Saturday, November 29, 2008

The Environment Police

"Your whole society is just so fake!” she exclaimed, glancing sidewise at her companion. “Plastic everywhere! Your people go about their lives, shiny new cars, complexes, credit cards, bright lights and great heights. But you all forget the big fights, the wars, the pain and suffering in the night. You’re all materialistic bastards, without a care for those with a life that’s hard.”

“At first I was sad when my humanity was taken from me, ripped by she who has ruled the night for an eternity. But as the nights grew longer, and the daylight faded into memory, I started to relish the fact that I am other than thee. I sit on the sidelines, free of these moral land mines. I wait for a sign, something to show me on who to dine.”

Her companion’s eyes widened in horror. After that statement, it finally dawned on him that he wasn’t going to be leaving this room. There would be no ransom notes, probably nothing even for his family to find. He was staring his death in the face and she smiled back at him cruelly, with eyes that glittered with a hint of insanity.

“If you were wondering, in your case it was the car you were driving. I know that all cars share some of the blame for polluting,” she smiled sadly, “but did you think I’d ignore your swaggering about in a SUV limo?”

She moved closer, and he noticed the gleam on her rather sharp canines. “If those like you would help clean the environment too, then I wouldn’t enjoy this as much as I do.”

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Captain Amazing’s 9mm

“See, Captain Amazing is this self-proclaimed ‘artiste of the century’; he makes his so-called art out of whatever he happens to have lying around, soup cans and his own urine. But he kills, somehow. He’s also one of the most outgoing fags I ever laid my eyes on, you dig? It isn’t just his threads or the way he talks, it’s the things he does. This cat would walk through a crowded bash and rub up against your ass, erection at the ready, just so you know he means business, ‘My, my, my, my. It seems to me that the divining rod just struck me some gold.’

“Of course, the guy would spin around to see who the faggot is, but he’d take the bait. Captain Amazing can smell a flaky from a mile away, and he’d be ready with the snort waiting for ’em. ‘All this just for a rim job? Who am I to refuse?’

“‘Well, a rim job for starters, but then we’ll talk,’ followed by a large guffaw.

“The thing that everyone seems to remember about Captain Amazing is his 9mm. For some reason, he compulsively packs this plastic water gun; you’ll never see him without it. And don’t expect Captain Amazing to only be armed with water; his little buddy is always loaded up with vodka. I really thought everybody was hip to it, but I remember some old paper shaker requesting a refreshing douche; that nosebleed was unreal, didn’t have a clue, ‘It’s not just a matter of hygiene, although it does make me feel clean inside. But I do find nothing more sensual before the act itself.’

“‘Lady, you have any idea who you’re talking to? Besides, in my expert opinion, I wouldn’t recommend…Actually, I’m sure this would clean you out nice.’

“Let me lay it on you, Amazing’s working the room, squirting everyone with his charm and spirits, ‘Oh-ho-ho, you cats like that jazz? Maybe I’ll introduce you to my other 9mm, the Royal Shaft,’ when this stuffed-shirt trots in.

“Captain Amazing won’t have that; if you’re near Amazing, you’re far from Nowheresville. He squirts the square with the vodka, ‘Think fast, Professor Blast.’

“Too bad this Ivy Leaguer’s got the jets to light up at the same time, ignites his face and shirt. Wrong place, wrong time; everyone’s too stoned to know what’s what, thinking it’s just a show or something. Once everyone’s in orbit, guy’s already got third degree burns all over.

“No moral to this story, just a little anecdote. And believe you me, I’d never seen burning flesh up to that point, but it’s really something; it sort of…melts, just like plastic.”

