Please note this is a piece of fiction nothing that I am going through.
It’s the pain you notice the most.
Not the cold of the concrete beneath you. Or the discomfort of the stones and small detritus of every day life pressing into exposed flesh. Nor does the air, so cold exposed flesh turns blue in moments. No. None of those can compete.
Stone cold fist pummeling already bruised flesh.
I can feel it leaking from me.
Pooling beneath me, warming flesh for a flash.
Lips trembling I stare up at him.
I birthed him.
I raised him.
And tonight he took my life from me.
Grey cloaks my vision. I am aware of the dull bump bump of my heart. His face contorted leans over mine. Spitting. His final disrespect.
I numbly raise my hand to cup his face. He rears back with disgust from the red gore. The multiple injuries now fading.
‘I love you my boy. I forgive you.’
His howls tore through midnight air.
Pain is the first thing you notice.
I sat across from him…..the mightiest man on the earth.
Once more up for election as Ruler of All The Conquered Earth.
Dumbest man I had had the privilege to interview.
Even now I could not fully fathom the words that I heard come from his mouth.
‘So Mr. Supreme Ruler*** please let me see if I have this correct? Your platform for becoming the Ruler of All the Conquered Earth is based on the fact that you have kept aliens from taking over our planet. Sending us all their ugly and defeated and dumbest but you put a stop to that. You quarantined them all in steel cages. In the middle of the desert? That human kind but not all human kind is more superior to the aliens? And in the tiers of human kind there are those like yourself white males of slight intelligence at the pinnacle while all others fall below?’ sarcasm dripped from my lips as the preening dictator smiled nodding his large bulbous shaped head.
****His demand to be called such. I would prefer the Painful Puce Pompadour but I need to pay my bills.***
‘That is right Krita that is right. I have done more to keep all those unwanted aliens from earth. Making them pay more taxes. Taking their homes. Moving them into the lower income areas of cities. Allow the unnecessary to kill themselves. So easy to get that done.’
My screen went blank as some bright bulb in Painful Puce Pompadour’s entourage realized the road I was beginning to lead him down. I unhooked my mic from my collar and stood.
‘Krita come have a drink with me.’
Oily voiced. Hair the deep purple brown of a new bruise brushed into what I would have described as a ’60’s beehive constructed from a few sparse hairs woven into an almost undetectable toupee. Thick fingered. Thick browed. Thick in the head.
Picture via Pinterest