“To Change the World”

By: Francisco Dosal

The streetlights of a 4-way intersection turned red. The large crowd of impatient pedestrians rushed to cross and someone walked into the middle of the road.  No one noticed him until he pulled out a pistol and shot a warning shot into the air. A woman screamed and a baby started crying. The majority of the people ran in fear. Others crouched down as if to avoid the bullet. A nearby cop quickly pulled his own gun out and demanded the young man drop the weapon.

“I want world peace!” yelled the young man.

“Terrorist attack!” some yelled.

The young man then placed the pistol on the left side of his forehead and held his other hand on the right.

“I want world peace!” he said again. Then, one last time before he fired, he yelled, “to change the world!”

He was the first. At first, no one understood what had happened. The young man’s body lay on the city pavement, one hand holding the pistol and the other holding the bullet that ran through his skull. The event was so puzzling that is didn’t even make it to the evening news.

I remember the first young man who started it all. I was there when the first young man shot himself in the head. The blood made my stomach turn. I didn’t know what to make of it. The gun being fired and his declaration, “I want world peace,” played over and over in my head. I heard his words so many times that, for the first time, I, too, wanted world peace. For the first time, I cared.

It happened again.

The second one was different.  He was a college student who was majoring in philosophy or literature. I can’t recall exactly, but the point is that he had a bright future ahead of him.

According to eyewitness and classmates, he had been eating what looked like hundred dollar bills. He walked into the city, shot a warning shot into the air, and, before anyone could react, yelled, “Education is to liberate the being but now it shackles the flesh and soul with debt.”

Everyone waited for him to pull the trigger. Instead, he pulled a string and exploded. Bloody hundred dollar bills flew everywhere. Some gently landed as others floated in the air for a while. It was quite a scene to have witnessed. Nobody grabbed a single bill, not even the homeless man who just minutes before had been begging for money.

“End racism! Am I not your brother? Am I not flesh and bone? I too feel!” yelled a young black male in a subway station as he pulled out a knife and began tearing flesh off his arm.

People screamed in horror. No one tried to stop him.

“End racism!” he yelled again as he pulled up his shorts and began cutting skin off his thigh.

He was under the influence of so much morphine that he could not feel the knife as it sliced through his skin like butter.

“Pollution, pollution, pollution!” yelled a girl.

She held a container tightly as she ran up and down a mall. After  she gained everyone’s attention, she stopped and yelled, “This is what’s happening to mother earth!”

She drank whatever was inside the container she was carrying. She vomited some of the liquid back up, but managed to hold enough inside.

She took out a match and yelled, “What’s the difference between my body and Mother Earth?” Flames shot from her throat as soon as she placed the match to her lips.

Many more protests occurred. A week followed of constant protest, all yelling their desperate desire for world peace or an end to starvation and poverty, or anything suggesting a better future. Most simply shot themselves as they demanded whatever it was they were protesting about. Others committed poetic suicides. Their bodies acted as the canvas and the world their inspiration. They committed masterpieces, not mere suicides.  Some were so unforgettable that you no longer saw the world as you once did. Death became a powerful tool, a tool that without hurting anyone or disrupting order caused a great awakening. So the revolution started.

Every revolution should revolt against the way its society revolutionizes. No longer can one revolt either peacefully or violently against these bodies of governments and corporations. They, like any other entity, physical or metaphorical, have adapted. They have become immune to both violent and peaceful fevers. So it came to this. The body’s own tissue and cells no longer desired to live within a narcissistic body, a body that has forgotten that is cannot exist without its working components.

The body cannot be that ignorant. Or, can it? These governments and corporations cannot simply enjoy depriving and inflicting pain on their very own cells and organs. Has killing your own working components become a pleasure? It had come to my attention through the deaths of many that this system is a narcissistic being. A rapist does not enjoy the pleasure of sex; he enjoys taking the power away from an individual. So goes this diseased entity in which we live.

In conclusion, I will not give this system the satisfaction it desires of raping me of my freedom and manipulating my life. The powers forces that exist have forgotten their role and yet we continue to serve loyally as the internal components. I will protest against banks and government. I will not blow up any bank or stand against a national army. Instead, I will protest in this new fashion. If you are to join me, do it artfully so that it sticks into the minds of others. Death does not scare me. Death is necessary in a revolution. Rather than sacrifice the life of others, why not mine? Is that not what a martyr is?

When a man kills another man, one man dies. When a man kills himself, he kills hundreds.


6 thoughts on “To Change the World

  1. Wow! This story was very deep and it was something to think about! I’m no author but so many people that killed themselves to see the world change was something impacting. I’m eager to read the rest of your short stories

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