Monday, November 24, 2008

December Quote

"I love Los Angeles. I love Hollywood. They're beautiful. Everybody's plastic, but I love plastic. I want to be plastic."
-Andy Warhol

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Open My Eyes/Lessons Learned

I drove down the highway at a busy time of day. I enjoyed the sights, but not the sounds. We were off to the mountains to sight see; I knew exactly where I was going, but I took a wrong turn and suddenly I didn’t know. The road I was driving upon disappeared before my very eyes and we fell. Somewhere on the way down, the car disappeared as well. We fell for forever, and yet it wasn’t far at all. At the time, it all seemed a bit funny.

I climbed the ladder to fix a burnt out bulb, but I slipped on the way up. The ladder fell on top of me and a step snapped. I attempted to stand, but my legs seemed trapped inside the ladder. Eventually, I succeeded, but the ladder lay in ruins all around me. And now I can’t reach the bulb.

A man approached me on the street, late at night. He told me he felt my aura and needed to speak with me. He asked me to follow him and listen to his words. And he told me he would open my eyes, if only I would allow him. I tried to. And one day he disappeared, but he left me a message, written in blood and bone and dead human organs wrapped in barbed wire. It read, “Go home and pretend to live your life. One day you may open your eyes to the world and you will need to pretend no longer.”

Friday, November 21, 2008

A Realization

“Torturing is cruel, it is true. But sometimes it seems necessary. Well, not necessary, but it makes things much easier. And it really is a test of creativity. I mean, I could have just beaten you or something, but that’s a waste of my time. A real test of skill comes from elaborate schemes, such as the one I have for you today.”

His victim sat shivering, tied to his chair. The man looked at the strange contraption placed before him. “I told you I don’t know anything. I-I don’t know why I’m here. You must have the wrong guy.”

A knowing smile graced the host’s face, “Oh no, we’re not mistaken. We know exactly who you are. You’re the one who’s wrong. We’re not after information of any kind; we’re instilling a state of fear in the land. It’s our basic method of imposing our control over you and everyone else.”

Shock came to the victim’s face, “Is this true?”

He just couldn’t believe that this man would be that frank with him, although he supposed that he might not be around for much longer. His torturer gave him a moment, and he paused in full comprehension. With anger in his voice, he added, “You’re sick.”

“Think what you want. Shall we start?”

“Before we do, I just want you to know that you can only get away with this for so long.”

“Oh?” The host looked back with concern in his eyes. “What makes you say that?”

“Keeping everyone in a state of fear? Controlling everyone like that won’t last. Eventually, justice will come your way. The people won’t stand for it forever.”

The torturer paused and considered everything his guest just imparted on him, “You’re probably right. I’m sure we won’t be able to keep this up forever.” Another smile appeared on his face, “Of course, until that time comes, I know I’m going to have a lot more fun than you do.”

They both sat in silence for a moment, until the torturer broke the stillness, a smile still wide across his face, “Shall we begin?”

The Rebellion

I remember the day when the old king fell.

He was a tyrant, conquering everyone and anyone. His war machine seemed unstoppable. With him at the helm, the empire grew powerful. It wasn’t long until he conquered the known world.

But our king wasn’t happy with that. He wanted more. And so we continued. We saw strange and marvellous sites, adding them one by one to his growing empire. It wasn’t long until the nation was a bloated, sprawling thing.

And still the king wanted more. He ordered us to build him grand ships, then sailed away in search of new lands to conquer, new riches to add to his ever growing horde.

But he did not think of the consequences of leaving with the majority of his armies.

In a little, all but forgotten corner of the empire, there was a people who had been conquered a long time ago. They were the king’s first conquests. And when they knew their fight was hopeless, they surrendered, biding their time. They moved throughout the empire, speaking out against the king a little at a time, always under cover of darkness. When the king left, they stirred us to rebellion.

I remember their leader, Balthazar was his name. He was so strong, so charismatic. If anyone could overthrow the king, it was him. Myself a conquered citizen, I agreed with Balthazar; enough is enough! All of our countries should be free to govern themselves! We should be free, not slaves to a warmonger’s whims! And so I committed myself to his cause.

