I see you. All of you. I see your eyes staring at me, through me and beyond me. I see your faces – some old, some young, even babies. You, all of you, just staying there, in your tiny little houses, putting a charade nobody is really watching.
You are all different. You are poor. And you are rich. You are ordinary, middle class. You are alone. And you have so many family members. Yes, different. Do you feel different? You shouldn’t.
I am passing by your marble house. It was built to look beautiful. I see those trees, the small garden, even the flowers. You are rich for sure! Pardon me, your family is rich.
I see your neighbor. He is a big shot, a famous filthy rich politician. I know him, yes. He got rich from shady business with shady people, probably selling out his country and fellow citizens. Good for him. Is it? His house is even bigger, taller, shining marble everywhere, fresh flowers, small trees, wooden benches in the garden. In a few years he will have a small forest there, like in a fairy tale.
But do you know what I am seeing now? The politician’s neighbor of course! Well, he is nobody. There is a small sign spelling nobody’s name, not that anybody actually cares. He is alone in this world, no one will take care of him. The grass is brown, there is no marble, just some moldy wood. Pity.
I know the next house, too. The famous blond singer. His house a complete nonsense, just like its crazy life with drugs, sex and alcohol. Don’t hear the music today though, no sign of paparazzi, police or smell of booze. Just silence.
The next house is where I stay for a while. There is nothing specific, just an ordinary home, small and unattractive. There are some old and already dead flowers. I know this people and I know what the man down the street has done to them. Horrible story, really, and my heart skips a beat while my thoughts dived once again in that nightmarish night.
I am walking by the bad man’s house now. Well, a house is just an expression. There is nothing really here, even the grass won’t grow. I am pretty sure there was a wooden sign a while back, but it is no more. I noticed the traces of spit all around, of course, but this isn’t important now.
I came to visit someone and my visit is now done. I stopped at your neighborhood’s big entrance. You can get from here one of the most beautiful and terrifying views in the world. Oh, someone new is arriving. Let me check.
Oh, G. Look at that! It’s him! The famous minister of something. He was part of the government like forever. He is dead now. Shot numerous times by someone like him. Good. Millions of people wished for this day probably. And I am now at his funeral. Nobody invited me, but he is dead now, and for the first time I am more than him just because I am alive.
I see his widow crying, his child kneeling around the closed coffin. That’s one really expensive piece of work, probably more expensive than my apartment. Why? Nobody really cares. He will rot in there, while his family will be torn apart trying to divide hit blood money.
They are all crying now. I bet his house will be looking like a castle. Why do they even bother? His family will forget him soon, his enemies already did, and the people like me – we’ll be sure spitting around his house once in a while.
They are bidding farewell. I don’t see all the money he made. There is no gold, no diamonds, no bags full of dirty dollars. The Ferrari isn’t coming with him too. The villas won’t fit in the 8 square spaces. He made so much money that I can’t even dream of, and they aren’t sending anything with him for, you know, after. Ha! I bet he thought all of his wealth meant something. They always do! So funny.
It’s sunset now. I am once again at the breath-taking view. The cemetery is just like an ordinary neighborhood. The rules are a bit different though. I see your tombstones, which your family thinks of as houses. They’ve build them big and beautiful. I see them and they mean nothing to me. I don’t admire them, I don’t care about your trees and flowers.
I feel pity for the killed family and the forgotten old man, I even grief for those people. But I just spit on you. You have no guards now. You have no gold. You are just a tombstone and a photo. You can’t even look at me, your photo does.
I will be going home and won’t remember you. I will carry the ones I love and the ones I feel for with me and will keep them alive as long as I can. But I will leave you to die as soon as I turn my back.
And do you know what your ultimate punishment is? You didn’t actually live. You may thought you lived great making all those money, robbing so many people and destroying so many lives. You sat through all of this alone. You never knew the world you lived in. You didn’t go anywhere, you took no vacation to explore and live. You sat at dinner alone, you kept your stuff all to yourself and in the end, you died alone. You didn’t experience life at all, you just sat there waiting for your illusion to end.
I can’t see you anymore. I don’t even remember you anymore. Your eyes are probably staring into the nothing until the sun eventually destroys them. And I… I am going to live. I will smile to the sun, let the rain soak me, jump in a meter deep snow, dive in the blue ocean and let my friends bury me into the sand. Then I will lay down on the ground waiting for the sunrise to kiss me.
Who I was thinking about? Man, I can’t remember…