“The day I was born I was born free and that is my Privilege.”

Trisiklo: Prologue
May 27, 2008, 2:06 pm
Filed under: Tabloid

Going to work, the images I see suddenly become monochromatic. The once array of houses evoking their individual hue turned into a one long block of amorphous entity. Street corners then I see differently; it seems like a path that leads somewhere, a portal maybe that could lead me to the places I’ve never known, the path similar to what Alice and her friends had passed, leading them to the yellow brick road. And now, how melancholic that they no longer enthralls me. Whenever I see them, only the tall, blinking lampposts illuminating its grey face that their existence is known to me. And then he came; he who the Society condemns, the reason, that is, his insanity. He made a palace in the sidewalk.

Daily, he paraded himself on the street wearing his dull yet colorful clothes. A master of his own style, he made himself a baronness using a few pieces of garments that he has. In the open, smelly canisters, he glares and politely asks the fly which pieces will come good on his outfit that day. He asks, Will an empty bottle make a good hair adornment, or will a straw choker make me stand out? And he worries of his skin when the thought of sunburn came to his head and then felt relief after proudly thinking that grease and accumulated dirt on his body will protect him from the scorching summer heat.

He was ready. He sat on top of a rubber trash bin with a rat as his co-audience. The black curtain is yet to unveil. He felt thirsty, so he rummaged through the trash on his side. An almost empty plastic of softdrink caught his sight. Happy to the quencher that he has found, he immediately transferred it on a cup that says Starbucks. He got it from a woman with a flower shoe. Satisfied, he, again, sat on his throne, smiling to the rat who eyed him with disgust.

A thick voice over and then his most awaited musical has began. He steadied himself. A silhoutte of a man and a woman arguing opens the show. The protagonist/antagonist grabbed our heroin’s hair and slapped her. Heroin stood up and tried to make her revenge, but the man never wasted a time and hit her again. The performance lasts only for a few minutes.

He left his throne as appalled as before. He wondered what happened next after smears of blood stained the white cloth. He saw the rat eyeing at him again. This time, a smile of victory, while clutching in his claws the plastic of leftover thrown by a passerby.

He just looked back and find no interest to argue.

I heard the engine’s roar fading. I see my co-passengers handed their fare to the driver. I give mine, heads off and give a few nickels to the old beggar asking for alms on my way to my next ride. I turned to look at the folly, he’s silently watching the pavement.


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