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Don’t Think of Me as a Person

March 11, 2012

Don’t think of me as a person; don’t think of me at all.

I have no hopes or dreams. I don’t eat, shit or sleep. I have no family. No mother or father. Neither friends nor neighbours who love me. When I wake up in the morning, I never wonder about the good things that might happen to me today.

I don’t believe in God. I don’t pick up my gun every day; no, not to defend my people, not to protect my country. When I strap on my gunpowder vest, God is not great; no, God is not great.

Go ahead, you can hit me. I understand. You’re teaching me a lesson.

When you pull the trigger, don’t think of me as a person.

When you grab your baton, don’t think of me as a person.

Step into your role. You’re just doing your job.

You’re a good person, we both know that. You can go to sleep at night without hearing my screams.

It’s all right; you did as you were told. It’s all right; I’m too stupid to know.

This morning I had toast and scrambled eggs. My infant daughter took her first steps. I was yelled at by my boss. Another mistake and I’m fired, she says. There are thousands of people queuing up for my job. The letter in the mail says the bank is taking my house.

Don’t worry too much. I deserve it.

Look: I don’t wear the right clothes, and I’m not the right color. I don’t like the right people, don’t have the right job. I don’t have a job. I don’t have the right genitals; I don’t drive the right car. I don’t worship the right God, don’t speak the right language, and I have a funny accent.

No, don’t think of me as a person. It’s easier that way.

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From → Simple Horrors

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