True visions of the wonderful kid.

Our kid had his epiphany when he was twelve; the sort we all have when we least expect.  Couldn’t get over with it soon enough, and decided to call himself “special”. The world seemed at ease with his coronation, though they do get lesser mileage these days if you believe me. So it was kid stuck at puzzles lambasting his sister for being stupid. Or some other times blaming the pen for sheer crappiness of his dictations. Wouldn’t it be a heartbreaking then to reveal it wasn’t real, that superstition sucks?  That someday he’s going to be sorely disappointed, bringing shame to his grand lineage and beyond.  For some reasons though this kid was stubborn, donkeys be shamed, he excelled it with élan. Else what would have explained his stoic passage through waves after waves of negative math scores? Or that he qualified for the dimmest bulb on the circuit, yet beamed in his heart, stronger than a hundred light sabres put together.

 

When he turned sixteen, kid discovered love. Couldn’t sleep at nights, loved tearing his boom box at the seams. Neighbours complained, but kid wouldn’t listen, too stubborn you see. Then as it was natural, as we all have seen it coming, kid got his lady love to listen poems he wrote. Slight deviation; the big dude sitting obviously in the proximity heard it too.  So how would you like me to explain? Showdown at little basketball court. Big loaf was polite, real gentleman. Said not once, but a hundred times. “Stay away from her motherfucker, avoid like plague”. He stared at the goliath for a minute, wouldn’t wipe the smirk you see. The famous talk of the campus was kid could have been saved, could have lived! While views are divided over the brutality of the beast; was a hulking 200 pounds motherfucker, it’s safe to say kid was pretty fucked up in the end. Ever seen a banana split smashed to the floor?  Only he was messed a hundred times over. Got punches all over the face like “street fighter” on turbo mode. E-Honda must have died in shame. While kid lay on the floor, drool galore, bloodied lips, eyes fluttering in anticipation of a fresh volley. Hulk didn’t stop there bro, sadistic son of a bitch. At night after waging another war with folks at home, failing to explain how a fall from the stair case could have possibly done this to him, kid sat on his window, staring at the skies, those stars, His eyes questioning them, when? When? We really wouldn’t get his meeting with the higher powers that be; after all, kid was special.

 

Age twenty three found him in more shit than ever, mommy dear had left him for her abode in the skies; daddy had taken to depression, more like a second wife if you saw it that way. Now it wouldn’t have been all that bad had mister “iron will” got some decent job or perhaps had some girl to call “dear”. But it was downhill slide from here. Shit just kept piling on. Every which way he tried; his attrition was so inevitable that he took to chanting” Elvish “. Sometimes word reached home kid got stuck up in some brawl, always the snarly, arrogant ass he was. Lover boy even tried wooing the ladies all over the town, wrote sonnets and made paper planes out of them. Left notes for the neighbourhood widow, spared no chance at whistling for the nurse, and once, slapped the fat lady on her bottom, well before the humongous being could turn and notice. Such was the state of affairs that we could only sympathise; yeah it had come to this.

 

Age thirty five? Nope, not then, not even forty, somewhere slightly higher; our hero finally got what he deserved. So how did it happen?  Having found a decent job at the supermarket our hero had finally accepted reality. There was no divine revelation, no meetings with fate from his fortress of solitude. Then did they die after all, those voices inside him? Fuck no bitch! It was only piled under enormous heaps of shit that kept piling over the years. Sometimes at night he heard a feeble knocking at his heart,” hey kid, wake up”. But the day of crowning was not as you and I would have imagined. Not that “confetti bursting” above your head, jesters clowning around shit. It was a fine sunny day when the intruder arrived. No messing around then boss. He shot the security just to prove he meant business, in the face bitch!

Then had all employees along with kid lined up at the aisle. “Nobody fucking moves”, nobody did. Wait, except kid, fucking foolish dude.  Brother gunman wouldn’t want to be messed with; you don’t fuck with some gun happy vagabond after all. He held the gun to the head, kids head; my kid goddammit!  But Kid wouldn’t budge, he stood his ground. Now that I see it, kid did have his visions after all. Kid just stared, couldn’t wipe the sneer on his face. And in a sudden moment, the dimmest bulb in the circuit was burning bright, the light sabres whirring like a thousand fireflies. Purple, red, blue!

Gi-joe shot thrice, in succession, in the head, same place motherfucker! In that moment, when kid slumped to the ground, those microseconds before life ceased to matter, it flashed before his eyes, that moment he waited all his life. The grandeur of the spectacle, you wouldn’t have missed it. Not even if the Las-Plagas was unleashed bro. He stood up for something, maybe it cost him his pathetic life, but then he knew it all along, during those long meetings with the stars. But we wouldn’t have known it could we?  Kid was special after all.