pain

I’m A Criminal Going Down With My Country Venezuela – Part II

Graphics by  Patrick Leger

Graphics by Patrick Leger

We spent some more time talking and watching funny videos on my Instagram, when I had to go home and said goodbye. He hugged me and I wished him a Happy Christmas. He smelled, but almost like a soiled puppy. It was nice.

Later that night, I went out for a night on the town with my boyfriend and friends. It was the usual, beers and music, a little bit of dancing, if you went to certain spots in the city you could party safely, and if you knew where to party you could even find old, pre-super inflation prices on beer. It was around 3 am and we were by our third case of beer, dancing on a local pub of the city, all of us quite drunk and happy because it was our last day of the semester and I was now entering my last year of college and thesis work. I went outside, to the alley of the pub, because I fell sick. I needed to throw up but the bathroom was full and it would be too embarrassing to barf in front of a sea of people so I went out and puked my brains out. After a while of puking, I lifted my head expecting to be met with the peaceful breeze of the night, but I saw him. The man. There he was, right in front of me in this alley. ‘This must be a nightmare’ I thought, ‘I must be too damn drunk’. But I knew within me I wasn’t that drunk and it was real. I sobered up real quick and the taste of vomit even left my mouth. There he was, earlier today I saw him talking to himself and clenching his fists and now he’s in front of me, with those black eyes. He raised his hand. He had a knife. He started to come towards me. I knew all of this, I figured. This is the country I live in, this is not weird, its survival. He saw a rich girl in pumps, a tight dress and a white fur coat and thought he could get an easy lay, meal, or what else. I pulled out my gun. He stopped.

Of course I have a gun, this is Venezuela.

Graphics by Patrick Leger

Graphics by Patrick Leger

He seemed startled for a second, but must’ve thought me to be weak because of my stature and build. I am not weak. I have seen life, I have met the truth. If I must thank this government for anything, it must be for helping me open my eyes to the truth of man. And how at the end he is always going to want to survive. We are just that, survivors. And for a moment I saw his eyes and forgot that I had the notion that he was seeing my eyes and feeling nothing but murder, and I felt that two. And I raised my gun.

“I will shoot you, I am not scared or kidding, I know how to use this and I will shoot you. So turn away and leave me alone”.

It was almost like fear numbed my lips so much that I barely felt those words leave my mouth. He didn’t turned away, he kept coming towards me and I didn’t know when the fear was going to act away and lock my legs or my hands and I would be reduce to a scared little girl turned to stone to be grabbed by the wolves hands.

“I will shoot. I’m not scared” and I shot. A perfect hole was made through his chest; I could see the other side of the street from it. He was still staring at me when he fell down and hit the concrete; his eyes were black when he died. I didn’t feel bad. I didn’t feel anything. I would’ve done it again. Because in this country it doesn’t matter if you’re spiritually enlightened and wishing for world peace, we are still animals, we are really hungry, and we are being left to die. I am still surviving.

First part

Anonymously submitted to ArtParasites