Form of a Friend

I have begun to question my own intelligence lately, thinking, no, assuming that my title as a writer is nothing more than a hyped up, overly done joke. I became increasingly jealous of Andrew’s intelligence, arrogance, and the mere fact that in addition to, he was granted, mostly, anything he asked for. I know I am smarter than certain people at my school, that’s apparent, but I’m not overly intelligent. And Andrew was always there of course, making me look increasingly worse, manipulating, and dividing my intelligence. I recognized Andrew’s brilliance, and respected him for it in full, but he continued to push me further over the edge and it never ended nicely, well never for me.

I began to lose self esteem at my own expense, as Andrew, who was so very privileged on every level, would use that intelligence of his, that he was so lucky to have, to mock, humiliate, and ridicule me, publicly if he saw it fit. It was a spiral of mental and emotional fatigue. I was hopelessly lost in the void, Andrew’s shadow, with no way out. Needless to say, it was embarrassing on such a profound scale, that I often contemplated to discard Andrew from my sight, hearing and as a friend in general. He couldn’t have that though, for, while he still found it fun and amusing to torture other people as well, I, apparently, was the most fun to inflict it on, and so Andrew would drawn back in and we would be friends once again. This would last for about a week, generally, just enough time for Winston to feel better about himself once again, and when Andrew knew it was time, he started once again, and things were back to normal.

After analyzing his behavior towards me, I know he is proficient in manipulating the minds of others. He loves it, it gives him a sense of power he would kill to prevent from losing. Andrew would simply build me up just so he could tear me back down again, and in the process, he had fun with the scenario, even more fun knowing I was so easily manipulated, and still kept me as a friend without me even suspecting a thing. The sad thing is that while I was completely aware of this, while it was at the tip of my mind, I was unable to blow him off. And so, my new knowledge was a complete misuse of my brain cells, because simple awareness of this problem was not enough.

Andrew even began to question aspects of my writing, the only thing I considered sacred anymore, and safe from his insults. It was my only escape from him, and he violated it again and again in various different forms. I was so used to insults from him regularly, that when one comment about my character or story came my way from him, I braced myself for a barrage of sarcasm, put downs, and belittling, a discomforting explosion of mental hurt. So when, in the chat room of RPG Chat, I would become offended by his comments, even one of them, he would tell me I was freaking out over one thing. This was obviously not the case. I still suspect that many of those instances, he was going to continue with his verbal bashing on my work, but my sudden outburst would trigger something in his mind. Whatever it was, he would then shift to telling me, in front of the group so they’d be sure to hear it too, that I was overreacting like always. No one would know after all, and remember, it was publicly humiliating Winston that mattered. It was fun, keep in mind. And so, my taking offence to his comments would not appear justified anymore and Andrew had another personal victory. He was in a sense, invincible, untouchable. It made me sick.

Andrew, although he was brilliant, was still nothing more than a parasite who fed off of others bad feelings. He was, in many forms, the most selfish of humans I had ever met, and although he will argue that all humans are selfish, I have met no one fitting that description better than he. To subject a “friend” to repeated emotional torture, and torment in a twisted cycle of continuum, simply so you can feel good, is not being a friend at all. And to think he was offended when I made a tiny comment about his writing, he has no idea what it means to deal with what he dishes out. I could probably write a book on this subject matter, as I have much to say about him, but this is only a chapter of a story that will more than likely never be finished or even continued from this point.

In the book, Ender’s Game, the boy Ender was supposed to be the smartest boy on the face of the planet. His real name was Andrew. The Andrew I know is the Ender of real life, only a twisted version of what Ender might have become. So here I stand, broken and battered, in the face of Andrew’s shadow. For him, I hope he is satisfied in what he has done, although I’m sure he won’t care, which is fine. My life is a sad, sad tale. Maybe I should record it after all.

On a more personal note, however... I had an abusive best friend once, too. It was a horrible experience that lasted over four years. Good for you for finally getting away from him, if in fact that's what you're doing (it was kind of unclear)... and if not, do it! You don't need friends like that.

My point is anytime I write I want to give a piece of myself. I think readers can see this.

Overall I think that it may be too pervasively egotistical in tone, to interested in how Andrew hurts the narrator, how important the narrator's feelings are, to appeal effectively to an audience. Also, if Winston is the narrator character, then you have a bit of a POV problem, and if not, then there are some serious continuity issues. There are the minor grammatical errors that you can expect from an unedited draft, which probably help make it feel more like a hastily written first person narrative, but I would get rid of them anyway.

The whole twist of having Andrew even criticize the author's writing which had always been sacred before makes little sense. Why would it have been sacred before, particularly if Andrew and the narrator had belonged to the same chat group? Or had Andrew previously been unaware that the narrator spent time writing online, then invaded that previously private domain on finding out about it? In any case, that needs to be clarified.

Are you going for a Doestoyevsky "notes from underground" sort of antihero, or a more conventional 'everyman' antihero, or what? If the former, then you have to put some profound but twisted insight into the narrators view of things, if the latter then you have to make him more...ordinary (I'm making the assumption that this is a guy, partly because I think it is, but if it is not, you might want to put some overtones of sadistic eroticism into Andrew's power games...heck, wouldn't hurt to do it even if the narrator is a guy).