L O Y A L T Y . . .

 

A wasted moment of emotion it was. Crying over spilt milk always amounted to nothing but swollen eyes. Stained hands make a better abstract portrait but may not bring out what the artist had in mind. Daring to make it a declaration, upon replacing one’s heart with an icebox you stand strong till a heat wave sweeps you path. Build your walls high, is what the weak advice themselves, yet no walls are high enough to stop the rains from falling.

A gun, his gun, had made a best friend out of his hands. The intimacy between his finger and the trigger is inexpressible, not even with songs of Solomon. Even when his wife and child walked out of his life, he almost felt nothing, for the trigger stayed loyal to his finger. The wife together with their child walked out because he was a service man, he served the enemies of the state with cold and hard bullets.

His heart was on a constant emotional roll, just like a rolling stone, giving it no time to grow moss. A beast is what he made out of himself for word on the street is he who makes a beast out of himself, rids his soul the pain of being a man. He didn’t know that the nerves of a beast handles more pain and therefore is exposed to more of it.

As they invaded this village, everything that praise God – everything that had breath- was taken down. Biologists says even trees breathe. And so it all came as though everything had been built to fall. He avoided the open route and took to what appeared to be the emergency exit for the villagers in time of trouble. He lay there in wait. As he waited, that trigger- like a woman – stripped naked and – like a man- his finger was aroused for he saw a lady and a child taking that route. He was a service man ready to serve the enemies of the state with cold hard bullets.

He recalled that before him stood his wife and child. She pleaded for mercy. The trigger pleaded to be caressed. Well, pleasure always speak louder than any other thing. He obeyed his best friend and fired away. Both of them dropped dead. He felt nothing.

He felt nothing but pain and regret. I see the tear in his eye. Was it pain and regret of losing his family? Nope. Pain and regret that there was no other brutal way to do it. For that pain, he regarded himself a failure. The world has no room for failures. He put the gun to his temple and allowed his best friend to take his life away.

Yes, not even your best friend can be trusted.

Disclaimer:
I do not own the photo or any rights to the photo. All rights reserved to the artist. For more of such artwork, click here