Sometimes I Think Everyone Was Dead But Me

Sometimes I think I live in a world where everyone was dead but me.

Strange?

Ah, yes. But I do think it still.

The rowdiness of marketplaces, the crying of babies at midnight, the clash of automobiles on expressways, the shout of hallelujah in unison of churches, singing of the nation's anthem by children on school assembly grounds, nor the quarrel of drunks, none of these uproars seem alive to me in those times when I think all is dead but me.

There are plenty of occasions when I feel this way:

When a bike man engages his engines on a race with I, in my 504, though he knows I shall not engage. When I go out to dinner and upon raising my head from my meal, I see a brawl between customer and server. When on pleading for mercy from a man of high standing, he asks in return, a performance in bed with me. When the news reports a slaughter, kidnap, or any criminality. When one lover cheats on their partner. When rulers of society wear fine silk while the people starve.

There are many times when I think everyone was dead but me, and only a few when I acknowledge the lives of others about me.

When a coin falls from the hands of one man into the bowl of another by the roadside. When priest give to the hungry in their midst, instead of taking from them, more. When women mother other people's children and ask them to wash their hands after picking their noses. When a businessman offers a fair price even when he knows his neighbour makes better than himself.

As few as the times when I don't think everyone was dead but me, fewer are the times they occur.

Sometimes I think everyone was dead but me, for how else am I to make sense of the injustice, chaos, filth, and unkindness of men, other than they had lived and now are dead, so they have no care for consequence.

My father once told me in his last days; “A man with no conscience, is as good a dead man”.

Yes, sometimes I think everyone was dead, but me.