Twenty-First Century Mankind Blues

Twenty-First Century Mankind BluesByD. David Croot

1

I am not human.

Never have been.

I shall prove it!

2

"If I were truly unique there'd be no way to relate to the world."

I suppose I should give examples, life being a journey an all. I have had friends in the past. But I have learnt that proximity is merely friendship.

Simply linger around someone longer enough, whether they be the cool kid in a leather jacket at school or Johnny Depp, you're bound to become indebted in some sort of quasi-relationship-and-happy-smiles-group.

I walk a lot nowadays, it helps me think. Although why I think is unbeknownst to me. I can't unthink or even stop the process so I revel in it to some degree. It brings me peace when nothing else makes sense too me.

I am interrupted by a man plucking himself from a steel bench that is surrounded by yellowed bird shit who walks up too me for an as yet unknown purpose. Evidently he believes he has worthwhile information.

He exclaims, almost in shock, "I thought you were dead."

Now you must understand it was only within this moment I recognised who this plebeian-being was.

He holds his phone up. "They said you were dead!" he repeats once more.

They, who or whatever they may be, could not have hacked into any social media profile for I do not have any. Perhaps an old school chum turned would be Jester has created one with a curious eye for a jape.

In the reflection of his green green eyes I note I have not moved or said a word in quite some time. I am too busy watching the world turn, contemplating what makes him come up to me right in the here and now to ask a question where the answer is already implied, moreover solved.

He starts to talk, "I have a steady job a family and two kids who are my pride and joy..." I have heard the words before. Yet I...find it hard to believe his mouth.

I should feel happy? for him, yet I feel he's holding something back. I do not know which buttons to press, what combination of speech will make him open up to me moreover why on earth do I want to know.

If he talks I don't have to talk...I already know my thoughts why do I need to expound them?

"Been up too much lately?" he asks, fearing I have become lost in some sort of trance.

It is my chance to be poetic and watch his tongue waggle and eyes water with the up-most delight.

"Well after coming back from the wilderness..." I look up to find he's on his phone and all pretence of giving a shit has lifted.

I walk away.

And as I do, I wonder what was the point in that interaction? Why did he stop me in my tracks when I was having a superb amble along the barely alive town centre? He had nothing to say I had even less.

"I was just telling the world you're alive and well," he shouted holding up his phone in a green case with what looked like a Pikachu on the back of.

He used to beat the living day lights out of me at school. His mighty spittle covered his hand, his desk, his book and sometimes the teacher. His anger so fierce he was driving Ford Mondeo's and Nissan Micra's by the time he was twelve because nobody could control the little fucker!

And here he was, a fully functional human being, doing as they all did.

When I knew he had lost interest in our little rendezvous, I turn to watch him disappear. His gait is like any other, he is glued to his phone and not too far off in the distance his kids join him. They climb on his back, they make fun of his receding hairline, they dance around his fathers brogues.