zondag 4 oktober 2015
If thoughts! Chapter 1. The philosophy of life of a psychopath.
I’ve planned this important moment already for a long time. What I had to do, had been etched in my head as a series of monochrome film images. Everything was engraved in black and white in my memory, in such a way that I almost could do it with my eyes closed.
This man had earned it a thousand times and even more. To take a human life, however, is a crucial decision. In this case, it must not, under any circumstances, be rushed. Without exaggerating, I can state that I’ve weighed up all the pros and cons very carefully during this last year.
To kill someone is technically not so difficult. You can opt for the easiest solution. To buy a gun nowadays is not an impossible task, even more so if obtaining a gun or a rifle illegally is quite more difficult. To follow the rules and ask for a firearms license makes the risk of being discovered after the crime a lot bigger. Once you have the means to retaliate, even a kid, figuratively speaking, of course, can pull the trigger.
A firearm is a rather a ‘clean’ way to get what you are striving for. You can, from a safe distance, without risking hurting yourself, end your victim’s life. It goes without saying that you would better practice a bit on the shooting range. There are even clubs that will make you, possessing a bit of talent, a real marksman.
If you don’t shy away the risk you can choose for the more personal approach. If you hate someone so bad and you come to the conclusion you grudge him or her the light in the eyes you can think about using a knife. Not a potato peeler or an inferior thing from a bazaar but a real hunting knife with a long blade. It has the advantage that you can carve the life out of somebody. One of the drawbacks is that sometimes it makes a bloody mess and eventual tracks are difficult to remove.
Female colleagues choose rather for the sneaky solution. Poison is the method used through the centuries and has often played an important role in political and religious power games. To strew some deadly powder or some drops from a good poison cocktail in someone’s daily fruit juice makes it possible for the sensitive natures amongst us not to participate personally in the agony of the victim.
I’ve never would have thought I would have to make such a choice. But after being the subject year after year of bullying, insults, and inhuman treatment you either break or you decide to stand up and fight back.
I hear you saying it. Walk away from this man, choose another road, one on which you won’t meet him again. It’s oh so easy when you are on the side of that road. It’s all so objective if you are only a bystander. Every day after day, week after week, for years you are pushed in a certain grid by circumstances. You can’t choose a new road anymore because you have to take other persons into account. It’ so important that you persevere in the impossible, at the expense of yourself, because after all you are responsible for other people. Your family counts on you. You can’t and you won’t give up till eventually it’s too late. At that moment, you only can break or fight back.
I consider this man lately as the personification of evil. A devil, a demon arose from the deep caves of hell. A man without a trace of emphatic feeling, just thinking in terms of money and power. Power he carries out upon everybody who comes in his proximity. Slowly he breaks down the limits of your privacy and molds you according to his wishes and law. He simply ignores every social rule because there’s only one truth and that is his. Day and night you have to be ready for him, to be his slave for a meager reward, because even that he won’t grant you. He gets under your skin and is always present in your thoughts, like a worm that is becoming fat eating up your resistance, busy hollowing out your deepest human being.
Once I was feeling happy. A person like everybody who was given different talents. Skills that this monster has strangled one by one because they simply didn’t fit in his picture. Eventually, all that is left is an empty shell without content that he can mold and transform in his way. Clones after his model that he can command and pull their strings, just like a puppeteer who makes his marionettes dance.
I’ve always had admired people who could work with bow and arrow. There’s something ritual around it and it’s one of the oldest weapons once used by our ancestors. Without a doubt, you can purchase some of the best and modern devices in a specialized store, but that would be too easy. There has to be an emotional bonding with such a ritual weapon. The satisfaction you get to choose the right wood to cut the proper stick. The material cannot be too elastic and still he has to possess the right amount of elasticity. There has to be enough tension on the cord because you want to drive your arrow as deep as possible in the target.
Indeed, there’s, of course, the question about the arrow. After all, the arrow is the ultimate device, wherein you compress all your hatred and aversion. When this projectile loaded with all these embittered feelings is ready to be put on the string of the bow and when you send your glance full of fire along the feather and the shaft, when you spot your target, estimating the distance and the wind direction, then the moment has arrived for the irrevocable execution of your revenge.
I’m aligning and aiming and I feel a warmth growing from my chest towards my belly, flowing through my bowels. An almost sexual feeling is nestling in me when all comes together and everything adds up. My eye… my arrow… the target. The man who killed me, bit by bit. I’ll never be the same anymore. I’ll never live like I’ve once have. Still a few seconds left that our lives are connected in hatred and when he slowly turns around and looks at me, realizing what is happening, then…
At this moment, I’m very aware that if thought could kill, I already would be a murderer. I put myself down on my bed and satisfied I close my eyes. For a second, I still think about something, but then an accomplished smile sneaks on my face as a welcome friend.
© Rudi J.P. Lejaeghere