KARKAS #95: THE GOVERNMENT OF DOGS

I am never a fighter.

I always succumbed to the smallest obstacles.

I always ran into hiding when problems came.

I am weak.

The same thing that was written on the back of my head, the very ones that never fail to stay. No matter how hard I tried, no matter where I was. Being in the middle of a community that stayed the way it was since the World War II didn’t help, not even a bit. I crawled into the many bunkers that were left during the Emergency, every time I heard the Gang coming.

Oh. Don’t let me start on the Gang. The stupid bulky sons of a bitch group, which always came to me during the first week of the month, because they know that is when my parents give me my monthly allowance. They only had to come and wrestle the money from me, and sometimes they even took my lunch. But usually it’s just the money they wanted. My mom doesn’t know how to cook, they say. What they didn’t know is that my mom intentionally prepares bad food during the first week, so that at least my lunch would be safe.

Why didn’t my parents act, if they know my predicament, you ask? Well, if your son is bullied by the son of the Mayor that happily cut down wages, shooing away people from their homes when they say other than what he himself said, and even did more terrible things than that, I don’t think that you can do anything. And why haven’t we reported to the government yet, you ask?

Because we have none.

Or I think we used to. But now the government is just a dog’s den, where dogs were trained to lick each other’s back, and bark at the ones that tried to have a say. Anyway, the topmost part? The government told us that, every day. They never give it to us directly, but from the way they run the country, it seems so. Sending us subtle messages through the news, herding us like goats.

Well, they are dogs, aren’t they? Herd dogs, to be precise. Telling us what to do, making changes without us even knowing. What else? We are puppets, and they are the mannequins. Pulling the strings here and there, making us follow the flow that was never there in the first place, just creating things out of nowhere.

Back to the Gang. As they are secured by the Mayor himself, they can do anything that they want. It’s as if they own the place. The Mayor always turns a blind eye, and all the reports went into the dustbin. People that made complaints were either arrested or kicked out. Some of them mysteriously disappear.

By the time you read this, I’m probably not around anymore, anyway. Keep your eyes open, and look where the dogs are looking.

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