The Copy Cat Syndrome…

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Lying on her cozy bed, on top of the crumpled Egyptian cotton bed sheets she reached for her phone, the alarm clock buzzing. As she switched off the annoying shrillness, she decided to lie in for a couple of minutes. Her mind was in a daze, still in trance from waking up from a deep slumber. “How do people do this?” she asked herself, irritated. Waking up in the morning seemed like a punishment to her. She functioned better during the nights, when it was cooler out. She hated the blinding sunlight, loathed having to go out for errands during the day. The unbearable heat made her unable to think properly. The sun-rays weren’t exactly kind to her, they made her feel itchy. Maybe, she was a vampire. A different mutant kind, that ate normal food like other humans but was nocturnal.
She was wide awake now. Some mentally challenged person was banging on her door with all their strength, calling her for breakfast. As if she cared for such inane stuff. She’d buy herself a flat in a secluded apartment as soon as she would land a good job. Living with inconsiderate people was not on her agenda. It was not her cup of tea, or a walk in the park.
She switched on her phone, glancing through a myriad of updates on her favorite social networking site, something caught her eye. She had tried to ignore it once or twice before, but this madness was going way out of hand. She had to put a stop to it. She was adamant. She was infuriated, the nerve of some people.
Yet again, she had caught hold of a few people who were copying her style. She did not care for things that were not unique. Thus, she wanted to be different, she wanted to stand out. She failed to think how some individuals could blatantly rip off other people’s personal traits and be smug about it. Seriously, do they not realize how pathetic they seem? She did not want to associate with such low-lives. Maybe, she was being a pompous ass.. but, it was her right, to protect her individuality, wasn’t it?
She began to get fidgety. She could ignore it, couldn’t she? After all, was this such a heinous crime? It sure wasn’t. But it was outrageous. She had painstakingly created her social profile in such a way, that made her seem nonchalantly hip. She was certainly not feeling that right now. Easily agitated, she flicked through the innumerous photographic shots the perpetrators had displayed of their whereabouts, captioning the pictures like she would have.
“Hey, this is so me!” she shrieked out, in frustration! If only she didn’t know better, she would have mistaken this profile as if it was her own. Furrowing her brows with eyes squinted, she investigated the damage. The wannabe “doppelgangers” had also updated their statuses that reeked of unoriginality. “Gahhh!” she wanted to retch, going into a paroxysm of rage.
“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery”, someone had once said, but she couldn’t help but feel like a victim, possibly of ” Identity theft”. She wanted to run for the hills and scream at the top of her lungs. She wanted to voice out her dissatisfaction. She grabbed her cell phone and punched in random numbers, her mind was a flurry of emotions. Even if she would call her friends she would find it difficult to make them comprehend the gravity of the situation. They would probably make light of her problems and try to talk some sense into her. That was the last thing she wanted. “Sense-making jibber jabber, gahhh!” she wanted to gag herself !
Blinded by a spasm of uncontrollable fury, she pawed for her laptop. Possibly hidden under a pile of un-ironed/ dirty laundry.. she could see the shiny turquoise metal underneath the heap, peeking through a little open spot amidst the jungle of cottony goodness, mocking her, winking at her. As she lunged for it, she was already plotting her next move. She would either punch their faces or sweep the floors with them. Which in reality would be far from possible, she realized wearing a permanent scowl on her face.
While she typed she could feel her rage slowly fading, slipping away into the distant horizon. She could feel a sort of calm descend over her, the kind of serenity you feel after a long session of Meditation/Yoga/ Pilates or after staring at sheep grazing and bleating softly in the green meadows. She had written her article berating the criminals who had stolen from her, ripped off her sense of trend and fashion. She verbally thrashed them in a diplomatic way so that they would think twice the next time they’d think of walking down the same road. As she titled it “The Copy-Cat Syndrome”, a smile crept up replacing the ghastly frown off her face. She fired the article away making it available online for her followers to see, she was ready for the repercussions.
Walking slowly away from the “scene of the crime” it had dawned on her that maybe she needed therapy, counseling for such self-obsessed narcissistic behavior, but for now she was content. That is the only thing that mattered to her. Balance had been restored. With a toss of her glossy black locks, she was gone.

    copycat