The Rage Of The Unwanted

When Der Kleine Proteus was born he loved the world and wanted to make as many friends as he could. He would extend his pseudopodia and move towards the closest human around. The tip held his heart begging someone, anyone to accept this gesture of friendship.

In the beginning the human didn’t mind, why, it barely registered his presence but the middle he settled down and called the host body his home, the human would start reacting badly to him.

The human’s body would go completely berserk. Frequent flatulence, violent diarrhoea, foul smelling stools – what a bloody mess! To get rid of poor Der Kleine Proteus, the human would then make that cold hearted, weak journey to a doctor, hoping it won’t lose control and stain the doctor’s upholstery.

Soon after that visit powerful antibiotics would enter the equation. They would be ingested orally to nuke out poor, friendly Der Kleine Proteus and finally the human would breathe a sigh of relief in spite of a burning bum.

Der Kleine Proteus tried to make friends with so many human beings but each one of them rejected him in the most selfish, brutal way. Every time he got flushed out of a body his heart would break into a million pieces. Painfully, he would put them back together and crawl towards another human being, hopeful of love.

It never came. Six-year-olds to seventy-year-olds murderously spurned him. Men, women, boy, girls, babies they all despised him with an unfathomable violence. Finally, the day came when his love turned to an empty numbness where nothing good grew.

He stopped wanting to make friends and lay quiet, unmoving for a long time. It could be years. The humans breathed a sigh of relief. The hiatus of his apathy had an expiry date. One day, a fury so blind filled him he could hardly see the days of love.

Der Kleine Proteus began using his powers of binary fission and divided himself at an unimaginable rate. When an army of amoeba entamoeba histolytica had been created, he sent them out, mutant versions of himself, to wreck and ravage every single human body around.

Bodies piled and the living turned dead. Finally, in that village of no body, all that was left was Der Kleine Proteus and versions of himself, each one of them, aching with love, loneliness and the gift of amoebic dysentery.

Moral: The starting point of hate is love



Der Kleine Proteus is drawn by the fabulous Bijoy Venugopal. You can find more of his wonderful stuff here bijoyvenugopal.com