Precipice

Rafael Baxa                                                                                About 3500 Words
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PRECIPICE

By RAFAEL BAXA

I look down from where I am standing. The view is beautiful. How long have I been standing here? It feels like it's been a long time, or maybe not. I'm not really sure. This is not the first time I've come here. I've been here before. But that was for a different reason. Or maybe the same, I'm not really sure. But back then I wasn't what I am now. I didn't know the things that I do now. I didn't see things the way I see them now. But that doesn't matter, not anymore. I see everything now, and I understand. I am no longer the naive kid I was back then. A boy who couldn't see the world for what it was, who couldn't understand the way it worked, it's cruelty. But I see it now. I see everything.

And what do I see right now? I see a lot of things. I see several people running about. People shouting. Some of them are looking at me weird. I wonder why. But then again, people are weird. They are just normal beings crawling about in the filth of this world, having a pretty high opinion of themselves. Thinking that just because they think they are great, it makes them great, makes them intellectually superior to all other animals around them. But what they don't understand is that they too are animals. Animals whose sole purpose is self-preservation. Animals that hunt other others for their own need. Just because they have, what they call, an extra sense, they assume that it makes them superior, makes it right to control those who couldn't protect themselves. And so they feed on them, with the excuse that, the 'lower beings' exist to help the superior ones exist. Survival of the fittest they say. But they couldn't be more wrong. They have always been mere animals. They are just too ashamed to admit it. And I am one of them.

I move from my place. The place I spent a long time standing and wondering. The place I've stood at way too many times before, with or without reason. But it's time to move now. It's time for a change. Not too far though, just a few steps. Time to stand at a different place and view things differently. No, it's still the same. The view hasn't changed at all. They are still looking at me. I wonder if they are thinking the same things I am. But then, humans are not made to think alike, thanks to their 'sixth sense'. That what makes them odd. Makes them so peculiar and difficult to discern.

I have come across more than a few kinds of them. I am not sure if there is a way to categorize them though; I can't seem to find a basis. I can only speak based on what I see in them, but is that enough to know what they truly are, to find out if they are what is commonly called "good" or "bad"? But then again, no one is completely selfless or malicious. Each and every one has done some good and some bad. I know it, because I've done it. I've been on both sides of the playground I guess. People who are noble from one person's perspective may be wicked from another's. That makes me wonder if the way justice works is really how it should work. Why should law dictate who is good and who is bad? If a person is viewed as a criminal from the point of view of justice, does that make him a bad person? If a child kills the parent, does that make him bad? How would the law know how the parent treated the child? How would the law know if the child spent every day of their life cowering from the parent? Does that make it right to punish the child or the parent? And what if a killer killed another killer? Who's the bad guy then? But then law would only hurt those who take law into their own hands. It's because they don't like others taking control. It hurts their ego. And so they make us believe that they are the only ones who are allowed to thrust justice upon others. They make us think that only they can dictate what's right and what's wrong. Only they should be allowed to punish others. And they think they are always right. But are they really?

I look at the lady and her son below. The lady is kneeling and is whispering something into the ears of her son. I couldn't see anything clearly from this height. The place I'm standing is one of the highest points in the town. But from the look on her face I could tell that she was probably telling him to leave this place. She's trying to pull him with her. She appears to be terrified of me. But the son is not ready to leave. He's not ready to go yet. He's waiting for something. And the son looks at me. The look in his eyes tells me that he's not afraid of me. I can see it in his eyes. They seem to be sparkling, like he's expecting something. Is he expecting something from me? I never had such family when I was young. My parents being the devout folks that they still are, thought that I was the devil, because I refused to follow the teachings given in the Holy book. And so I was put away. I was put through Catholic boarding schools and institutions. That's one weight off their shoulders. I wonder what they are doing right now. Probably living in a very nice house in the suburbs. Drinking wine and laughing at the trivialities of life. Simpleminded people. They don't care. They don't care for the world. They have no worry whether tomorrow the world exists or not. All they care about is their little life, their little home, their little car, their daily prayers and soap operas that show nothing more than the pointless aspects of life. What do they know? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Their brains stopped working independently a long time ago. They have conformed to the conventional rules of the society. The rules set up by the top dogs to control those below it. They have become mentally lobotomized.

