Bastard
Home is but a feeling.
Strung out and starving in my home now, I had to engrave the message of my soul onto something. The fridge was nasty either way, no use in trying to make it good. This place wasn’t gonna be mine for much longer, anyway. I’ll be out starving on the streets with the whole world free to judge while figures of my past still stalk me like a rabid wolf eager to attack. I’ll keep my distance, I thought. They can’t take shit from me at this point. I slammed the door behind me and left on a note rich with bitterness and satisfaction.
Home is but a feeling.
They don’t tell you that ‘til they throw out on the streets, when you’re old enough to wander past the neatly trimmed shrubs and friendly faces that pave a bright, chalk-decorated sidewalk towards a warm, Sun-drenched neighborhood in July. Now it’s much passed August and the faces have aged with the chalk now merely dust while the once youthful paperboy has become the neighborhood bum, scavenging dimes from the locals to fund the only habits keeping him alive.
You’re still young but have grown tall and lean with confidence thanks to a brutal upbringing. This was all worth it. You only know you’re a hardworking man when you’re used to waking up this way in the morning. Drunk and numb with a dry soul and an empty head ready to burst the moment you realize you’re swimming in a cesspool of your vomit. Just clean yourself up and head out of the house. Things have been this way for as long as you can remember.
It’s all fine and dandy when you’re a bastard, no one will ever fuck with you. Raw and roughened, no one can stand in your way. I knew this one kid...well, he was from Delaware...we used to beat the shit out of the neighborhood retard brothers because they thought it was funny to run across my lawn as if no one lived there...but ya’know that’s a story for another day.
Today I can only speak of the things I remember.
Those very few things.
One hazy, half-remembered morning I vaguely recall walking down Dixie for either smokes or a nice warm drink. I stumble each time I approach a fresh avenue. The very volatile nature of my stance evokes chuckles that cause people to stare and occasionally make their witty, humorous remarks to keep you in your place. Since I primed into a young man I’ve seen the faces of these folks. They attempt to either haunt or warn me with their bitter glances. No skin off my shit.
A sweat-drenched Guatemalan gives me a warm smile, an almost hypnotic glance tells me we’ve met before; but his face is merely distorted and distant.
Inching in a bit closer, he lends out his hand.
“Did you heard about the three prophets?” he asks.
“Pardon me, sir?”
He continues with some enthusiasm rising. At this point I’ve found comfort sitting next to him at the bus stop by my favored liquor store. He’s a funny looking guy of about 5’5 and a welcoming smile. The eeriness of his voice disturbs my strung-out mind.
“Three prophets from Columbia saw a vision, looking past the earth’s core. They said they saw images of Hitler and John Lennon burning. They will eternally suffer for their sins in the pit of fire.”
For a second I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry. Not only am I in the presence of a madman but one whose convinced a notorious dictator is dwelling alongside one of the most profound musicians this earth was ever graced to have. I’m in no mindset to argue with him, so I shed a dopey grin.
“Well...ain’t that strange...”
The sun was beginning to retreat in the high afternoon. My patience began to grim as the grittiness of the evening finally began to ease in. I had places to go tonight.
The prophet continued, “You must your heart over to Jesus to secure your place in heaven. You’ll end up in the great pit with people in the likes of...”
Silencing him at last, I intruded.
“Have you ever seen heaven?”
This was when he gave me those glares of suspicion that I was perhaps yet another Duke of Hell. He kept his distance sitting on the bus stop; minding his own space and keeping his subtle demeanor.
“You don’t need to see heaven to feel its glory.”
He was sure of what he had to say. No bastard could doubt the logic of this prophet. I still had no choice other than listening to the things he had to say...after all, it’s not every day you meet a prophet.
“Where are you from?”
“I hail from down the street, right by that drug store.”
“You live off 10th?”
His tension became noticeable. No longer was he in the presence of a young Bastard but also one from a rough neighborhood. This was going to be strange ride for the prophet. He still seemed well kept and unafraid, but we surely wouldn’t be exchanging names.
“Yessir.”
“I’ve been down that street a good number of times...I can only give you my greatest sympathy. Every time I’ve walked down that road I could only feel the presence of evil. Nothing more.
Pure evil.”
I couldn’t fucking help it anymore, I gave the most devilish grin my laughter could unleash. His concern was now more evident and I could feel it. His sweat began to increase and he started rapidly tapping his foot on the pavement. I said nothing.
