Lightning from the Dark Cloud; pt. 8: He Himself Was Broken

Stairs creak under unfamiliar feet. The party prepares silently to meet the stranger who is approaching. The Autumn Wind, city hotel, groans perceptibly at the foreign presence inside its walls. A shiver passes through the wiring: the lights blow.
"After Buddha was dead"
The madman followed Jahnus up the stairs, he felt the house was old and staid. The walls made sounds and Jahnus observed them sharply. Halfway up the flight the lights went out. A rough voice sprinkled a sunshower of obscenities as its owner struggled to strike a match.
The hall shook in the flimsy light.
"His shadow was still shown for centuries"
Inside the party the madman was introduced to people: now Matthew, now Mark. Now Susan, now Jane. A man named Tom shook his hand.1

-Are you a usurper? The madman asked
-What the fuck? Here have a drink, man.2

"In a cave"
Tom thrust a near full bottle of tequila into the madman’s hand. He took a generous mouthful and swallowed. Warmth settling in the base of his spine: his head felt heavy and he was overcome with a strong need to urinate.
"A tremendous, gruesome shadow."
A cigarette passed under his nose. It smelt like a sweaty woman. He knew instinctively what was being smoked though he had never tried it. He took a long drag and coughed harshly, ash falling on his shoe. Jahnus approached him. The madman explained to Jahnus how his throat felt warm and alive.
A grin spread on Jahnus’ face.3

-Someone gave you some pot, didn’t they? Haven’t you ever smoked before?
Shakes his head
-That’s cool, man: new experiences.4

"God is dead; But given the way of men"
Jahnus’ scratched his face – crick crack crick - and led the madman to an open-air room at the back of the hotel to talk, nursing a bottle of bourbon.
"There may still be caves for thousands of years"5

Jahnus talked and the madman listened.6

-You seem like an intelligent guy, and I thought maybe you would understand me: I’m a nihilist, you see, and a misanthrope. I think humanity’s a waste of space. I hate everyone. I mean, I have some friends- people I hang out with, that is, but I hate them all. On principle.
"In which his shadow will be shown"7

-I mean, think about it, everything else in nature serves a purpose: a bird serves a purpose, the trees serve a purpose - even a pile of fuckin’ dung serves a purpose. We don’t, though. We just destroy the environment and waste our lives sitting and shitting and working and waiting around to die – Jahnus slurped the last bourbon down and licked his fingers - You know what I mean? D’you understand?8

The madman nods gently. Look at those eyes, where are they going? So filled with sadness, confusion. The madman feels his soul magnetized by the moon to some great task he does not yet understand. The moon watches from above and her charge, who is the sea, prays: give him strength.
"And we"9

-I really just feel someone should put us out of our misery, you know, just wipe us off the planet, like Nietzsche said: the earth ain’t gonna feel us go, right?10

The madman picked up a metal bar that leant against a wall. Jahnus was looking at the stars.11

-Look at the stars, man, their just bags of gas alienated from each other: like people. I’m so lonely because I hate my own species. I figure there must be something better. Life is so – a moth beats against a lightbulb near the Cynic’s head- futile.12

Observing the Cynic named Jahnus, with his deathlike face cloaked in shadow, the madman groans perceptibly under the weight of his compulsion. His hands grip the icy bar. Stars give mute consent. A shiver passes through his mind and he brings the bar down on Jahnus’ head, splintering his skull.
Blood.13

"We still have to vanquish his shadow, too."14

The moon hears a candle extinguish with a sigh.15

The madman dragged the body down to the small yard in back of the hotel. He scrounged frantically in the yard for petrol. Found it. Soaking the body in the fuel he lit a match and watched it fall. Flesh peels off in layers.
Sacrifice.16

A cracked mirror had been stored against the hotel’s red wall. The madman, his pores clogged with ash, stared at his reflection until he could not see his face.17

Long before the sky would open.18