Name With a Big G

I think you ought to remember me. You must remember me. I’ll give you a thousand and one reasons why you should remember me. Better listen.

Know this: Fairness has not always been a part of my nature. Am not fair to everyone. Am just fair to myself. Ow, come on. Do not complain. I won’t listen anyway.

I just killed somebody. Yesterday. I killed another one before that. I am going to kill today. And I will kill tomorrow. I am blood-thirsty, am not satisfied with a few victims. The more victims, the better; the more turbulent the game, the merrier. What are you belly-aching about? It’s normal.

When I am on a rampage, I inflict a severe and permanent wound; and be thankful you’re not dead– you’re just dying. If I come back tomorrow, you’re finished. Look at me, look at these eyes, because it’s the last time you will see them. Because my craftiness knows no comparison, because my deceit knows no bounds, because my malice knows no limits. And I am not satisfied with just maiming — I always aim at the jugular.

Am more spectacular than you, you know that? Your stories are ordinary. Mine? The longer my “news” are told and retold, the more they are believed. I am no small thing.

Ow yea, I am everywhere– in schools and in malls, in the highlands and in the lowlands, in homes and in churches. You see me on TV and on the pulpit too. I may be an atheist, but sometimes I am religious too. I like to tell my stories in seclusion. Just between the two of us.

You say I’m bad? No, I’m worst. A friend of no one, I am the enemy of everyone. Once I destroy you, you are never the same. You wanna bet?

I work in the noontime, in the night time, in the wee hours of the morning, anytime. I have no respect for daylight saving. Any place on the globe to me is a war zone– be it continents or islands. My stories cross time zones, ride on the cyber web, gallop on four-legged creatures but mostly on two-legged ones, travel on wheels, journey on wings, are conveyed by cellular phones. My favorite is a text message. The shorter, the better. I don’t want to get caught.

If I topple a government, I’d start in the oval office, or in the bedroom. I work with a headwaiter who has caught you in an indecent situation with someone everyone knows is not the first lady. Election officers may have supplied you with a mandate, but I work with CDs– the mothers of all CDs!–that keep a record of your misdemeanors. Business tycoons are always there, eager to help, eager to peddle, but I work with secretaries– in times of reckoning, they can turn you in. Oh, yes, generals– they are eager to prop you up, but be careful too because the walls have eyes. Drinking buddies aiming for the big cut? Just sign this. Never mind if this document looks like toilet paper. Banks can hide an account. Cabinet secretaries can hide behind an executive order. You can hide abroad.

If I want to topple generals, I start with a private, and go up the ranks. My favorites are officers’ wives. Because the men are in the battlefields, they never have any idea what havoc their wives have wrought till they get home. I like it when officers kill each other after they have talked to their wives on the phone. My favorite cubicle is the office of the comptroller.

If I wreck a marriage, I supply your wife with every motive she could find, and tomorrow be sure to pack up your bags and find another bed.

If I destroy a career, I work with the secretary who works with the boss. Sometimes I would start with the ordinary janitor. Who knows. Big things sometimes come from the ordinary.

Because it has been my purpose to cause heartaches and pains, sleepless nights and equally sleepless days, heart attacks and indigestions, headaches and headlines, griefs and sorrows, hardships and troubles,  I would suggest scenarios to spawn suspicions.

And if I attack you, I want you to beg for your life. All those whom I have victimized could not help themselves. If they want to protect themselves, they better come to me. I may promise them mercy, a promise that I don’t fulfill.

Track me down? What do you mean? You cannot do that. It is impossible to do that. You cannot because I don’t carry an ID, and I have no face.

Pssss. You hear that hissing sound?

They call me Gossip.

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