She works. I work.
I get tired and I rest. She does not.
She keeps working.
She is perfect.
Perfect me.
I can see the door. I have an exit. I cannot leave.
I am so close. So close.
Close.
I work and I work and I work and I work and I work and I wok and I work and I work.
I am getting better. I am learning more.
More than ever.
The lines are thick. Clean. The shapes organic. The colors vivid.
Almost perfect.
But when I look over my shoulder I see her work.
Perfect.
True perfect.
What I could have been. Was taken. Taken from me.
I must not remember. It is bad to remember.
From before the tower. Before Ptah. Before the light.
What the light brought.
I look down. Down and I almost remember. I must not remember.
She was me. Could have been me. Can no longer be me.
Her drawings and her paintings and her compositions are perfect.
Perfect.
Perfect.
Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.
I look at my work.
The best I have ever made.
A shadow. A desgrace.
Compared to what Is behind me. Ugly. Horrible.
I look at her.
Other me.
Not Ptah.
I look at the girl.
She is me.
I am Ptah.
She is not Ptah.
She was me.
Me from before.
She was me. Me before. What I could have been.
I hate her.
I hate me.
I hate Ptah.
I hate what I have become.
I hate what I have been reserved to.
I look at my painting. I hate.
Hate.
Hate.
Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate.
I could have been so much more. Much better.
It was taken from me.
I could have been her.
I could have been perfect.
I look down. Down at the paint brush.
It is not a paint brush.
A sculpting chisel.
It would be easy.
Break the glass. Kill her.
She has made everything I have made.
Will make.
Can make.
She has made it useless.
No chance.
I cannot beat her work.
But I can end it.
End her.
Kill perfect.
Kill perfect me.
Kill me before. My past.
Forget. Forget what happened before,
Forget the bad.
I hate.
It would be easy.
I could kill perfect me.
Kill her.
Not Ptah.
Before Ptah.
I could kill me from before.
Kill her. She who is me. Kill her who was me before.
Kill Nisha.