And so I spent a huge part of my childhood in a boarding school. A Catholic boarding school. I wasn't overtly religious before I went there. And I was still the same after I came out. But after my first month in school, I came to this exact spot and I wondered if I should end it. I spent a lot of my time thinking. Finally, I decided against it, and I went back to the school and I listened to them. Everything they taught me, everything they preached, it went through my ears, mixed with all the garbled thoughts inside and came out with the air I exhaled. Nothing ever got logged into by brain. Nothing influenced me, because I knew what they were trying to do. They were trying to make me just like them. A lamb. A docile mindless lamb. But after my stay there, something did change. I didn't come out the same person I went in as. There was some change but I couldn't exactly put my finger on it. I did learn a lot there. Things other than what they wanted me to learn. Things that can only be learned through observation and experience. Things that cannot be taught. Maybe that's what changed me.

I had a roommate there during my first year. Very religious. He was certain that if he was obedient enough, said his daily prayers, followed all that is said in the Holy book, he will be granted paradise. That he will be given a place in the holy kingdom of eternal happiness. Whatever that means. A place where there is nothing but greenery, goodness and never-ending river of happiness? It was childish of him to believe that. But then he was beaten to death by some older boys in a bathroom. And the boys who did this were sent to a Juvenile facility. I wonder if that roommate of mine reached the paradise he kept talking about. I don't think so. But the boys had better luck than him. They were released as soon as they reached 18. Not a big deal for them. I still wonder why he believed in it so much. He didn't give it up till the very end. Too bad the end came too quickly for him.

Years passed or maybe just months, I am not sure, time always seemed to flow the same. I always remain the same. I am still in the boarding school. I wonder if I will spend the eternity of the time here. Or the rest of my life. Whatever it is, I am still stuck here. There are still people preaching and teaching, telling me to believe in the voices of the angels, to listen and feel the higher power that is above me, to give myself up to my creator, to find my purpose in life. It's like they actually believe that when I was born, I came with a written contract that dictated my purpose in this world and the time limit to complete said purpose? Was I not born just because my parents, being the animals they are, decided to give in to their carnal desires and let the species move forward? Is it really so hard for people to believe that they are not some special enchanted beings on a mission? That they are just some creatures that specialize in destroying everything around them? Just like termites feeding on wood.

I remember some of those in my life too. I remember them talking to me, about useless things. About appearing high class, eating at the costliest place on Earth, about some singer having an affair, all those useless things. I also remember some voices shouting at me. Telling me that I was useless, and I didn't deserve to live in this world, and that I was wasting the Earth's precious resources. Really? What were you doing then? Wait... I remember who's voice it was. It was my wife. My sweet angelic wife.

Or that was how she appeared to me when I first met her, but appearances can be deceiving. She smoked like a chimney. I met her at one of the bars I used to frequent. At that moment in time, I remember her looking at me, and then talking to me and I kept thinking if all those stories were true and if she really was the angel that was going to take me away from this cruel world. But too soon I realized that it only lasted a few seconds. Too soon the magic went away. And she too turned out to be just like others, maybe worse. She was the worst of all. Others didn't mean a thing to her. Her own husband and son didn't mean anything to her. She was happy as long as she got her trips to the beauty parlor and enough cigarettes to kill cancer. She said the money I earned wasn't enough for her. Why didn't she try to earn some herself? Maybe she was too good for a job. And so she threw herself at every passing man.

I now realize that I too was one of these men. One of her ways to money. I was only important to her as long as I had a fat wallet. Other days I was trash. And one night it went too far. She brought one of her nightly trips home. She said that I couldn't satisfy her anymore. And after that she crossed the line, that is if she already hadn't before. It was none of my business she says. She had brought another man home without so much as a little shame, and so I left home and went to the same bar and I can't help but wonder, how many of these men has she slept with. But then, it was none of my business. My mind goes over all the ways I can kill her. I remember all the movies I have seen in my life, and there aren't many of those, and I think of all the violent ways I can have my revenge on her. But I never act on it, and I know I will never act on it, because I am not her. Does that make me weak? But then I remember our son and I tell myself that she doesn't matter as long as I have someone who really needs me for who I am, my little boy.

After this, I made up my mind. I went home the next day and knocked at the door of my house. I wasn't surprised when the same man wearing too less clothing for my liking opened the door. She came up behind him and her face turned into one of shock and disgust when she saw me. I was not surprised at either. When I told her I wanted divorce she shouted at me for a long while about my lack of manliness and courage, and said that it was my fault that she couldn't keep her pants on, but I didn't care about any of those. All I wanted was for her to sign the papers and then I'll have nothing to do with her. And she does sign it. Custody of child never becomes a problem when one of the parent doesn't even want the child. Having my son in my life was more than enough for me.

