How could there be darkness in paradise?
Where people live, where human nature presides in all its iterations, is where the light exists, but so too does darkness. Bloodshed, warfare, murder, rape, and every disparity thrives alongside the beautiful ocean, verdant greenery, and clear blue skies of our archipelago. People shelter themselves in various ways to be protected against such things. Hoping that it will never intrude upon their lives, never knowing that this darkness, like the light, co-exists simultaneously, waiting for you as you precariously walk that balance. With mouth-watering anticipation, the darkness wants to exploit a single mis-step, and that's all it takes.Public transportation is a matter of chance. You hope that your ride is uneventful and that everyone who rides is at the very least cordial and respectful, even when they occupy the seat next to you. In your single seat, you learn how to close your world off and live within it for the duration of the bus ride. Most days are like that, but other days, it's other people visiting their own chaos upon you. If it's a mentally deficient homeless person, a pervert, or an entitled asshole, you, for some reason, become the recipient of that disparity.
In the days when public transportation was not an option, I had the misfortune of encountering a homeless person whom everyone hated the moment he stepped onto the bus. A visible groan filled the 52-seat vehicle, and you could hear everyone adjust uncomfortably in their plastic seats. He always boarded at Pearl Ridge and rode the bus all the way to the end of its route in Ewa Beach. Some bus drivers said nothing, while others were not in the mood and physically removed him from the bus. All we knew was that his name was Sam and that he'd spent time in prison because when he came back to Hawaii after the war, he couldn't cope, so he ended up in jail. Sam, although a pain in the ass, was not the darkness. It was the man who got on at Pearl Harbor who was the darkness. Some passengers said he was Caucasian, or Haole, while others said he was Japanese or Chinese. Yet others swore he was Hawaiian.
He was well-dressed, wearing a Cuban-style bowling shirt and nicely pressed slacks. His shoes were polished, and his hair slicked back. He had eyes that were hard to describe. Again, some passengers said his eyes were blue, black, brown, or hazel. What everyone agreed on was that his eyes were intense, and a brief gaze into them gave the impression that he knew everything about you, so you looked away. When Sam boarded the bus at Pearlridge, everyone let out the usual collective groan, but more so, everyone felt bad for the well-dressed young man sitting in the back of the bus. We all knew that Sam was going to make a beeline for him and ruin his evening.
"Who the fuck are you supposed to be, dressed all fancy like that? You think you're better than me?" Sam bellowed.
"No," the young man replied calmly. "I don't think I'm better than you, but you do. You worried that it's possible that I could be better than you. That's why you're bothered."
"Wwwwwwwhat?" Sam shrieked. "What the fuck did you just say to me, you Coconut Hawaiian you?"
"You killed all those people during the war, Sam," we heard the young man say. We always ignored Sam up until now, but we couldn't help but turn around and look. "You didn't want to, but you did even though you knew it was wrong. You've carried that with you all this time, but what's worse is that somewhere deep down inside you, you're worried that you liked it. These people on this bus think you're yelling at them all the time, but you're yelling at the spirits of the people you killed because they won't leave you alone. They know, too, that you liked killing them."
"What the fuck, no, no," Sam muttered, and for the first time, we all saw him being helpless, not at all his usual threatening self.
The well-dressed young man removed a large hunting knife from what looked like nowhere and gave it to Sam. "If you kill everyone on this bus, you'll be free, and those people from the war will never bother you again. Start with the driver, and work your way down."
***
So, here we are. 53 spirits whom Sam slaughtered on the number 50 route to 'Ewa Beach, along with the spirits of the villagers that Sam murdered during the war. The well-dressed young man was right. The spirits of the villagers that Sam murdered didn't bother him anymore. They didn't go away; they just never bothered him again. Now, we did.
When and if Sam kills another group of people, then the spirits of THOSE people will bother him. You see how this works, now? The well-dressed young man? He was the darkness that exploited Sam's repressed darkness from the war. Some advice? Avoid the last bus going to 'Ewa Beach.
credit @jimnobles bizzare beijing
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