Life and Death

Life is a different place in the presence of death. And we arm ourselves with alarms, seat belts, guns, bulletproof vests, life vests, jobs, anything that draws a bigger line in between both worlds.

3:13pm. The eyelids draw semi open when her hands announce my awakening. I compare my productivity with my back pain and decide to give it try: let's start another day. A day that may be the end of days. Or may as well be another pile of dust that we hide under the carpet.

The keys in the ignition, the sunglasses on, and like the usual pocket slap, I look to my side to check for her. There she is. Patiently awaiting, checking every possible check box in the list. All of the above.

We decide to take a shortcut. Instead of moving inches per hour, we decide to take the side road. Our time is precious. Our time is above everyone else's time. Our time cannot be interrupted.

Our time was interrupted by the front end of a white beast that with its roar created mayhem. Destroyed my carriage and made other bleed. We morbidly documented the happening while inviting others to observe, slowly feeding by the tears. To discover one another as participants of what could've been the end of...

A guilty game of so much rage amongst us. The illusionist cloud of entertainment that drove miles and miles to embrace the feeling of belonging. What it is to paint your face red and black, hang a couple of flags in your car, followed by a sticker or two in the back bumper and, if you feel crazy, hang three or four bead necklaces on the rear mirror that, like a suicidal teenager with too much eye liner, decides to put make up on its last day of living.

A fantastic Christmas afternoon. Surrounded by the marketing strategies that were carefully planned out by corporate suits. Those that dictate our life. Our goals. Our desire to strive. Inundated by the impatient red and green that forces a smile upon your face, a dollar sign on your pupils, and the obsessive compulsive desire to fill the bottom of the tree with wrapped boxes misappropriating love.

In the end, the ending was disappointingly happy. Bones are still to be broken and blood has yet to be spilled. We feed the paranoia of the everyday with more headlining news, more reasons to stay within our safely secured house windows. Grab on to your belongings. Your 36 inch monitor that someone might break into your house for. Your two thousand dollars computer that feeds you with artificial love, the only palpable kind. Your sixteen year old son that is your biggest pride, your most priced possession: a breathing one. The that can actually respond you with words how amazing and giving you are by blessing the world with its presence. The biggest ego boost known to mankind.

God forbid, death takes this all away from us.