The Deuteragonist

The Deuteragonist
A Modern American Tragedy



Chuck Norris and Christie Brinkley are heard talking in the background about their incredible bodies, all thanks to a machine that can work all the muscles. The alarm clock goes off, it is seven thirty AM. She hits the snooze button and dozes off for another ten minutes. She finally wakes up, the birds are singing and the sun is blazing through the white vertical blinds, trying to rip through them. She is not a morning person. She turns the alarm clock off, grabs the remote control to the morning news. There on T.V. is Heather, Last night’s winner of Hell’s Kitchen. At twenty-five, she is a chef and proprietor of a restaurant in Las Vegas. She remains there in front of the television locked to it, as if this “Heather “ person were talking just to her. About fifteen minutes passes when she realizes that she needs to take a shower and go to work. She is running late as usual. Getting dress is no easy task. She stands in front of the mirror for a long time trying on and taking off clothes, all while cursing at herself because of the time and her body. She emulates Tyra Banks and the contestants of “America’s Next Top Model”. She is no model, but spends like one, without the financial means. She gets to her mediocre job, thinking about the reality shows and fantasizing about getting on one. Her schedule revolves around “Prime Time”. She talks and sleeps of the people on T.V, living vicariously. She comes home from work, turns on the T.V. and presses guide, she has over a hundred channels to choose from; someone out here is living life and having it recorded; she sits there, desperately searching as if it were her Holy Grail. Reality T.V. had become the source of her catharsis. These “American Idols” and T.V. personas have become her “Friends” and heroes; and the shows were the way in which they told their odysseys. They were the modern day Achilles, only there lives did not tell a tragedy, She did. She had become the fallen hero, past her prime, fat, living a life of obscurity, and waiting for an epiphany or her fifteen minutes. The only battle being fought was inside her, and at stake her soul, her essence, and it seems that she has loss. The heroine of the story has faded into the scenery, no longer the protagonist. Once a upon a time, She showed so much greatness and potential, somewhere along the way the “choices” got warped; or maybe, the arrow, has already touched her.