In some ways, it is amazing we succeeded. Sure, it was easy to overpower the home guards, there were so few of them left. Over half of them agreed to join our rebellion. But to kill the king when he returned, surrounded by his army, that posed a challenge.

But Balthazar was prepared. When the king’s war machine landed and set camp on the shores, we were ready. We added a sleeping potion to their food and slaughtered them as they slept. Balthazar himself captured the king and paraded him back to the capital. The king was beheaded amidst much rejoicing. Now we were free! The reign of terror was over!

But no one was prepared for what came next. Rather than disband the empire, Balthazar used those remaining home guards to seize control. Those who willingly accepted him became his new citizens. Those who refused became his slaves.

Yes, I remember the day when the old king fell. The relief and the hope for the future. The belief that everyone would be free of the tyrant’s rule. These beliefs are all that keeps me going as I toil in Balthazar’s slave camps, having traded one tyrant for another. Hopefully one day that longed for freedom will be mine in truth.

Thursday, November 20, 2008

In the Marshes

It's dark and there's singing through darkness, like the sound of joy cast through the night that speaks in the voices of men, women and children. The sounds of the forest are nothing, drowned out by the singing. In the distance atop the hill he can see the fires burning by the village, they're dancing up there while he moves through the marshlands, through the reeds with the leeches. Atop the hill, they sing of killing the cockroaches.

"Marie-eve..." He calls, his voice hushed. "Ignace?" He moves onto the shore, slowly and even so the sound of splashing water as he emerges is too loud for his comfort. There's no sound from his sister or brother. They had hidden nearby when school teacher, Mr. Kabiyara had come through by torchlight with some of the other boys calling their names.

The voices of death were always familiar - a friend, a classmate, a teacher - moving through the trees, through the swamps descending on anyone they found like flies to a carcass. Under the canopy of the forest, in broad daylight for the murder has no shame. Bodies lay face up in the moss, the water runs wet with blood, where limbs and flesh of the dead float idle in still water disturbed only by the wading hunting parties. They have their boisterous laughs, their callous heckles; it is a perfect picnic of butchery.

Every day it is the same, only the victims are different. At first there was fighting, it was the way of the Tutsi and the Hutu. Every few decades there would be a killing, the Hutu would come they would fight in fields for a time - everyone said it would be like that again and it was, at first. The Hutu had come and they traded insults and blows and many were injured, and then they came with officials and militia with guns and machetes and this time it didn't stop. Yes there was fighting at first, but that was passed. The heroes were all gone now, they fell first, and now there were just those left that hid in the swamps eating spiders and beetles just to stay alive. There was nowhere to run, and only the sound of the cicadas and the singing to keep them company.

Marie-eve and Ignace do not answer this time. It is the silence he's feared every day now for two months, the silence they've all feared - the very same to claim so many when night falls and the cockroaches crawl from their holes. That was how it was, when the fighting ended they had prayed, but the voice of God had walked through the swamps with a machete in his hand, the sins of race purged by his pennance. How holy and divine! But still Faith was Faith, and so they had all prayed for a deliverance that would not come.But all that was in the past - now the marshes were silent. You hear no children's cries, not even murmurs - when they uncover a woman, an infant or a nursling, you never hear a cry. It's miraculous, so to speak.

They no longer asked to be spared, that's the truth. Yes the world had gone mad, and they had stopped hoping, there's no mercy to be had anymore in the marshes and so they drifted anonymously into an empty silence each night, without a whimper or a prayer. Yes it's true. That was the cold reality of sharpened steel; the knowledge that no one was coming. Friends, neighbours, foreign governments, and God Himself; add what name you will; either they could not or they would not intervene. Even when the final blow was struck there was only the sound, the terrible sound of bone and sinew being hacked apart. And then there were cheers, and laughter, and gaiety.

