Filthy Creature

Just look at you: no sign of acne, perfectly groomed hair, disgustingly shiny teeth. It’s true, you seem a decent human being after all, but believe me, people are going to tell. When you get on the bus, when you go buy some milk, they will know. They will stare at you, they will whisper, they will conspire against you. Even if you go to a public toilet in a village that’s 500 miles away, they will still know.

You’re a monster: it’s written on your face. Go get yourself a whip! A rope! Electric chair? Those sweet eyes… The same tone of brown, but yet, so different. Oh, sweet little Sophie. When she’s back from school, she will ask you to play. Puzzles, trains, teddy bears. She will ask for love. Love! What can that filthy thing possibly know about love? Nothing. It was born in hell. Lives surrounded by dirt.

You clean, you scrub, you sterilise. That’s your job. Your one and only duty. Five times a day. Latex gloves are your best friends. Spotless could be your surname. But that thing was born to destroy. And you are the only one who manned up and dared to squeeze your hands around its little neck… Just the right amount of pressure. Slightly tighter towards the end. 20 seconds was all it took. You still don’t get it? A hero, Nietzsche’s superman, God! A Nobel prize? Come on, don’t make me laugh. It won’t be enough. Nothing would ever be enough.

People are so tiny, these days. They just tiptoe through life doing small and insignificant stuff. But remember, you’re not like them. You were born to do magnificent things, to stand out, to shine! Like its tiny brown eyes. They were shiny after all. Same colour as its filthy fur. Probably it had a family. Everyone has one, right? They must wonder why it didn’t come back home yesterday for dinner. And its meal got cold like its relatives’ heart, waiting and trying not to expect the worst. Probably they all have brown eyes. Like me. Like my daughter.

Jesus Christ, how can you be so weak? You’re disgustingly disappointing. Pathetic. Come on, go cry on your mother’s lap… Your daughter deserves someone better. You ARE someone better. That disgusting creature… Wait, I think I can hear that scratching noise again. Shut up. Listen care-ful-ly. Do not move, hold your breath. The rats are back. Missing your sweet little son already? Do not worry, you’ll be with him very soon.

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