That Poor Little B*TCH – A Short Story

People always tend to tell others what’s right and what’s not. I don’t know on which basis they do that. I’m fucking forty years old and I still don’t understand how things tend to get segregated into good and bad. Even sucking smelly things is a really good thing for people and how can something else be really bad? Haha! Nature!

In the morning, I woke up. I looked at my teeth and they were yellowish enough but the smell was horrible, so I had a mint. I wore my black t-shirt with a golden eagle on it. The sticker is ironed too much. It is almost broken and has cracked. Ironing is not always good. Things which shouldn’t be ironed shouldn’t be ironed! I changed my shorts to rusty blue jeans. I like it. I don’t “love” it. No. I like it. Liking is good enough for me. I don’t know what ‘loving’ means. I searched my comb for half an hour. I found it under my unmade bed. It has webs and dust coiled. It feels home. I removed those webs and creased it to my pant. I didn’t bother if the comb is clean. It’d become smelly once I comb my hair. The hair is long. Like a horse’s tail. Not a ponytail please, mine is like silky, clean and neatly tended like the little bitch’s. Haha. I like her for some reason. She reminds me of my departed girl. Ah. I combed my hair and twisted it and had my man-bun. My hair is got both white and black strands in it. Haha. I don’t like those artificial colors. Haha. Nature!

I was going to a city where I should be playing music for the next week. A chain of live concerts. I didn’t want to do. But my friend insists. He always does. That mo*her-f*cker thinks he takes care of me and he is paving a way for me to get some money and go on with my living. I didn’t ask him. But then, I don’t want to upset him too much; I’m afraid in the inside, I might lose him too, the friend of mine. Fear! Haha. Nature!

Things tend to leave. Everything leaves. It is like, “thing” means “something which will leave,” maybe. I don’t know. I don’t need a thing. Not a thing. Haha. What would I want when I have all the things I need. I have a house, a mirror, a comb, a couple of dress pairs. I have my jumbo; my guitar, my Cajon. And yes, I always tend to maintain my fair share of Marijuana. That’s my life-sustaining piece of nature. Haha. Nature. Wild nature!

The broken narrative of an addicted musician tends to be cinematic and philosophical. I don’t think so. They are just tired words. They sound heavy with meaning, but in reality, they are not. They are not even true. I lie all the time. Because I have marijuana in my pocket and my jumbo on my shoulder, adding to those, tangled black and white hair hanging, people tend to believe I do everything with passion and all. I do, yes, I tend to live in a world which is secluded. I tend to contradict myself most of the time. Ah. Nature is a place I’d like to be. Nature!

I actually went to tell you a story, but my head is spinning and I always am getting distracted from the tale. Now, I’ll tell you. I will keep this marijuana aside. It doesn’t let me write. It makes everything meaningless. Even writing. Anyway, anyway. Today in the morning, I was in the railway station. I was just standing, waiting for the train. It was announced that the train would be twenty minutes late. That felt as a relaxing proceeding. I sunk my hand in the pocket. I was standing. I took my cigarette packet. I was not conscious of what was going on around me. I don’t want to be. I never was, I am not and I won’t be. That’s nothing new for me. I genuinely, like a man who would chew his bubblegum, took out a piece and placed it in my mouth and lighted it up. I am just smoking a cigarette.

I could feel it. The sudden disappearance of society. The sudden abandonment. The sudden attention I was grabbing. I looked around. People want to look at me, but they don’t want me to know. They want to talk to me, but they are strangely afraid. I am just smoking a cigarette. I’m a really good person to talk to. I talk in little statements. I don’t talk rubbish. I talk in a polite way. That’s my nature!

I was having a good time, like a boy playing with his toy without disturbing anyone. Then started this rumble. They were glaring, I mean, the people were looking like I am eating their meat. I am not. I am just smoking a cigarette. I am not asking them to move off from their places. They were moving off. Some were murmuring if they should be calling the Railway Police. Police? I didn’t rob anyone. I didn’t even talk with anyone. I didn’t look at anyone abusing. I even didn’t bother responding to their murmurings. I am just smoking a cigarette. Then I suddenly remembered, Railway Station is a Public Place: In a public place, smoking is barred or something. They can legally take action over me.

When I remembered that, I was absorbed in some thought which really always fascinate me. A public place and a private place. The whole world is any humans place, isn’t it? Saying that the people would feel discomfort and children will be influenced in a negative manner, this so-called government is barring humans into specific spaces: Private Places! How big is the earth and what are the possibilities on this planet if the whole world is a really free place? I am just burning a little tobacco leaf or something, not a whole village. But still, people genuinely think this is something which will kill them, maybe it will, but it will also save us. It might kill us externally, but it will save us from things which will kill us from the inside. Things kill us from the inside. Things always kill us from the inside. I am just smoking a cigarette. These will save us. What is the use of living a very externally-healthy life when you live in total torment inside? Ah, I cannot understand a few things, but the irony is, people tend not to believe my way of life. Mine is a really simple bro, a very simple life, nothing as complex as yours; I don’t have as many things as you have in your lives. I am just smoking a cigarette. I am Nature. Haha!

When I was thinking all the existentialistic rubbish, there was a girl before me. She would be half in my age; maybe around twenty. She looked attractive because she looked angry. I drew the cigarette out of my mouth. I looked at her and I didn’t know what or how to respond. I arched my eyebrows question what she wants. It might look like a really rude gesture, but I was not rude, I was just confused that is all. Her face turned really really angry. I was waiting for what she will be saying. “You don’t have decency?” she said. I really am shocked. She was waving her hand before her nose, like she is brushing the smoke off the air.

“What?” I asked like I didn’t listen. People were looking at her with a surprised expression. They were even admiring her.

“Don’t you have common sense?” she asked again. People started closing in. They suddenly found a strange strength in themselves. “Yes, ask him like that,” someone said from the crowd.

I didn’t like what was going on. I felt really sad. I drew the cigarette into my mouth and filled my lungs with the warm smoke of the magical puff.

It made her much sad maybe. She was evidently upset, and a few groans can be heard. Savagely enough, it satisfied me. I blew the dewy white smoke outside. The feeling is divine. I was silent, as I always am.

“You don’t have brains? You are living in a society,” her friends beside are urging her not to converse with me, but she isn’t listening. She is too brave. They were trying to hold her shoulder, but she is shrugging them off and was very angry. “You can’t live in a society as you want. We are not animals,” she seemed like a really young social reformer. A social reformer who will be really good one day. I smiled at the thought.

“Why are you laughing?” She snapped her fingers.

I slapped on her face. Haha. I was just smoking a cigarette. I slapped her. She shouldn’t have snapped her fingers, poor b*tch. I liked her, but I slapped her. Tears ran out of her eyes. All her friends gasped, but no one dared to come on to me; bad friends to have poor b*tch. All the audience bickered, but no one came to defend; a really bad society to fight for, poor b*tch. I really liked her, but I slapped her; a really bad person to fight with, poor b*tch. Haha. nature!

Everyone dispersed. Many looked furious, but I know no one wants to get into the drain and clean it. no one came. She looked at me for a while. Her big eyes filled with tears. She lowered her eyes. If I have a daughter she would be of her age. I would love my daughter to be like her. I am thinking how hard I had struck. When she removed her hand off her cheek, I could see my fingers blackened on her cheek. It should have burned. It should have pained a lot, poor b*tch.

I walked from there. I didn’t pick up the train. I didn’t want to. I took an auto to the bus station and picked up a bus. My mind was completely with her: That Poor Little Bitch!

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