the croc that knew better

do you want to buy some
dreams? asked the city-slicker
crocodile in his Kashmir
sweater. yes, cried in unison the
desperate pig and the depressed tiger. great, then
take a gander at this
magic baby, the croc produced
a bag of junk. what does
it do? they asked, smacking their lips and licking
their fangs. it takes you, explained
the grinning croc, to a distant, untamed land, kills all
your troubles, murders them in
cold blood. with this, the croc
continued, you’ll discover pleasure, explore,
forever, the land of
eternal happiness. here, give it a shot, look
how I do
it. he ate a chunk of
junk and euphoria unprecedented and
otherworldly blanketed him. they watched at
his tiny, refulgent eyes roll
upward as his lambent, expanding
grin illumined the
room. they were
ecstatic for
the croc and both grabbed
the bag, taking a good bite. into an undulating
sea of colors they vanished, having
abandoned the world of no hope. soon, they
all returned back to cruel
reality, with only vague pleasant memories to keep
the despair away. see? the croc
pointed at his temple. wasn’t it brilliant?
yes, it was, they replied with one
voice. give us more, they
demanded. all right, he nodded, but it comes
with a price. we don’t
have any money, they wailed. we’re poor.
who cares about money? the croc
shrugged, smirking sardonically. if he could, he’d
have rubbed his hands
together. the price I’m asking is
miniscule compared to the grand feelings I’m
offering. what’s the
price? they asked impatiently, yearning for
another trip to wonderland. all I need from you
is your soul, and you’ll get all the junk
you shall ever desire.
sold! they bellowed in unison. the deal
was done, the souls were sold. more desperate
creatures driven to plasmatic
euphoria to escape a reality depriving them
of happiness. only the
croc, the damned seasoned player, smiled
genuinely; he sold his soul a long
time ago and eagerly shared the gift of
nothingness, for he knew personally there’s
nothing better than the void
of eternal midnight.