Growing Pains, A Bedtime Story
Alone, I look upon the stained glass rooftops of the Village of Light, where the bright magical Children of the World take their lodgings in. I smile at them and their fancies, no more than a pebble could leave them at the mercy of the elements but of course they would not mind. The wrath of rain or cold is merely a forgivable consequence for the shower of light they receive. They bask in an untold number of colors as they live through their lives. imagine being colored red, blue, red-blue, violet, violence, by the caprice of the sun. And at night! Night holds much mystery and wonder in those strange abodes especially when a star hits the eye-shaped cut of a lion or a bird. It as if the inanimate creatures that watch over them turn to life, sweating, pulsating in the twinkling of starlight. How it must be to step into such a house and eat from cotton-ware using insect-bone spoons. These people belittle one such as I. To them, I am a numbers-man, a sad denizen who sits in front of huge plastic encased screens twenty-four hours a day, calculating, permutating, boring the life out of my veins. But perhaps they are right. Look at them, wearing clothes that are not made for the weather but clothes that suit their tastes. Look at them playing on-top of a dazzling diamond street walk as if was made of regular cement. Look at them living lives that is rooted in the milli-fun of every millisecond. Oh! How I envy them looking up at me. Becoming closer and closer as I fall down and join in their fun. Look at them pointing at me, opening their mouths as well as their arms. I am one of you. Look at me! I can live for the second too.
There was a man, a man we all loved. He locked himself in his concrete cage, typing numbers making sense of the frivolous chaos down here below. Everyday at noon time, he would look down and we would wave at him.
Now he is no more. At the playground, by the never-see-you-anymore trampoline, and the slide-down-to-hell slide, or the shit-yourself-crazy-merry-go-round we had a meeting and it was decided. Tomorrow I would go up the tower in the middle of the Village of Light and I will hold counsel as king and master of the children and their mirth. Once a king dies, he must be replaced. That is the way of the world.
Later I will visit the graveyard of kings as is custom in my land. All our kings have died the same way. In fact, I have been told, there is already a grave for me.
BJCl March 2013