The guy is still there, wearing that funny uniform. And he's screaming at me adding to the other ear-splitting noise. I wonder what his problem is. He's just one of those nutjobs who follow what they call the government. A ruse to make people follow them. A government run by monkeys would be way better than this. Monkeys are better than humans. They were better than us in taking care of this world. They were better than us in everything. Makes me wonder if it was really an evolution that occurred. Or it was just something that transpired because the Earth had reached its expiry date. And the planet was doomed to die in a slow and painful way and we were the ones given the responsibility of carrying out that task. The honor of destroying the one thing that gave us life. And I'm sure we are very good at it. And look we are almost done with it.

My legs hurt. I have been standing for too long. It doesn't feel that long. Maybe that's what happens when you spend too much time in your head. Your entire life passes by right in front of your eyes but you are still stuck years ago... in your head. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, monkeys. My son and I saw a monkey once when we went on a trip over the mountains. There was a monkey there. My son was fond of it. He named it Tommy. For someone who didn't have many friends in school, finding a companionship in a monkey was a big thing. He began talking about adopting Tommy and bringing him home. He had made all the plans in his mind. But then, Tommy snatched his bag and climbed over a tree. He ate all of his snacks and threw the wrappers over him and ran away. To anyone else, it might have seemed funny, but I could see the hurt in my boy's eyes, and I never thought I would hate a monkey as much as I hated this one, and I also realized that this is the same behavior that all of us had, use it and toss it, and we still refuse to believe that we are mere animals.

All was going good, too good. I should've known. The storm was just at the bay and it hit in the worst way possible. The string of happiness was soon followed by something that was worse than the end of life. I lost the only thing that mattered to me in life. I lost my little boy. He was just 11 years old. Not at all like his mother. He was innocent. Unspoiled by all the crap of this world. He was taken away from me by a fellow human being, his schoolmate. I don't consider him a being at all. I don't even consider him worthy to be called an animal. He was filth. The lowest of the low. He took my sweet little boy away from me. He hit him over the head with a baseball bat. The doctors said that the hit was fatal and he died in the ambulance. But I know that they are lying, they probably didn't even try to save him. They just wanted to stay in their cozy office and eat. Why would they care whether my boy lived or died?

And then the law, as always, let the murderer go. They said that there was not enough proof that he was the one that hit my son, that the evidence was purely circumstantial. Not enough to put him where he deserved to be. But the truth was that the kid was the son of a "very important person". A very important person who had very much influence. And so they won't touch him. They would shake his hand, have a cup of tea together and send him on his way. But that couldn't stop me. I didn't give a damn if he was the fucking president. And I decided to pay the guy a visit.

I found the boy who murdered my son behind the local arcade. He was picking on his next target. Ross wasn't even buried yet and he's already started on his next victim. A predator. A true animal. I went closer to him, and said I wanted to have a little chat. The bully gave me a smug look. The little kid found this as the perfect opportunity to run away. I looked at the murderer and asked him why he killed my son. Did he think that he didn't deserve to live? Even if he did, who was he to decide? Who gave a shit about whatever went through that non-existent brain of his!? But when he gave me his answer, I didn't ask any more questions. I didn't say another word, because what he said actually made sense. He said he did it because he felt like it. What was I to say to that? And why not? People do whatever the hell they want to. People kill others when they want to, they poison themselves when they want to, they fuck others over when they want to, they shit on this Earth when they want to. So why not him? He was right. We should do whatever we want to, and so I did. I took out a piece of firearm I had hidden in my jacket. I don't know why I brought it with me. That doesn't matter though. I aimed it straight at his head. And the look on him was priceless, I bet he pissed his pants. I said "You are right.", and I pulled the trigger. Twice. For a moment there was no sound, but then his little group of minions started screaming. He fell like a sack of potatoes being dropped on the ground. Blood gushing from his face and chest. Time didn't stop as I thought it would, there was no sense of ecstasy as they make it out to be. But it felt good. The people in the area stopped for a moment and looked, and soon they too were running about me, trying to get away, but I didn't care. I walked away as slowly as I came in.

And that's all I remember. I don't remember how, when or why exactly I came to this place. I wonder if the guy who's screaming knows why I came here. I wonder if he has found out what I had done. I wonder if the lawmakers would finally try to serve justice. Nah, they wouldn't. But who cares anymore? My little boy is dead. The kid who killed him is dead. My roommate is dead. I wish my wife was dead, but she isn't. Does justice really matter now? Too bad the evidence won't be circumstantial this time because the weapon is still in my hand. And I am still standing at the ledge of the church. And now I am thinking which would be a better way to go? A bullet to the head, or a fall to the ground. I hear some people talking. Some shouting at me to get down. To surrender myself. I will never surrender myself to these animals. Four bullets left. And I think, just fuck it, why think? I put the pistol down and jump.

THE END