Purple kid

When people ask me, why do I have a gun? I answer, it’s for self-defense, nothing more. But its not the truth, the real reason why I carry a gun is because it gives me the ability to kill myself at any given time. Actually, when I think about it, it’s kind of self-defense. Pulling the trigger and blow my head off is the only way for me to escape from the purple kid and his green eyes.  

It wasn’t always like that, in the beginning the purple kid was shy, he followed me from a distance. He was to afraid to come close.  But little by little he became more daring. He got closer. He started to walks right behind me. I could feel his green eyes stubbing my back.  

Until one night he came closer than ever, it was late and the street was empty.  I turned around and I shouted at him “leave me alone”. But he just looks at me with his big green eyes and said “green is for guilt” the green in his eyes become darker, now its not the light green anymore but a heavy and dark. “we need to go back there” he told me, with tears in his eyes. “Please go away” I answer him. “please go away”. But he didn’t go, the purple kid came inside my home. He is the first thing I see when I open my eyes in the morning. He is always there looking at me, his voice become stronger, he is not crying anymore.  “green is for guilt”, we need to go back there” he keeps telling me”. “it was long time ago, I don’t remember anymore”. I cry, “we need to go to remember” the purple kid answer.

Its raining heavily.  We are going. The purple kid is not a kid anymore, he is bigger and stronger than me. “don’t stop, keep walking” he commands me. “I don’t know where to go” I beg. “green is for guilt, you know where to go” the purple kid reply.  Its far in the forest, but we eventually got there. 

Everybody knew about this place. “Who was the monster that did all of this?” everybody asked. Some of the police yellow ribbons with “crime scene” written on them are still fluttering in the wind. A monster left her victims here, that is what the yellow ribbons suppose to say. It’s all coming back to me, the screams, the blood. Yes, the glorious blood. The purple kid is inside me now. My eyes are green.  “Did you bring your gun?” He is whispering in my head. 

                       Green is for guilt, I answer.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    

Me

I’m looking at you, at all of you. Looking at your tired faces, on your cheap clothes. On your rough hands from pushing cleaning carrying. Your mouth, that will always say “yes” just to keep his lousy job. I imagine you as a fish swimming in water so disgusting that he cannot breathe. Your pathetic pay- check is your only chance to get your poor fish head out of the water for a brief breathe before you dive back into this poisoning swamp you call life.                             

Your eyes, yes! your eyes are my favorite. Your wearied eyes. The way your simple eyes are looking at me, is the reason that I take the subway at 5am. I got enough money to take a stretch limo to my office, you know what?  I can fly with a private jet every morning around town if I wanted. But what’s the point of that? How you will see me if I’m behind tinted windows or flying high in the sky? No, I want you to see me on your way to another day of hard labor. I want you to look at my leather boots and ask yourself how much did they cost?  My boots can take you and your family to a vacation in an exotic place that you probably never heard of.  Only my watch can keep your fish head and the other fish you call a family above the water for a year. Yes, yes, look at me, try to visualize my house my car my life style. You cannot, and that is the point. For you I am superior, I’m above you, I am sitting on cloud nine way above your shit-pool. 

“I am the one you wish to be”.                                                                        

Two stops to go before I leave my personal amusement park and climb back to my perfect life. Only two stops to go and he sit next to me, this fat man, his legs almost touching mine. His dirty working boots close to my alligator skin boots. His hoody taps my expensive Italian suit. With his chubby fingers he is holding his primitive flip phone and staring at a picture on the phone. I can see it, it’s a photo of a few kids and a woman. And then he smiles, it’s a real genuine smile. This fat stupid man is actually happy.  What the hell? I ask myself. You are fat, fat people are not supposed to be happy, you are fat and poor. I am happiness. You need to look at me and realize just how much your life has no meaning. I live in a penthouse you live in some shithole. I got a jacuzzi, while you stand in line for your turn to take a cold shower. That people on your phone, what can you buy them? I can buy anything I lay my eyes on. So why the hell you are so happy? Who gave you the right to smile as everything is just great in your life? I am great, I am awesome. You are nothing but a fat fish in the swamp. My blood is boiling, he doesn’t care about me, he is not examining me, admirer me. comparing his nothing to my everything. Why?

I cannot help it, I turn my head to him and ask, what’s your story? 

He takes away his eyes from the phone and with a biggest smile that I saw in my life he said “I am the one you wish to be”.