eyes, head pointed towards the window. Shivered a little. Cold? Anticipation was more accurate. Freedom.

I’ve disgraced you all. Embarrassed dwarves everywhere. I beg your forgiveness; for my estrangement; my actions; and my selfishness.

He felt his body surrendering. Imagined his organs waving a white flag as the snow-white swirled through his veins, brushing aside his body’s defences.

A life balled and chained, brothers, is no life at all. Let me be liberated in death.

He was a dove’s reflection in a lake of glass, the moon bigger than he could ever remember.

Yours forever

The dove arced and flew into the night sky. The water rippled where its reflection had been.

Dopey