The Gallery of the Unseen • Chapter 1
I never considered myself small. Quite the contrary, I was large and vital in my daily activities. I wore my ego as comfortably as a tailored suit, and I went about life with a charming flair of oblivious grandiosity. Every step was a natural progression toward what was rightfully mine, a destiny woven by my undeniable prowess.
Let’s begin one winter morning, a morning like any other, when I decided to bestow roses upon the ladies at my own grand gallery. An idea perfectly fitting, I thought, for a man of my complexity. The smallness of others could easily be conquered with a grand gesture, the perfect opportunity to demonstrate my largesse.
I sat by the window, where I would be clearly visible. The bouquet of roses lay beside me, a testament to my generous spirit.
As they entered the gallery, I noted with satisfaction how every eye flicked in my direction. Recognition. Admiration. Contempt. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that they saw me.
The morning rolled on, each interaction a chance for me to shine, to be seen. I was gracious, charming, delightful, offering roses to those I deemed worthy, and all the while, the world spun around me, oblivious to my brilliance.
A young lady approached, her eyes wide with naive curiosity. She looked at the roses, then at me.
“These are for the beautiful women of this fine establishment,” I declared, my voice hollow. “Would you like one?”
She accepted the rose, her smile a reflection of something I could no longer grasp.
I leaned back in satisfaction. Another victory, another acknowledgment of my grandeur. My heart swelled with pride, for what could be wrong with giving? What could be wrong with being seen?
Oblivion was my virtue. I danced on a stage where no one was watching, playing a game where no one was participating. The world was a stage, and I, the master performer. I was right; I was justified in my actions. My desires, my greed, my ambition, they were all parts of a beautiful whole.
It was a perfect day in every way. Everyone was oblivious to my discomfort, only the roses mocking in their perfection. I didn’t feel pity or plight, but promise. And as I finally left the gallery, the sun setting in a blaze of glory, there was no room for doubt, no space for introspection.
I was a Small Man, in every sense.
