The fire, the flames, the pain, the crying, the gnashing of teeth. Or the happiness, the joy, the laughter and the peace. Which side will be my destiny?
Imagine you are in a huge room confided to four intimidating walls that stare at you, with nothing, I mean ABSOLUTELY NOTHING, apart from light. Well folks, that’s the predicament I’m in at this very moment. I’m dead, but my soul has been awakened; my body has disintegrated in that claustrophobic long box, which people call a coffin. You know, I didn’t think that death would have befriended me this early, but I guess it was inevitable. Death was always tracking my every move, lurking in the distance, camouflaging with the shadows and writing its name in the sky with the clouds.
Everyone made it their mission to wipe me off of the face of the earth, but in the end I did the bloody job myself. I didn’t want those pests who call themselves the ‘government’ to be able to claim that they killed me; I wanted to die with pride. And I knew they didn’t want to destroy me for running a multi-billion-dollar cocaine trafficking business; they simply wanted to take it over, and make billions themselves. Could I blame them? Suppose I would have done the same thing.
The drug war between the fucking government and I, along with other drug traffickers, was quite gruesome, but a man has got to go to great lengths to keep his business afloat and his family safe from the opposition. Sometimes, I would go out and meet a battlefield, where all I could hear were explosions from bombs, the impact from gun shots and helpless screams. “AAAAAAHHH!” With every bomb it sent a tremor across the whole area and left a black blanket of smoke across the innocent sky.
All that chaos was partly my doing, but it had to be done for the destruction of my enemies. Although, I clearly hated the government and to some extent the police, there were many times they helped me by me helping them. Do you get it? I would bribe them when I was a much younger businessman, way before my empire began.
I was involved in a gang; we stole cars and committed what I consider to be petty crimes. I carried on bribing the police and government as long as I could until it just wasn’t enough anymore. I know you would have never expected this, but I even managed to become a member of the government. And this was despite the tabloids shouting about my past ‘crimes’, my business and the investigations held against me.
It didn’t last long.
When I was a little boy, I didn’t just aspire to be rich. Oh no – that was too pedestrian for me. I wanted to become president, and this is why I felt so passionate about my position in parliament as a congressman. El coño connivente (the conniving cunt), Lara Bonilla, the cabinet minister at the time, dismantled my chances of ever becoming president. He couldn’t keep his do-gooder mouth zipped. “It was only when Representative Escobar joined our movement that all kinds of suspicion were thrown on the sources of his wealth.” He even joined forces with a newspaper company called El Espectador, esos hijos de puta (those sons of bitches), to try and gather evidence to destroy me. After that, I was arrested, and those past crimes kept tip toeing behind me. Because of my best friend Lara, I quit, and brushed my dream under the carpet.
IT WAS OVER!
Shortly after, Lara was (rather fortunately) assassinated. Ese pequeño bastardo (That little bastard) had it coming; he earned that certificate of death. (Huh. It occurs to me to wonder which place he ended up in after his little stint in purgatory).
I know what you’re thinking – you probably think it was me who ordered his assassination, don’t you? Well…..it was…. No, it wasn’t me. Sorry to disappoint you. But I received the blame. What a shocker! The people of Colombia, and that pest of a government, forgot that I wasn’t the only drug trafficker and criminal mastermind around. But because of my celebrity status, or perhaps because of their jealousy, they had it in for me. And yet, just because I had done it before, didn’t mean I would it again.
Lara’s assassination led to a storm, and President Richard Nixon declared war on all drug traffickers. You see, that right there is what I believe triggered this insufferable war. Following that, hell heavily struck Colombia like a meteor shower. It was a real war zone out there. The pests kept trying to track me down, but they always failed – miserably.
After months of hiding, I surrendered. Why? Because it was advantageous to do so. The president and the government gave me one condition: serve a sentence in prison in Envigado. Yet, they sent troops to try and take me to Bogotá; so they broke their promise. When they broke this promise, I simply had to escape. POINT, BLANK, PERIOD.
The deal was off.
I was the reigning King of Escape Acts anyway; I suppose my behaviour might have been anticipated. But I would soon find out that my luck wouldn’t last.
A phone call with my son Juan lasted longer than the planned five minutes. This was my biggest mistake and the cause of my downfall. But I didn’t know right away. Eventually, the government tracked me down in Medellín, with hired marksmen to shoot me. They shot my leg and my back, but those weren’t the shots that killed me. The winning shot was the one I lodged into my own body, just above my ear. That was when I fell to the ground. “Es Pablo! Es Pablo! Viva Colombia! Él está muerto!” (It’s Pablo! It’s Pablo! Hooray for Colombia! He’s dead!)
And that was the ending to the great story of Pablo Escobar.
So what will be my legacy? Probably not the good things I did to help those that were less fortunate than me. I gave money to the poor; I even used my money to build schools and homes for them too. God knows what I did for all those people. And perhaps this is why I’m so confused as to why I’m here. In purgatory. I thought God knew…
You probably didn’t know this, but I grew up in a brutal civil war. Our family was even warned to leave or else risk having our ‘body parts re-assembled into art’. Hahahaha! That is hilarious, only an imbécil (imbecile) would make such a threat.
We didn’t listen.
When I was seven, a gang called the ‘guerillas’ invaded our village. What a horrendous name. They tried hacking at the front door with machetes and there were threats of murder. I clung to my mother who was crying and praying. They eventually gave up trying to break in because the door was so strong. I thank the Lord Jesus for that fucking door. Without it, I wouldn’t be alive today…actually I’m dead, but you know what I mean.
Violence seemed to haunt me in my later life.
And God only knows what’s become of my family. I hope they’re safe from harm, protected. Ah! This is what the pressures of trying to make something for my family in an environment ripe with crime leads to. If you were in my shoes, what would you have done? The same. I bet.
Can you hear that too? The roaring sound, the trumpets? Can you see angels and demons? The room is shaking as if an earthquake has hit and a blinding light has engulfed the entire room.
I guess it’s time – see you on the other side…