Alphonse wanders through the marsh - finding moss and leeches to eat. Neither hungry, nor sated he sits on a rotting log looking into the sky. His thoughts are empty. Gradually the first rays of dawn etch their arc across the morning sky and voice calls out from the darkness. "Alphonse, is that you?" A whisper from somewhere. Alphonse bolts upright, though it is a moment before he puts a face to the voice... there's no trust any longer for the familiar.

"Ignace?" Alphonse looks around using his sleeve to quickly wipe his face of mud and tears, as though it mattered suddenly. Before he had time to ask again Ignace is already standing up. His younger brother by a year - his form is either some animal or monster. His clothes are torn and tattered, more mud than thread now. Alphonse wonders a moment if he looks the same. "You look like a cockroach."

Ignace pushes him right off the log with a kick in the shoulder just as a gunshot rings off in the morning sky, a stark cry to sound off the morning hunt. Alphonse stares up between his legs at Ignace who looks back at him with wide eyes. He realizes now that he hasn't asked about Marie-eve though now is no longer the time. They scramble back into the marsh splashing frantically into the reeds and the vines to find their separate places to wait out the day.

A morning mist settles on the swamps, mornings like this the killings are less. Though as it unfolds there comes the realization that today is different - trucks, the ones the militia and the interahamwe first came can be heard along the road. Voices can be heard from the village, completely indistinguishable through the mist. "Alphonse... what's going on?"

"I don't know."

"Maybe they think we're all dead... you know, they finally got us all."

"They have lists. They know we're still out here."

"Maybe they think we've all run off."

"Where's Marie-eve?" There's no answer. "They know there's still some of us out here, so be quiet; it might be a trick you know."

As the morning mist rises, another gunshot rings through the air, a silence, then another and another somewhere in the distance the sound muffled by the hills and the trees and the mist. And then, like the cackling of a flock of birds the whole sky errupts in a cacophony of howling rifles - not pistols or hunting rifles either but automatic military ones. And as quickly as it came, it goes... a few last shots here, a burst there and then a return to silence.

"It's the rebels - it's the RPF." Ignace says it out loud a few moments after Alphonse thinks it. The government's fighting the rebels, like a prayer being answered two months too late.

"Maybe. Stay where you are - if we get shot now everyone will say we're stupid."

They wait in the reeds, and until nightfall to come out. The end seems like a surreal experience. There's no solace to be had when the rebels drag the priest into the village square, tied up, line him up next to the village administrator and put bullets through their heads. Most of the rest of the village men have already fled, Alphonse, Ignace and the rebels watch the others leave. There's no point in killing everyone - better to let them flee, let the government try and feed them and let them starve awhile. And just as the murderer's file out, by ones and twos other survivors come in. At the end of the massacre there are no celebrations, only food, rest, and for Alphonse and Ignace, a long journey. Somewhere... away from here.

Once, someone quoted the words of a wise man to Alphonse and the words seemed to wander restlessly about his mind, like a canker sore in his mouth that his tongue simply couldn't let alone.

When I despair, I remember that all through history the ways of truth and love have always won. There have been tyrants, and murderers, and for a time they can seem invincible, but in the end they always fall. Think of it--always.

He silently ponders those words. Who spoke them, he thinks. What evils did they face? And what despair did they live and what solace did they gain from such words? And after their tyrants were dethroned and their invincibles put to flight did they walk - as Alphonse did now - down a crowded road with nothing but some food, a pair of shorts, an old t-shirt and a head full of memories? And did they walk, as Alphonse did now, down a road hemmed on two sides by corpses piled eight feet high while the crows feasted?

Wednesday, November 5, 2008


Excuse me, sir. Sir? Yes, sir, do you remember me? Oh, no, no, no. It’s fine; I’m not that memorable. People seem to forget who I am all the time; a common face is what I have. But I remember you. Yes, it’s true. The first time we met was the fifth of November, seventeen years ago. I do remember you giving a wond’rous speech on that chilly eve, and I had to talk to you. Do you remember the one? It really had an impression on me. So did our most recent meeting, of five years ago.

