hats off to Chiron (flea)
Somewhere on a thick patch of fur, belonging to an alleycat, there lives a flea named Chiron. There’s no use in pinpointing its whereabouts, for, just like subatomic particles in the vacuum of space, this particular cat appears and disappears as it/the great Universe pleases.
Chiron is the proud descendant of a conservative family of fleas. He leads a luxurious life, laden with excesses of all kinds. He binges on Ludwig Van, yet he hasn’t seen the Clockwork. He lavishes by taking whole spa days after which he indulges in fountains of fondue. Goes to the country club with this flea peeps whom he isn’t close to, yet he tolerates.
Ok, all kinds except the exciting ones.
Chiron has servants and his job is basically to administer the family fortune, which he quite responsibly does. Computes and pays his taxes, meticulously and on time. Chiron firmly believes that fleas of lower social status shouldn’t be considered full fleas. Half-fleas. He’s quite afraid of lice. Any other species, in fact.
Chiron fears the God, the one and only true God, all-powerful, ever-knowing, immanent and transcendental. The Order of Things is kept together by this Higher Power, which he has seen only in his dreams.
Each day, this particular flea leads its existence quite peacefully, embedded in his furry universe. Never once does he stop to consider that he exists, he just does and so do pretty much most of the cathabitants. So does the cat. Therefore, today Chiron the flea is taken by surprise by a minor apocalypse. Everything happens in the blink of an eye, all light goes out. All the pain goes in. He’s being squashed by a huge, pink paw, eviscerated by metallic claws. So are his servants who are currently tending the garden.
Thy will be done!
He’s left half whole, still wholly broken. Such Ultraviolence has been exacted on him by the one true God, yet his greatest pain lies in wondering why him. Fleas jump, that’s what they do. Crippled fleas, what are they supposed to do? What about rich crippled fleas — ?
His servants kicked the bucket. Why not him as well? Now the replacements look at him with disgust. Now his home lies half squashed, like his face, at least that’s what his amigos whisper behind his back. To hell with them! He’s starting to lose his shit.
What does any creature born post nineteen seventy do when it’s at the end of its rope, when all light inside it goes out, when any glimmer of hope has vanished?
No, not suicide, remember that Chiron is a conservative flea. He goes on a self-finding pilgrimage like the Beatles did. Or Siddhartha.
One day, his ascetic pilgrimage having started for quite a while, he reaches the Wise Monks of the Claw.
- Good day, O Wise Ones! Please take me in, at least for a while, for i am so tired! i have crawled and begged, i have broken bread with muggers and killers, lain with prostitutes, scraped for a bite to eat, yet never done any wrong. All i ask is that you keep me here, give me something to work and perchance a frugal meal. And teach me, O Great Monks, teach me your wisdom! This is my greatest wish, to partake in your collective happiness.
- So you want to know the basis of our philosophy then? Indeed, we are ever happy! By living here! We’re one with the one true God. When the Claw strikes, we strike with it! Nothing can kill us. Now you know.
Chiron the flea starts to laugh maniacally. Such is the meaning of life, then. His life, a joke. Both his lives, the conservative one and the vagabond one.
Gnaw! He bites so hard into the ground that the whole horizon goes HISS and MEOW MOTHAFUCKA and then the Scythes of Repentance, the Canines of Perdition bite the bite of Doom.
Bites, he thought, perhaps there’s a meaning to this series of consecutive bites, perhaps that’s life. Providence is currently biting him in the ass.
As he goes under, Chiron the flea, amidst teeth, fur, blood and mutilated fleas, regrets one thing the most.
Existing.
Originally published at http://trepanatie.wordpress.com on May 18, 2016.
