Kings or Pawns

It was Napoleon who said that “in this life we are either kings or pawns; emperors or fouls.” He was right, you know.

You either choose to react to anything you don’t agree with in this world and be named a rebel, or you remain a victim (and accomplice) to it.

Take so many instances of daily life: that job you’re expected to do asap – meaning yesterday – and you’re constantly pressed for time, but when you’re anticipating a reply, the other party takes all the time in the world. That ‘urgent’ matter that in reality is of minor importance yet is presented as a life-changing event for which you must stop everything else to address.

Those bills you’re called to pay for which you are often given no justification but which you are obliged to in every way and are threatened with fines if you don’t.

And the worst of all is that argument that “that’s what everyone does”, or “that’s how it is”, or even more, “that’s how it’s always been”.

Just think of flies: millions of them are attracted to crap, but that doesn’t mean this would be delicious for you too.

Remember: Just because everyone is doing it, doesn’t mean it’s right. And just because no one is doing it, doesn’t mean it’s wrong.

So why not alter things?

Just because something has been done for so long in a certain way doesn’t necessarily mean it is the right way, or that there is no better mode to achieve the desired end. But if you don’t try to differentiate, you’ll never know. You won’t find something else – something potentially better – if you don’t take a different path.

But it is essentially your choice. Because every change begins with a vision and a decision to take action. And change begins at the end of your comfort zone. Growth and evolution occur the minute you decide to break that conventional / traditional cycle.

You will decide who you want to be and how you want to react in this world. Chin up or head down. The choice is yours.

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What if the fire was after you?

©Konstantinos Tsakalidis / SOOC

What if it was happening to you?

What if you weren’t simply watching it all live from the comfort and safety of your own home? What if you weren’t the audience of the tragedy but one of its victims?

What if you were the one forced to evacuate your home amidst deafening sirens and emergency alerts?

What if the flames of a devouring fire were pressing against your own property?

What would you do? How quickly would you gather your things, your family, your animals, and flee?

And what would you take?

How do you select in an instant among the myriad of things that compose a life? How do you choose what to take and what to leave behind to burn and be lost forever? How to you keep a clear head to act rationally when all you hear is “run to save your life”?

What life?

What constitutes a life that is so easily destroyed by what begins from a tiny spark?

What is essential and not?

How do you run when you know there will be nothing to come back to?

How do you pick yourself up when you know you probably lost everything the instant you close the door?

And what can anyone ever say to support, comfort, or encourage you?

Where do you find strength to carry on when you’ve literally seen your past, present and future ignite in flames?

And how can anyone ever do or say anything to make it better, when all they’ve done is watch your home burn live on TV?

Tragic but no comedy

Justin looked down at the body that lay lying between the rubbish dumpster and the ladder which would have served as his escape route. It was pitch black outside still and if it weren’t for the growling cats on heat, nothing would have been heard. Not even cars rushing by. It was a peculiar night. A full moon always pre-empts something strange. Justin believed his ancestors’ belief to be true. And tonight it had become a reality.

Two hours ago he was standing there in the living room of his fourth-floor apartment drinking an Irish beer with his friend. “Friend”. He had just met him a week ago. How well can you get to know someone in such a short time? Even if you did spend an unusually large proportion of your time each day in their company?

Why? Because what they shared went beyond the ‘normal’. And the ‘legal’.

No, they weren’t smuggling, selling or growing drugs.

No, they were not into human trafficking.

No, they were not into something disgusting or perverted.

They were running around town all day, trying to do a good deed to change someone’s life.

They smiled at everyone in the street, no matter if they got sworn at or nearly hit in return. They truly believed that one single smile, one good deed, no matter how small, may one day save a life.

It was good karma if nothing else. And it certainly made them feel their day was worthwhile.

Until that moonlit night.

Justin remembered that they had even joked about the only thing missing from that “twilight” sky was a howling wolf.

It was ironic that a cat howled like a wolf when the body fell four stories down and crashed onto its tail.

He didn’t mean for it to happen. He never wished anything bad for anyone. Not even him.

It did not matter that he caught him stealing money from his wallet. He offered to give him more if he needed help.

But Justin did not understand why the aggravation and the change of tone all of a sudden. What was with this attitude? The person who said a smile would make anyone’s day now suddenly lost his own. Without reason or explanation. He didn’t use to be like this.

And then it happened. The irritation brought about a quarrel which turned bloody. And then, he asked Justin for some water. Those fatal drops of transparent liquid would seal his fate.

For as soon as Justin returned with the glass in his hand he barely managed to avert a dagger stained with blood flying towards him. And his “friend” was falling butt-first out the open window. As if he was diving in a water-park fun pool.

He just made sure he would seemingly signal the culprit.

Thirty minutes had gone by, with Justin playing the scene over and over in his head. The sirens had become louder now.

He drank the water, placed the dagger in the glass and hid it in his inside coat pocket. He would leave no trace.

Only one.

An Italian gold carnival mask.

He was not known as the Harlequin for nothing.

The victim had after all smiled at his Colombina… And things, even a smile, are never what they seem…