Of course, that was then and this is now. I’m sure you’re wondering why I came to talk with you. You see, I have an interesting proposition to inform you of, if you’ll just follow me this way. Oh, you’re in a bit of a hurry? But I insist. Leave you alone? No, no. Like I said, I insist that you come with me.

Sorry about that. I didn’t want it to come down to this, but you really seemed persistent on leaving. Really, you shouldn’t have struggled as you did; your pain is your own doing. Here, have a seat. I know this building isn’t really of the sort you’re used to, but it’s humble surroundings such as this that tend to surround me, so this is all I can really provide. Would you care for a beverage before we get down to business? Are you sure? A shot of whiskey? Some brandy? Nothing? Really? Okay, have it your way. No, stay seated.

There, you see that? If you would just cooperate, I can stop hurting you. It’s within your power. Just look at that blood dripping from your nose; it’s staining your suit. Anyway, where were we? Ah yes. You’re probably still wondering what this proposition is that I keep blathering on about. Well, I can’t get to the point straight-away; I believe you require some background information to see things my way first.

Yes, yes. Like I told you out in the street, your speech had been forever etched into my mind. You promised amazing things. You told all of us that we could get out of our ruts; it was within our power. We just had to follow your example. And we did. Many of us followed you, believing you could provide the change we needed to eliminate this class-gap that has formed. You wanted to bring the power from the few to the many. Well, that’s at least what you said then.

You don’t like where this is going, do you? What makes me say that? Well, I can see the fear starting to form in your eyes. Ha ha. What is this world coming to, when a man in a position such as yours could be so afraid of a man such as me? Are you sure you don’t remember me? Well, I am just a common man, blue collar. But the fact that you don’t remember me, despite my being common, is a sad comment on your nature.

Continuing with my story, we followed you. It really looked like what you told us was coming true. The power came so close to our grasp; we felt the dawn of a new age approaching. But you took it from us. The new age emerged, and it was truly different. But you filled us with fear.

Stand up. Stand up! Come here. No! Come back here! I said, come back here. There, that’s better. I told you to cooperate. Okay, let me show you something. There. Painful, isn’t it? Yes, I just stabbed you with this knife. And hard to breathe, isn’t it? You hear that crackling when you try and breathe? That’s the blood pooling in your lungs. Calm down. The more you panic, the faster you’ll bleed. Sit back down, it will help.

Yes, you filled us all with fear, but you left us with a fire in our hearts. And so we tried to do something then, but you wouldn’t have that, no, no. You had your special guard disrupt us at every turn. It came to the point that we were never sure who we could trust, but we still tried. I tried, but I was caught. I was in your manor when I was caught. You came out to see your guards beating me. They stopped and I got a good look at you; I saw your contempt for me. You walked up to me, our faces as close as they are currently, and you told me that you would never stand for such insubordination from your people, and you wanted me to remember that. I did. You then proceeded to stab me in the back, and you told your men to throw me out. They did. I laid in the snow, thinking I would surely die on that cold night. But I didn’t. No, I managed to find shelter and a friendly face to help me recover, and here I am to this day.

And now my proposition. I want you to understand that while you will not stand for such insubordination from your people, your people will not stand for your greed and crimes against humanity. I decided that your method had such a lasting impression in my mind, I should try it out. Of course, I’m doing you one better by providing the shelter. But I highly doubt you will easily find a friendly face.

With that, I bid you adieu. If you survive, don’t come looking for me. I’ll be gone.

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

A Happy Ending

The scene fades in. Humble beginnings are shown; a quiet farm, with a young boy lying in a field of wheat. As he lies, he watches the clouds pass over the sky, the bluest blue he has ever seen. His mother sits and watches an approaching wagon from the porch of the small cabin, the wagon holding the boy’s father and the many wonders accompanying him.

