Tell Me It’s Wrong

In that very instant, before somebody had even though of saying something that could be misconstrued as correct, somebody said something very wrong, and that was the end of him. He was immediately beheaded and his head put on a spike, and forced to smile at passengers and clients who ever dared to walk the streets of those who believe. He had always hated smiles, for he found them insincere, and now he was forced to be happy forever, at the mercy of people he used to love, when he didn’t feel like it.

One unfaithful night, one little thing approached the head and wondered what it was that he had said that was so wrong that made it so that he had to spend the rest of its bodyless life like that. Even though they asked everyone in town, nobody seemed to remember what it was he said that was that so wrong, only that it was so heinous and uninteresting, that people barfed in their hearts at the very thought of it, and some people cried in despair, for they had known only misery. But they couldn’t remember what, only the why, when, where, and how it made them feel.

The little thing approached the head and tried to caress it to wake it, but he was always awake, for he had no need to sleep as all solitary heads tended to be.

“What do you seek of me? I am only allowed to smile in the mornings and days, and in nights, I’m fed the remains of already eaten manure. That is the punishment for being so wrong.”

“Why are you wrong?”

“A good question indeed with so many different answers, which means, there is no definite answer, which means that you need not know, because it doesn’t matter. Everything you could ever think of is a good answer, for the true answer, lies among them only infinitesimally so. You will never know and it doesn’t matter if you know.”

“What are you wrong about?”

“Now or forever or in the past? For many people are wrong, but only I dared to speak.”

“Why were you beheaded is what I mean? Nobody remembers.”

“They do not remember because it is better for them to not remember. There are many ways of being wrong, and many different ways of being right. But sometimes being right is just as worthy as being wrong, and I said something that was so truthful, that it became hurtful, and rather than face me, they decided to take my face away, and force me to not say what they really needed to hear. “

“But why is all of it like this?”

A lesson must be learned after all: there are truths that must remained hidden for an uneventful life, a blissful eternal illusion will follow surely after, and you can die with a fake smile in your face, knowing you did everything you could. If that individual were to ever find the truth, they won’t do that, the smile, if it ever comes, it could be actually genuine and the world they inhabit could actually be better. But what of the others? What of the others, indeed.”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You will be and you will like it and you will never learn. But if you’re ever right, you can die with one less head burdening you, a little smile goes a long way. That’s what I would like to see, a beautiful smile that actually mean something.”

With that said, the little thing walked away and pondered for the entire night, watching their own smile in the mirror, what kind of person they were and what they were doing in the life, and what smile they would ever give if their head was found slinging from a tree, ready to reveal truth, from their beautiful black heart, always spilling blood, ready to change the world.