Strangely deranged [5]

He should be smiling.

Life is cheering him on with the enthusiasm of a dozen nubile teenagers standing at the edges of the show.
He really should be smiling at the flashes of joy and feminine glory being thrown in his face.

There's no excuse for this.
He's being goaded and dragged with a golden leash towards a fascinating destination.
There's nothing wrong with that.
Nothing incorrect about resisting a forward pull.
The gravity of his mind should be insignificant by now.
It shouldn't be throwing him about and sucking him down a mental flush.

He has to be smiling.

No one can see a reason for him not to.
Love is shining on him.
Fate throws a glance every now and then.
Lady luck even made coffee the morning after.
Their combined effect is expected to work like German engineering,
precise and reassuring.

There's enough happiness spinning all around him to somehow coax his lips upward.
To manage a weak grin from the bottom of his soul.
Just a hint.
A throaty laugh at a lame joke.
A horse walks into a bar and the bartender asks him 'Why the long face?'.

He should be smiling now.

The excuses are running out for this unexplained frown.
Nothing's wrong.
It's all going to be okay.
Everyone keeps assuring him that,
keeps repeating the lines but he can't believe it if the speakers don't believe it themselves.

He could be smiling.

At an inside joke.
At the funny cats spread across the internet like an uncontrolled ejaculation.
At someone else's pain.
He's heard people find those things worth laughing about.
It's only natural they say,
the fact that it didn't happen to you makes it humorous.
For some.
Why not him?

Maybe he should just follow the sheep around him.
Just step into the current and let it carry him with the rest of the lost souls.
With the throngs of crushed spirits.
He should just fit in.
Then again,
even for that disguise he needs to be smiling.

He could try to fake it.
No one would be able to distinguish unless they really tried.
Unless they looked closely at the edges of his lips and noticed the missing wrinkles.
Unless they examined his eyes for a reason why,
no one would know he isn't really smiling.

But he would.
And that makes all the difference in the universe.
Honestly, by now he should be smiling.
He's eliminated the possibility of anything going immediately wrong.
He's found a few strangers to urge a positive emotion out of him.
He even has friends now.
A few lesser than before, but you aren't supposed to count them anyway.

He should be fucking smiling.

Right now.
For a moment.
For a minuscule instant of his life.
For just long enough that someone can see and stop asking him why isn't he smiling like us?
Why isn't he laughing with us?
Why isn't he having fun?
Why is he walking around with his eyes to the ground when he should just look up and smile?
Why won't he keep up the illusion that this is all perfect?
He has to be happy.
He must be content.
There's no way he's unfulfilled.
Look at his life.

He has to be god-damned smiling.
And if he isn't, we'll make him.
We'll warn him, that he should be smiling.
Or he'll get sent to the doctor.
To the shaman down the street selling cures of smoke and strange powder.
He'll be sat down on a couch and made to answer inconsequential questions about his mother,
his father and the woman he loves.
He'll be threatened with expulsion.
With being excluded and ignored.
Who will believe this world is all right if even one like him is allowed to exist?

He must be smiling.
He needs to be smiling.
He's commanded to be smiling.

To look stupid.
To mask the weight and hide the pain.
To look them in the eye and assure them of the lie being told from yet another smiling face.
For their sake.
For her sake.
For his own sake.

He should be smiling.
He can't have forgotten how to.
It's the easiest thing in the world to tip your lips into an orange slice shape.
He can't be dwelling on some past misfortune.
Jesus loves you they say,
so smile.

Be happy that a figment of religion thinks of you from beyond the pages of a rotting book.
He should be glad at life in general.
He should be ebullient, buoyant, effervescent and a thousand other adjectives.
He should just listen to the wise men.
To the smarter people.
To the intelligent crowd.
He should be smiling.
He must definitely realise it by now.
He must see all the harm it causes to defy fake joy.
He can't be blind to the world in his sorrow.
He should think for a moment about why he isn't doing as they say.
As they want.
As they do.
But all he can think about is,
he should be smiling.