The pace changes. As the father approaches the cabin, dust billows up in the distance. The mother stands to try and make out the cause of the dust. After squinting into the direction of the sun for a moment, she notices it appears to be a car, for which the driver appears to be driving like a bat out of hell. And it appears to be coming up on her husband quick; maybe they’ll say what’s wrong. They do, but they do so with bullets. Both the mother and father become part of the discussion, but the men in the car don’t see the boy, who can only sit and watch as his parents are dispatched and the men rob the cabin. The sight of the men hopping back into their car and driving away is forever etched into the little boy’s mind.

We skip ahead years and years now. The same eyes look at the same men, similar emotions flowing through the mind of the boy, now a man; the main differences from the previous time being his age, their age, and how he now peers at them through the scope of his rifle. He feels not hate toward those he has sought after and tracked down all these years but love toward those he lost. The revenge he plans isn’t for himself; it’s for his parents. He readies his firearm and aims while we slowly fade away from this scene. A gunshot sounds; a happy ending.

The Dawn of a New Age

The days of old were over; the days of new began. On the streets were sounds of ringing and singing and, shortly, the bringing of good news. Yes, the good news begun, good news of things to come. The travesty and tyranny were things of the past. At last people rejoicing amongst the ruins and wreckage; the present, the dawn of a new age.

The crowd passed by, dancing and prancing; past a young woman, and past the days passed. This young woman, brought to her knees in a show of tears, felt that the joy of the mob confirmed the passing of her fears; the last time she thought of the past.

The shouts and the sounds and the screams of the joy now approached the statue. The statue! A symbol of those older days, about to come crashing to the ground with subsequent smashing. The statue of the dictator, the ruler of late, or the personification of coercion, corruption, and hatred and hunger. Together, they sought to dismantle this creature.

Down it fell with a loud bang. On the streets the sound rang out to all, destroying the worries from before, at the same time calling in more wonders that were sure to follow. No more would there be suffering, nor would there be pain. No one would allow death for material gain. The death and destruction were justified by the promise in which they believed. This time they’d be true to the love that they sought. The new age was here, never to leave.

When I look back

I can only laugh.

Can I describe to you the feeling? It’s like you’re chasing your destiny. The wind calls out your name. You have your blurry sights set on your near future, thinking something like: “This is justice. I am the hand of justice.”
You can feel your lips tighten as everything around you gets quiet. It’s quite exhilarating to behold. Each stride passes as your hands cut the still air around you and your feet stampede across the cracked earth. If you do it long enough, your mind starts to silence; as if you can feel your thoughts collect and dissipate. Only one thing matters now, as it so happens, and life rests on the backburner for the moment. Life wouldn’t dare interrupt you now.

Have you ever moved so fast you experienced tunnel vision?

It was a chase, you see. Adrenaline is a funny thing – makes you do stupid things, but there would have been something wrong with me if I didn’t heed the call.
I digress though; let me tell you what happened while I still can.

Nobody knew who he was, but he was donned in drab grey and wore a mask, as most criminals do. He came as soon as he left, nobody knew what he wanted. Funny what a man does for no reason.

Killed four people quick as he left too, it was bedlam I have to admit.
You know, it starts in your belly, boils up a bit, and then your heart starts going. Even if you tried to ignore it, your chest tightens up, and by then it’s too late. Quick as I could, I grabbed the double barrel from under my desk and pursued on foot. Never was I able to run so fast, but there I was, fuelled by my purpose.

I… I wasn’t thinking straight, but it didn’t matter. Hell, I don’t even think what he did mattered now; it was what I did in response that was important.
It all comes down to a battle of primal urges in the end. It wasn’t about being the hand of justice anymore. Neither of us was going to back down; it becomes a competition between two men, rather than a clash of good and evil.
It’s funny how meaning dissolves when you get so close to your instinctive natures. Pains me to admit it, but for that moment, I was able to grasp better the meaning behind his actions.

