¿A flying red demon? Oh no, the scorpion fly, a real insect. He hovers huge and intimidating in the lamps potent glare, showing himself with intention, but for the moment I can only make out the blur of those chopper like, winged layers, and their high pitch rattle. Meanwhile, at the base of the barn, a toad sits unimpressed, shaded in the the damp ground.
The week after my odd encounter, a small, greyish, scorpion, landed right at my feet, while in the house, out of nowhere, but definitely from above, as if thrown my way on purpose.
¿Who and why? ¿Is this mockery from some trickster entity? The woman intuitive on Youtube says be ware of backstabbing, but nobody in my vicinity makes for a potential backstabber at all. Come early next morning, I woke with a jolt, just before dawn, and sensed the seeds of it, the origins of you, the unwanted one, the illegitimate son, the outsider, the enemy, and your fated backstabbed existence.
She passed down the curse. They all backstab eventually, when they tire of your aims to take off the ground, go higher, faster. The never ending demand to push ahead, as if everybody was one of your soldiers. I used to be your best ally, the most loved, the white soul, you said. But today our backstabber’s dense, terrible, revelations, bruise my brain, open up the wound, and yet, they do hold seeds of truth.
You carry around your own downfall when you force open their forgotten attic; when you bring out the unacknowledged infection, when you puncture the inflammation, as you eventually do, and show yourself like the scorpion fly you are. And they can see it, then and there, the downward spiral waits at the base of the barn, where the toad watches the entrance to their very own underworld.
¿So what does this particular grey specimen want from me today, besides a whack with my flip flop? ¿More of my pity? Or shall I sit as stoic as the toad, through your next chapter of turmoil, and hope you get it right this time, as you claw your way back to safety. ¿Shall I sit here and not reach out, nor backstab, nor be the ally, but only hope, pray you are able to see the final closing, the dimming lights of your own stage of backstabbers?
I’ll pray hard for it to be closing night.