Prompt: Tell us about the relationship between you and your arch-nemesis (either real or imagined)
My enemy and I have a relationship not even the most brilliant could begin to fathom. Frankly, the biggest reason for that would have to be that the only enemies I dare to make are the ones I design in my mind. At least that is what I tell myself. Perhaps I do have an enemy somewhere. One that is everything I am not, or better yet, someone who is just like me. I can already imagine that our similarities would repulse the faint hearted and force us apart like two positive ends on a magnet trying to make contact. In a utopia we could be the perfect alliance in conflict, but this prompt doesn't question the relationship with my enemy in a utopia, so I shall proceed to describe our relationship in none other than the callous setting humanity has decided to name Earth.
She is flamboyant, and for the sake of the argument, I will presume she is indeed a she simply because I doubt the masculine capability to be anywhere near as cynical as I can be. She is dark; her mind is an eternal abyss filled with the most quizzical facts and bad pun jokes. Her ability to seduce the least aesthetic people with her play on words shall be considered legendary among her peers and unchallenged. She is the queen among commoners everywhere she goes, and she is just downright annoying. I hate her. I look down on her theatrics, her awful jokes, and her insensitivity towards the false inferior roles she has created for everyone around her. She and I may share the cunning, the wits, the charm, and the abnormal amount mistrust towards all things considered black and white, but in a world that is a blurred shade of grey I cannot stop but think our relationship is one of mutual loathing and reluctant admiration in constant competition.
We are competitors in everything I do. In every game, in every race, in every academic showcase she is right there beside me. She is the one who points out my flaws and vulnerabilities with an accusing finger and a poisonous tongue. "She's going to fail," she leers, and for a split second, I stop and think, "Maybe she's right." What if the things she says about me are true? What if I'm not smart enough, skilled enough, or strong enough to endure and eventually triumph in the challenges I choose? With her cruel worlds crippling me, I see her get ahead while I stare at her advancing figure. And as I start to recede into the millions belonging to the ordinary, I stop. I stop because in the end, she is just imaginary. My self-doubt is my ultimate enemy; it is the only thing that can stop me. It is the only thing that can tell me "no" in a world where my "yes" is more valuable than anything.