There I was, looking him down over the spine of two barrels. Two shots fired, two shots hit. But, stupid me; I hadn’t cleaned the damn thing in too long, and I had remembered why I had it under my desk in the first place. One of the barrels jammed, backfired on me. Pellets in the chest hurt like sin. He fell, shot right in the spine, nearly killed him on the spot. I fell as well; Two shots fired, two shots hit.

Was it my punishment for losing myself? The thrill of the hunt became more important then the damn reason I got out here in the first place. I guess its true what they say, Truth and justice always win, and I lost to justice today.

Funny how life does this to you; The good guy meets his maker same time the bad guy does, it’s the type of bittersweet humour you don’t appreciate until you’re the punch line.

As I said, all I can do now is laugh.

Raw Power

I need to start grasping onto the real. The problem is I can’t seem to find it. Every time it feels as though it’s within my grasp, it moves like a fish evading the net. Then I fall; I plummet toward what I hope is grounded in reality, but I’m generally quite far from it at that point. Once I’m in contact with the new illusion I have found, it slowly sucks me under. I find myself deep within the fantasies.

The fantasies of late have been quite frightening; they are intense images encompassing strange feelings of blood and terror. But I oddly find myself feeling at home. I adapt to the situations and I prosper. I save those who need to be saved by doing the indescribable; the blood on my hands can’t seem to wash off, but it doesn’t seem to bother me.

From time to time, I find I can surface. I find I can separate illusion from reality, to a degree. I see what has happened and I see what I have become, and it makes me sick to my stomach. I try to latch onto the small reality I have found, but it’s hard; it’s so very hard. I give in and drown once more in the wonderful fake sanctuary I have found.

I become no one. I become a hero. I become a king. I become everyone and everything. I become a god. I realize there is no need to seek out the real when the fake is everything I ever have and ever will want. And, somehow, it scares me all the more. It scares me knowing that I can find such happiness being such a monster, and yet I continue to delight in the feast of my illusionary enemies.

Eventually, the feeling of wonder and amazement wears off at the same time as the euphoria associated with it. Illusions conspire against me, and I feel less powerful. Those I had originally saved bite my hand and it all becomes meaningless to fight for what is right by doing what is wrong. I become an outcast. I know the pains of the exiled, and I know when my time is up.

And so I awake.

Truth and Love

Truth and Love; I thought I understood the concepts once, but I really think I was misinformed about them. In fact, everyone seems to be misinformed. Wasn’t there a time where everyone told me about honesty and integrity and peace? Apparently those times are gone.

Well, apparently they’ve been gone for a long time, but that’s news to me. I achieved peace with the world at one point, personally. Unfortunately, that wasn’t felt throughout the nation. And I miss those days, I really do.

In those days, I reigned supreme. I feared no man, although I probably should have. My word was law and I was respected. What happened? One day, you’re on top of the world and obeyed without question. And the next, you’re rotting in a urine-soaked prison cell just counting down the minutes until your head is no longer attached to your body. And for what: Truth and Love?

I remember it vividly. Those strange men in my home, they beat me and carried me away. Then the trial; I don’t think I ever saw such hate as I did that day. Straight into this cell, and here I’ve sat for two whole days, morning, noon, and night. They keep telling me it’s in the name of Truth and Love, but I’m still not convinced. To me, Truth doesn’t mean death and Love doesn’t equate to chaos.

I try to understand, and they seem to believe that everything will be wonderful once I’m gone, but they need to understand that this isn’t the way toward Truth and Love. This is a better way to get to tyranny. And, really, once I’m gone, someone else is going to fill the void; if things weren’t wonderful while I was around, then do you think everything’s going to just fix itself?

Well, there’s the guard; that means they’re ready for me. It’s time for me to feel everything Truth and Love has coming to me.

Once I believed in right and wrong.
Once I thought I could change the world.
Once I believed that nothing could stop me;
Then I learned that something could.

Never again will I live my life.
Never again will I oppose my fears.
Never again will I be free of despair;
Truth and Love defeated Good.