Thursday, December 2, 2010

The Tarantula

Central Island, Toronto

    The soldiers are laughing heartedly as all young men do. They are afraid of me. Tarantulas are not their best friends in the sand of the Sahara Desert. Although so tiny, I am very powerful and the soldiers know that very well.
     Playfully they spill gasoline all around me and set it on fire. I am choking on the smoke of the burning gasoline. The fire feels hotter than midday sunshine. I walk around the circle. I walk around the circle again. I walk around the circle for the third time. There is no way out.
    I am the Power. I have always been divine. I have always been a warrior. I turn my weapon against myself.
    The soldiers stop laughing. They freeze watching my suicide.