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Never Ask a Crocodile to the Prom

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I am a crocodile.
Wrinkled skin. Lazy in the swamp.

Plenty of tears after killing my dears.

And most of all the impossibility to avoid that killing.

People think it is too easy to cry only after committing the misdeed. I think it is easier not to cry instead.

Evil comes with a certain dose of carelessness. I am not an evil crocodile. It is just in my nature to eat up my dears. As well as it is in my nature to cry afterwards. A kind of repentance. A kind of realizing what I lost only after losing it. Or him. But, at the same time, being unable to foresee it.

Should I be ashamed of me? Sure, I am. But also extremely sad, because here I am, every time I kill, every time I cry crocodile tears, every time I am left here all alone after the murder, here I am, begging for another chance which I am sure I don't deserve and I cannot obtain, given that they are all dead. Can dead, broken persons grant second chances? Probably not to me. Probably just in fairy tales.

I had a dear person, not long ago. He couldn't really see I was a crocodile, clumsy, fat, wrinkled, dependent on pain and tears. What he saw in me was a human being, yes yes, you got it right, a girl, a woman he saw in me. Poor fool.

He did something that no one before him has ever done. He asked me out. Without seeing the peril. He told me that for beauties like me the only reasonable place to go was a Prom, where I could be elected Prom Queen. He told me that after being his Prom Queen, he would have married me, yes, he told me 'Rest Assured, I'll ask you to be my wife one day, I already know place and time!'.

I believed him. I trusted him. I was so happy and in love, because I felt he was the one come to save me, to rescue me from myself.

And then, my nature came back. A necessity, brutal, unbeatable necessity to destroy what I had. Because this is what I do. I am used to swamps, not to Proms.

I couldn't alert him. I broke him, I ate him, I split out the rests. And he did not survive.

If only I stopped before, I could have taught him how to fight me back and we could have reached that day of marriage proposal that he had promised me. I know we could have. But then again, he never even cried for help, during my attacks to him. He could have. Because he was the only one who could help me fighting back my nature. I know that for sure.

And here I am now.
A Crocodile drawning in crocodile tears.
In a fake swamp, beautiful but void, empty of him.
With no way back and no help to fight back my nature, cause he is gone for good.


Moral of the tale: NEVER ASK A CROCODILE TO THE PROM.

It will eat up even the band.

It will kill Prom Queen and King if it can.

And it is a terrible dancer anyway.




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