The Unkind Man and the Karma Police
Little did he know what was about to take place; what would only happen once and what would forever haunt him.
Stepping out into the cold
morning, condensation fogging cars windows - smudged outlines and shrunken forms - the Unkind Man
sought after one thing only - Spanish rent boys
. Hurling himself into the approaching traffic
, he found and hired a taxi. The ride was smooth and uneventful. Tipping the driver as he left the cab, slamming
the door into the face of the next over-eager commuter, he walked past a 100 year old church whose bells were singing, annoying him
. His anger
grew, he spat
on the floor in disgust
. Nothing irritated
him more than ‘church-goers’, he hated
them, they hated him. Albeit he did not care
, nor did he care about much.
“Get out of my way scum” He shouted abuse at two Italian tourists who had lunged themselves into him; he disliked tourists in the city, he despised them - an endemic plague boiling across the thoroughfares, tunnelling into buildings. They ventured off into the distance, he growled and spat again on the floor. His anger grew.
It started to rain, carrying on in spite of the foul weather passers-by unfolded their umbrellas in uniform – a gigantic wave of plastic blossomed and opened its face toward the sky. He ducked, a parachute sized umbrella nearly took his head off, feeling the anger boil over, he swung a mean fist toward the culprit imprinting his hand upon their face. They screamed and fell, he sniggered and carried on walking; satisfaction grew inside him like the devil inside the sadist.
As his blood sugar level dropped, he began to feel tired. However, the adrenaline from his first attack drove him on. I’m going to fuck somebody up today, who is it going to be? The thought possessed him like a rabid dog, a car splashed water all over him. You, yes you, you’re next. Running as fast as he could, he saw the car accelerate towards the traffic lights. Red please change to red – stop, murmuring under his breath. He carried on sprinting, the rain was hitting him hard now, his clothes absolutely drenched; soaked through to the bone. Amber, then red. He caught up with the car. Ripping the door open, the driver cried “What the fu..” And before he finished his sentence, Mr Unkind dived at him, hands on his throat, strangling the dark haired blue eyed thirty something.
Traffic gathered around the now suspicious car, he put it in gear and drove slowly around the corner, parked, got out and walked away, laughing.
He heard a scratching sound behind him , turning to look at where the noise came from, a metal pilon cracked into his cranium.
Nor less I deem that there are powers
Which of themselves our minds impress
"What about a mouse
"Yes, um..I mean no, not a mouse"
"Well, you're lucky I'm giving you choices.."
"To be honest, I don't know how I got here."
"I'm sure you do, the reasons are fair, you chose this path
"I did? ... How about a horse
"Hmm, I doubt it, it's too far up the scale
"What is on offer then?"
"You want a list, well that is not possible I'm afraid, we'll give you three choices: a mouse
, an ant farm
, and plankton
"You mean the stuff that lives in the sea, hmm, that might be good. How long does it take to go up the ladder?"
"Good question , which no one knows, not even myself. But remember, you will need to change your ways in order to ascend
"OK, I'll go for the ant farm."
Tweet and Pete knew the ropes, they had been marching all day long, for as long as they remembered. Jim tried to keep up with them, it was hard work but it all mattered, it had to matter - he was part of something: the collective. Everyone knew what to do, when to do it and each member of the society fought, struggled, died for the greater good - it was all that mattered. Each ant was attached to each other - neurons fired on all cylinders controlling each and every thought as if it were one thought - assembled into a whole. He was the collective now, he encompassed every part of the ant colony, he was singular (yet many) and every ant, from soldier to Queen had one inherent - gene ridden - thought. The thought being: we have to be kind, we have to be kind...
R.H. Blyth , Zen In English Literature and Oriental Classics, The Hokuseido Press, 1942.