From a distance the palace looked like a large marble cone placed on the ground flat side down. As I got closer the smaller pillars began to grow out from the central tower making at first thousands of tiny points, which became larger as I neared the central column of Mortalitis, these spires in the sky reminding me of the old days. The days before the fall, when smiles reigned over this city, this society. When freedom was a right. But I should start from the beginning, with the villain of this story or rather one of them, for we are all villains in one respect or another.1
Lykurgus# roamed the halls, asserting his superiority over he inhabitants. They coward in a half respect, half fear induced response, and so they should for there god on earth. The perfect marble architecture reminded Lykurgus of times long passed when they did not control the populace through religion. Such quaint memories long left out off Humanistory, back in the days before it was changed from “history” to appease the rampant political correctness. The floor was illuminated with the shine of tiny diamonds encrusted within he observed. HE had never before graced these streets, He liked it as the choice of a new capital, suitably grand and over the top. A servant approached, which he ordered to prepare a room in the palace. The servant said something about the Exxcessium Perriculum to which Lykurgus replied, “You do not know the history of this great city,” sharply continuing, “it fell to the demons once and it shall not again. This was the city of the Macedonian* Gods before they left this mortal realm. This city was under mortal protection when it fell, and I will not offend the them by losing it again, which is why I make it my capital, so as to better protect it. Understood.” The servant nodded meekly as if the sins of his forebears were enough to banish him to Perriculi Excess. Lykurgus snickered at the thought, there was something amusing about being the one of few in the know. To understand for instance, that Perriculi Excess was a fictional place but still managed to keep the populace in line. It was an art work, apeassing his ego. 2
*******************************************************************3
Meanwhile in another part of the city, life played out like a regular game of russian roulets. Dax and Kat were jogging down the Crest; a glance behind them revealed that there target was approaching his “X”. Would he transcend the common fate of death, or falter and fall to death. She half wondered if, half hoped he would decypher the code rather then panic and die. She gestured towards a dumpster on the Boulevard, they moved to hide behind it and out of the corner of her eye she caught a glance of a young man, ignoring him as quickly as she had noticed him she stared at the Graffiti. Reading whatever caught her eye, e.g.;4
-“Apocalypse is the welcome savior we await” 5
Or less intelligent and far more common Graffiti, I.E.6
-“Daniel was ