I usually escape my house to go to my home: the abounding darkness of the streets. This day was just like any other day, full of frustration and anger. Blue waves of grief come and go, and that little friend called Joy becomes a foe who waltzes around me like the jester of an enemy. But I could not kill that jester, for I would be enticing the wrath of uncontrollable Woe.
The music stopped and it was my sign that I should leave. I packed my bag and left to meet my lover, the darkness; the mystery of gloomy alleys; the stories behind closed doors. All transpired as I walked through the streets, alone and unabated. It was that which I looked forward to so keenly, it was that feeling of uncertainty, of fright—the sort of fright you get when climbing up a staircase in the dark, feeling as if someone is just behind, feeling as if someone or something is waiting for you on the next level, waiting for you as if you were its prey—which kept me going, kept me breathing. This unknown gave me hope.
I took the first taxi I could find—it took me is a better phrasing of it. Silence; Tranquillity; Transcendentalism; Awakening, before the imminent death and the following rebirth. It all happens in a space of seconds, in the transition from light to dark. But the car stopped and I opened my closed eyes to see a road blocked. The taxi could go no further.
The venom of rage spurred from within me, filling my eyes with fierce red blood as I approached the blockade. I tried to pass, but I could not. Soldiers in dark blue uniforms carrying big loaded guns approached me vehemently. Dogs were on the ready, and I heard a rifle being cocked nearby. I want to pass, I said. I want to go that way, I said. Why is this road blocked, I asked.
No answer was given except the staunch orders to back away from the territory. I did as requested but looked forward towards the end of the street where I saw black cars with black tinted windows. Instantly I knew what was going on. Instantly I had an urge to kill who I did not know. Instantly, I held a huge vendetta to the person who sat inside the black tinted, heavily guarded car. Instantly I went from an unsuspected ignorant itinerant to a hateful, maddened, belligerent fucker who wanted to act as vigilante and saviour to his home and kill the faggot pussy attracting thousands of eyes with blackened windows and shiny, cocked machine guns.
The heavily armoured security forces gave me a reason, a need, a deep unwavering urge to kill the protected individual. I stopped in my ground, my feet parallel to each other and I looked the soldier in the eye. Mal intent showed in my eye and he hid behind his cocked gun. I laughed in his face, laughed madly and maniacally.
Excess of security breeds excess violence and crime. Excess protection breeds the need to be protected. The best way to be targeted is to make yourself a hard target. The easiest way to create suspects is to question everyone. The fastest way to be frightened by the people around you is to create a fear which does not exist.
He was afraid of hell, so he made an army of angels, and whence I saw his mighty army, I became HELL. He wanted to be worshiped and idolized, but he summoned his twilight when he showed himself as the light of day. I became the night.
The rage I suffer is my hell, but the hell I dwell in soon becomes a heaven when I voluptuously indulge in the frenzied slaughter.
I laughed at the adversary in front of me, but he took none of it. Non Serviam, I shouted, Non Serviam, as two soldiers held my body and threw me away. I fell on the ground and broke like a statue falling from the sky. I found myself scattered into a million little pieces on the ground. I lost hope of reformation, of peace of mind, of tranquillity, silence and transcendentalism. I bid hope farewell and with hope went fear. I ran into the closed off area, meeting my Fortune in the eye. Fortune I saw as a woman whom you cannot but rape in order to exist! Beautiful Fortune.
She told me to stand down, to cool off, to gather honourable equanimity. But nothing could pacify me. I killed the jester Joy and enticed the wrath of uncontrollable Woe. Fortune always has the upper hand.
The barricade created the criminal. But it was I who was the victim of red rape.