Homeless Story of J, Part 15

This is a work of fiction.

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XV

I was born into abuse. My parents have never admitted that they used their child to vent their brutal anger.  No, they are innocent and loving.  I suffered their halls of lies long, and became devoured by the gaslight theater. 

For years, I thought I deserved what it got.  Angry, bad child.

Finally I broke away, only to find that society was a macrocosm of the microcosm of  my childhood. Cruel leaders and manipulators, devoid of conscience, abusing others.  And yet flowery speeches arise from their podiums, to proclaim in fine oratory how wonderful they are, at the helm of this country so fine and fair.  

So, I learned that evil rose to the top.  I learned that narcissism and molestation call themselves gentle and kind. 

 To disagree with powerful is to get beat, especially if the powerful are evil.

I walk around homeless now, looking for one fine heart. I have the Lamp of Diogenes.  I found it in a gutter, next to a shattered whiskey bottle.  

That bottle might as well have been a human soul.


J




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