Storytelling for Week 3: Dressed to Kill

The fresh blade slide effortlessly along his jawline. Yesterday's stubble retreated to reveal soft, exfoliated skin. Steam hung in the air and muffled every sound except the gentle splash as Herold rinsed his blade in the basin. Shaving was the zenith of his morning ritual. Standing in front of the mirror, naked, as he drew the hot blade over the pulse in his neck was the only time he felt vulnerable. Millimeters of skin between a morning shave and bleeding out. A slip away from death.

That vulnerability, however, intoxicated him; he loved living on the edge.

The only thing sharper than his razor was the way he dressed. Everything had to be perfect. The suit and its fit. The shoes and their shine. Every morning saw his transformation from mere mortal to unstoppable CEO. He had skillfully taken over companies, arranged exorbitantly profitable mergers and trained profit margins to jump at his command.

Such feats deserve recognition, he thought. The way he looked should communicate his power. He wanted his peers to feel his confidence wash over them. He wanted them to know that he felt as if he could carry the world on his shoulders.

To Herold, presentation was the Alpha and the Omega. Anything less was an insult to his impressive career if not life's work.

~~~

Freshly shaven and impeccably presentable, Herold strode out to his car followed only by his air of purpose and the fragrance of sandalwood cologne.

"Good Morning, Mr. Juniper."

"Morning, Peggy. You certainly seem too chipper for someone who drove me through three hours of traffic yesterday."

"Mr. Juniper, after all these years as a chauffeur and my marriage to my husband, there's nothing I can't handle. Although, I must admit I'm having a hard time keeping my eyes off of you."

"It's the suit, isn't it? The wife gave it to me a week ago. It fits perfectly. I might just wear this to my grave."

"Whatever you say, Mr. Juniper."

~~~

The elevator doors opened to reveal Herold's impressive frame to the executive's floor. The percussion of his leather shoes upon the oak floor announced his arrival. The vice president and chairman of the board left their conversation unattended to eye the CEO's arrival. The two always took pleasure in mocking Herold for his attention to dress.

"Well, well, well. Look who got dressed up for the first day of school."

Herold rolled his eyes as he gave a muffled chuckle and passed the two to take his seat in his office.

"Wait, Herold. Where'd you get that suit?"

"The wife. To be honest, I can't believe she was able to get it fitted so well."

"Perhaps you shouldn't be so surprised. It's a fake."

"Pardon?"

"You have a f---ing tag sticking out of the back that says 'Made in China,' dipshit."

The moment of truth for Herold. Wikipedia.

Blood drained from Herold's face. He reached around the back of the jacket, and sure enough, you could feel the rough, cheap tag peeking out from the vent. No word escaped his mouth as he drifted to his office and quietly shut the door.

Embarrassment. Shame. Betrayal. All were palpable as he felt his prestige chip away. Venomous mediocrity seemed to seep from the suit into his body making his blood boil with humiliation. His image--the very representation of his genius and expertise--was sullied by fabrication.

Wanting nothing more than to remove himself from the embarrassment, he dug his fingers into the left shoulder seam and tore the sleeve from his body in one swift motion. The other sleeve quickly followed.

Strips of ripped clothing and bits of string remained on the ground once he was done. Herold repeatedly folded and unfolded the "Made in China" tag in his fingers as he gazed out the window.

While he had shed the object of his shame, the scar of hurt pride remained.

Author's Note: Borrowing thematic material from the story of Hercules' death in the Ovid III unit, I decided to create a story in which a accomplished protagonist suffers a metaphorical death involving his image. I did my best to incorporate allusions to the original story through the way in which I describe Herold's suit and the way tears it off of his body.

Bibliography:
Ovid's Metamorphoses
Tony Kline
2000