How to look after unwanted crocodiles

Like wasps are coloured yellow-black, like the sun will die in five billion years, like demons have the effigy of our enemies, so am I armed to the teeth. My eyes spit fire, my words are as sharp as knifes, my jokes contain more poison than coral snakes and with my silence I am able to suffocate fully grown elephants.

Is that the reason why I believe I'm so terrible happy, why I am so extremely jubilant? By the way, it's not only me. I'm part of my clan, I belong to my fellow countrymen. And we all feel proud like knights who just have survived the battle of Tours. We all believe we are majestic since we think we can control our lives, our environment, our little kingdom. Who can do us any harm?

And if someone dares to come near, he will notice the deep moats around our fortresses, he will detect soon enough the crocodiles in the waters, he will observe the impregnable drawbridges (he will hear also the cheerful music coming from behind the thick walls, he will hear the laughter and the songs, indicating how confident we are, how relaxed we juggle with the hours of the days).

This is our life, this is how we work, sleep, make love, eat, read the Financial Times on Saturday mornings. Until that one day when we walk in the centre of the town. Like we use to do, we feel blessed and chosen. Until we see that man sticking a placard on the front door of the Town hall. As a rule, we don't pay attentions to civil servants doing their duties. But today is different. Today something is hanging in the air.

We are not the only ones being curious what's written on the poster. Tens of people are standing in front of the municipal building's and read the message. The announcement contains three simple words: We are liberated. But we are staring at the note if the whole novel Crime and Punishment of Dostoevsky has been written on the wooden front door. We? Are? Liberated? The words float through our skies, drip on our castle walls.

Only back at home I come to realize that I was not aware that a war could be ended. My fire, my knives and my poison, I carry them with me because I've been trained to do so, because I've been taught there's no other life than fighting and attacking. How else can a spiritless human being survive, in what other way can a spineless earthling withstand the onslaught of life?

In the evening I take my old fashioned dictionary to be sure about the definition. And indeed, to liberate means that one is set free, especially from imprisonment or oppression. I put down the voluminous book and stare out of the window. Whereas earlier I didn't realize one can stop a combat, I also didn't have the impression I was imprisoned or oppressed.

What is wrong with me? Is something wrong with me? Should I believe the message on the front door of the City hall? Or should I ignore it. Like a mountaineer is surmising a snow storm that is nearing but for the sake of reaching the summit, for the sake of eternal fame, he just pooh poohs the alarm and moves on.

The other day we (the knights, the owners of castles) we roam the streets and are heading to the square where the Town hall is located. From afar we see the banners and the flags. It cannot be missed the message that is on the decorations: we are liberated.

Alienated and restless we scurry bark and forth across the square. Some citizens are lighting fireworks and are drinking champagne. But we? We look at each other as nervous predators. We have no idea what it means, to be at peace. What we do know that this can be a very tricky and dangerous situation. After all, if we let our guard down, how easy will it be to devour us, to wipe us out?

What will happen when we believe the news? Will the rabble, the riffraff loot our fortresses? Will they attack our kingdoms? What will take place the moment we are letting down the draw bridge, when we will tear down the walls, we drain the moats? How are we protected, who will give us refuge? Not to mention, who will look after all the unwanted crocodiles?