“Not saying all the fools around that street are evil...Well there is this one house, actually.”
He started to get a bit interesting.
“Oh yeah? Which one?”
He shuffled his hands and remarked, “It’s a little strange because it’s not really a house per se...It’s this right side of a duplex. White building with two blue doors and a roof...Building A.”
Now I’m thinking I’m sitting next to a fucking stalker. This guy new exactly where I lived and was probably trying to pull off some wise shit. He’s really started to burn me out now.
“What’s with that house?” I ask.
“It’s the home of the antichrist. The forces that be told me one rainy morning I wandered down that street. They told me with a booming thunder that also warned me he was only a young, troubled lad. His soul was possessed at a very early age and will eventually arise and thus the rapture will begin.”
I really wanted to break it to him. This was just too good. In one minute I learned that not only was I living on a street of evil but I was also the antichrist. His fear was so ripe.
If you’re reading this and still waiting for me to shed any care or decency towards a stranger like this, you can go fuck yourself. These are the diluted fools who keep people like me unheard and their baffling amplified on the streets everywhere. He’s the kind of psycho who gets all the attention in this fucking country, not the real deal like me.
Me and my kind stay underground in this world planting all the hate and temptation into the faces we meet. Their goodwill tries to test us and at times will prevail but the bastards never go empty handed in the end. Still, I don’t know what this motherfucker is talking about.
“There’s been a lot of talk about what goes on in that little neighborhood. A lot of it has to do with that house. I’ve heard some things.”
“You don’t say. Like what?”
“There’ve been some girls disappearing and then some allegations of them getting raped and murdered. Actually, I think all of them have led back to that particular home. No one lives on the other side of the duplex, not sure what happened to him...”
I check my watch and hope this goddamn bus is gonna get here fast. It won’t be long before I’m coming down and begging for a cold shower. The strange man keeps telling me stories of how people have somehow been killed in the place that I live...even going so far as to say I even murdered my own neighbor.
How could he know all this?
I sat quietly and kept minding my own business. From the corner of my eye I swear I could see him trying to look me in the eye without me knowing. As if he was trying to peer into my shade-covered eyes. I began to feel uncomfortable. A sense of tension was now in the air that came in contact with my own unease.
I made no motion towards him; just let him enjoy the fresh southern sunshine blazing down on both of us. A look of horror seemed to be somewhere in his eyes. I didn’t want to make eye contact with this stranger. Like me he was nothing but bad news.
“Lovely weather we’ve been having lately,” I choked.
He didn’t make a sound at first.
“Weather. All signs from God.”
The G word always gave me chills when not spoken about in church growing up. When you hear the sounds of a supreme being outside of the fundamental Sunday marketplace, you may be in the presence of a prophet.
I smile.
“Surely. And what good he’s done.”
This was when he finally laughed.
“Do you believe in the glory and good of God? Truly? Do you trust him that He controls the course of this universe?”
I swallowed a rough amount of phlegm and tried to remain serious. Now he was starting to bug me out.
“Sure. Why not?”
“What kind of answer is that? There is no WHY when speaking of the High One. He is all and we are nothing. We will die for him in his upcoming future. There will be nothing left of the material world to take away from us. All those who even question his massive might shall be banished to hell.”
I rolled my eyes again. There was the presence of a madman disguised as a prophet yet he was merely a stranger at a bus stop. What could I say to combat that? I had no theories I held onto like he did. It would be a cruel shame to simply mock another man’s beliefs. I once held that position to rain on his regime and parade, but that desire died when I saw the sunshine in a way I’d never looked at it before. He had a right to love life the same way I did, for we’d both seen the light.
“I’ve seen the eye of God,” I said.
“...and it was too fucking bright for someone of the likes of me.”
He only stared forward, returning to his force field that was strong of heart like mine.
When was this goddamn bus going to arrive?
The cars begin to race by before our eyes. So fast while reflecting light from their exteriors onto my shades that I only close my eyes to comfort a now dug deep within me to try and maintain. The light was winning.
The cars moved faster and faster.
Yes.
It was in fact real.
They were running at the speed of light.
“I’ve seen your kind before,” he murmured.
My eyes began to water and I melted in my seat.
When the bus finally arrived, I entered and hoped I’d be safe in the loud vehicle. Everyone on board looked in their own little world. Taking up to spaces I realized that my awkward bus stop companion was nowhere to be seen.
I look out the window and not a soul is present outside either.
And so on to the next town.
