I haven’t written in a long while. I guess that’s because I needed a reality check. I needed something sinister to flush away the perfect sweet world I imagine my life to be whenever I hold a pen. I needed to remind myself of how all is not well. How heavy my task is, how unusual my path is, how rare my kind is.
I’m just 20. How come I’ve been through all the motions already? Why can’t I just have it like every other person? My attention is been brought to Odd Thomas, the fictional character created by Dean Koontz whose superpowers made it extremely difficult for him to be fully integrated into the society. The irony being that those superpowers were never used by Odd Thomas for his own personal gain, yet those he used the powers to save and protect still ridiculed him. This life eh!
Call me Odd Thomas and you wouldn’t be far away from the truth. My life isn’t all full of roses no matter how rosy it may seem from the outside. Oh! That is even wrong as I have also found out that it doesn’t look rosy at all from the outside. I think what you see are thorns finely crafted to cuckold.
Whilst Odd Thomas had Penny to love and stand by him despite all his awkwardness, I don’t have that kind of telepathic understanding with anyone but me. So while Odd Thomas had the luxury of forgetting about all the cruel things society had said about him all because of one sweet kiss from Penny, I’m having to rather imagine that kind of soothing kiss in my head and then give it to myself by myself; with a pat on the back of course.
Now, I must make something clear here. I absolutely don’t deserve any form braggadocio from life or the people in it. I even feel the little I have been able to experience is a rare privilege so akin to my kind of specie. I’m not better than the least honorable person in your life right now; is there someone you probably feel doesn’t deserve the simple gift of life because of how horrific that person is? I can assure you that that person certainly deserves more goodness than me. My horrible heights are unmatched. I can only be afraid of the future; at 20, I’m already unrivalled in terms of horribleness. What would then become of me in prospect? Is there even any hope for this young man?
I must also say that I absolutely have no desire to be loved. I have no desire to be acceptable. I have no desire to appear good. All I want is to remain behind the spotlight whilst doing the little good I can yet do to make you better even without any accolade or glory. The aim is to do good without creating an avenue for reward, because the very life that I live is a reward in itself.
Hey you reading this, when next you see me; don’t show any form of sympathy for me. This is my life’s cross, I must bear it and alone must I bear. Just like Madonna told Argentina not to cry for her; I implore you not to cry for me. Truth is I never wanted any of this, I don’t even deserve any of this. The very life that I live is a combat against life itself. It never wanted me here, but I have fought my way through to rise to the very top of my anomalistic tendencies.
I don’t want to be relevant, I just want to be influential. If I can be able to influence you to do any form of good without you crediting me for it, then I have done a good job. I am happy that not many people remember my acts of kindness, I am happy that not many remember me for good. It makes my job easier. It makes being the villain my default.
I am consoled by the fact that John Pierpont did not die a failure. I am consoled in the fact that all his accolade came after his death. I am consoled by the fact that he died thinking he had failed, not alluding any good work to his name. Luckily, humanity still stands for people like me. So for the day that I die, cry for me. Mourn me for I will be no more. Mourn me for I will have mourned myself too. I mourned myself every single day. Cry for joy because this piece of baggage will be no more. Mourn me because there will be no one for you to use as a willing scape goat for your blunders.
Humanity won’t record another me, not for at least a thousand years. I understand that people like me come once in two thousand years. For there has been only one me so far, and even that One was crucified for bearing too much that humanity couldn’t handle. (I’m not talking about Jesus the Christ, I talk about Jesus the Man). I hope mine is more honorable.
Till immortality swallows mortality…
– Miracle Roch.