Open your eyes- they always say that; I just can’t seem to understand why. No matter how many times I open my eyes, the world is the same.
It’s a 120 shades of black or white. Everything is a comparative extremity. Either, I sleep on a full stomach or an empty one. I get clean water, or I just don’t get any, and if I do, it’s dirty.
And, then I have to ask myself that if I am comparing clean water with relatively clean water-isn’t the latter just dirty? See what I mean? Comparative extremities.
If someone ever asks me to recall a memory, my mind always focuses on two very distinct moments from my life; discovering my purpose in life, and losing it.
Can I say that the man was kind? In a way, yes. He helped me discover purpose, and he paid me for it too-not that I knew I was going to get paid for it.
If you have ever lived the life I have, you’ll know that unknown assailants aren’t the ones you should be afraid of. His face was unknown to me, so, I relaxed when he grabbed me.
I am not going to pretend that I remember the feel of his hands on me, or him pressing into me- all I remember is staring at the wall in front of me, while he did his business, wondering why it was so dirty.
It is amazing how in the most monumental moments of our life we focus more on the irrelevant things; so that it’s only afterwards that we realize their significance.
He handed me some money just before he left. I can recall that vividly. The weight, the feel of it in my hand-it was a defining moment in my life. I remember the darkness on the edge of my vision starting to turn gold. Purpose had seeped into my life.
I lost it just as soon though. Maybe 5-6 years later? It was another man. I was the only one men ever wanted. It’s no surprise then that I was never a favorite with the other boys.
Maybe it had something to do with my eyes; it was definitely his eyes that got me. There was something about them, I could never find words to describe them. Now, that I think of it, it was probably the distinct glow of a zealot in them.
The day he spoke to me; I lost purpose. He spoke of God, and of hell and heaven. He spoke of rivers of sweet milk and virgins. He spoke of a Utopia. That’s what got me. Not that I wanted a Utopia, just that I wanted to know if one could exist. I had always been a skeptic, and I was starting to get bored now that life wasn’t a constant struggle between one meal and the next.
It was a simple set up- I worshiped God five times a day, chained to the floor waiting for Utopia, and the man? He worshiped me.
*This is a work of fiction, please, treat it as such.