The significant sweetheart in the scheming of success

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Taken from the saying 'Behind a successful man there is a woman' - played upon and twisted.

Submitted: July 13, 2016

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Submitted: July 13, 2016



The significant sweetheart in the scheming of success  

'Behind every man is a successful woman?' 

The shuffle of the daybreak rush was concurrent in movement and sound. That inevitable time were in every conceivable direction consequently is a swarm of the masses, aggressive incompetence swaying and fluctuating their briefcases in a swift direction down. Cowering at the gangling skyscrapers that engulf their pitiful lives and very souls. Not even their own shadow would defend the mindless cocoon their bodied self had become. Itching to escape at every given moment waiting for the footing in life that a shadow couldn’t have. For a shadow used to be more than the obscurity of a silhouette. It was, deep inside still was an individual's purposeful self.  

Heads buried beneath disheartened overcoats with a crack visible to see company logo, pens pushed just outside of chest pockets. Attire tragic. Plain lookalike grey flannel suits with duplicate reproduction patterns. Easy to spot. Men and women alike with mobiles firmly established onto an ear. Listening, listening for what display of gibberish they would 'sell' today to more unattentive fools.   

Blending into their social norms is easy. Unseeingly oblivious is your first step to uniting with a crowd, see no one but yourself and the person in front. Be un-enlightened by your surroundings and those who grace it. Your euphoria only begins when the publics calamity commences that’s how you make it as a fast paced fat cat. Once you’ve mastered the technique it's not hard to coalesce.   

A man. A tall man strides in between the flock - the same as all the others at first glance but if you lower your gaze you can see this man doesn't walk with a toe heel formation, he has a stride in his step. He stinks of the same aroma however; 'ego' by an egotistical male coming to a high street close to you. That man. Sweeping his hair with his hands cupped in a open booked position. Gallivanting as if he owns the entirety of the world. Striding with the force of a rhino but the mindset of a wildcat, ready to play with his prey and leave it for dead. Only in it for the prize never the win. That relentless cut throat persona has been accredited to be not only accepted but celebrated in today's society. That unfavorable man and his repellent nature is unfortunately my creation and more than likely my undoing.   

'I want you to teach me' he said lounging casually on the sofa that evening March 21st, completely out of nowhere. His T-shirt wrinkling along his stomach where he was brushing crumbs away from another takeaway. I should of coldly said no but how can you refuse someone who is destitute. Conflicting thoughts. I shouldn’t say no. He could help. It struck me he was my way in, this man was going to give me the best possible wedding present. Revenge. Unemployed newlywed with a tendency to never be serious. Complete opposites of each other. At least we were. I repeated 'no' I had to be repetitive it was the only way to make myself apparent. I continued to sit next to him not realizing that my plan was working perfectly. My grip on his thoughts. I'd infiltrated his mind but I was regretting it. He was my only way in, and I was too far, again the same words were muttered. If I'd only said no again, wasn’t I supposed to be this persistent go getting woman. At least that was one of my many forms so maybe in retrospect I wanted to teach him, because I wanted him to fail. Not anyone can be me, do what I do, use people get to people. I wanted him to change just for a short while but I neglected to realize just how much power I had to change 'a man'. 

When you make it as an anybody you lose being a somebody. But I've never really had that problem I'm not an anybody and I'm certainly not a somebody. I've fallen out conformity and under the radar of normality. I have the power to be one, either or neither yet decide to use my capability for much more personal uses. To avenge the corpse of my mind. The body of truth, the carcass of morals and the skeleton so far in the closet it isn't sure why it's even hiding .  

A personality is something you can change. It can be molded with graft into something far from what it once was. That is supposed to be a personal journey one takes, sure people help along the way unbeknowingly. But I played God. Or should I say I played every possible form of God.   

The man. The tall man. Now strided along opposite to the men beside him, same suit, same tie he walks into an identical building to those surrounding it. Through the foyer into the lobby with dull tedious unpatterned walls. The creative somewhere inside of us is turning in an unpragmatic rage, but we will ignore that side as usual and wave a morning to those loitering by. We're at the top, the top floor that is. The lift is a necessity. I scramble through with him just making the fine line of late and on time, we always make it.  

Top floor, it's been a couple days and I see they've started on the renovations also that plant pot was driving us crazy. Home sweet home, the office. Bare walls stacks of paper looks pretty much like the norm, enough time to dump the briefcase and a breathe before. First client.  

'You're 9 am Is here, I'll send her in' can't that woman sound a little less chirpy, or is that how all secretaries sound. It's not important, we swallow. He sits there alone looking at the door. 

Well this woman didn't dress up, ah a reporter we see now. She's blabbering on about her credentials but it doesn't matter. She wants a story, don't they all.  

"How did you make yourself a success and when did it happen?" 

 Are we going to talk? He is. The man speaks: "well as I have cited in so many interviews before, March 21st was the day I realized I didn't want to be poor, I didn't want this lifewhere I was single, lonely, bored and depressed. I was going to do something about it'  

How many times was this pathetic drival going to be resaid.Questions upon questions fire out the usual spiel, how's the company doing, the markets are good, lifes great yadda yadda yadda. Until the final question.  

"Any thoughts on selling the corporation?" 

He breathes slowly. "Well, yes! Actually I've been contemplatingIt for a while now I've made my money I think it's time I move onto bigger and better things, a bigger corporation, more money!" 

"And do you have a sweetheart? To share this mass of wealth with?" 

After a long pause. "I'm married to my job. I guess she is the woman in my life" the man laughs quietly looking up and down as if he is following my face around the room. 

He's married to me. I want to scream. I want to boast, I want to break through, we are a pair. Without me he is a nobody and without him I am just an idea. A mere concept. Nobody manifests success like I do. I am significant, I am a part of you from day one. I used to be appreciated when we were starting out on our idea to get us to the top, we were great. But then I became a distant memory, what I had planned you took over. You're incessant need for 'more'. You took me ( your idea) and made me a scheme. 

I am 'the woman' behind the successful man who is unseen, unheard and shrouded from society's clan. I am connoted as abstract and take many forms; I help you rise to acclaim, help you attain and hide from refrain. I am the elated beginning of your novel and the heart breaking end, but I do feel, hope, wonder and can indefinitelycomprehend

© Copyright 2018 Katia Byrne. All rights reserved.

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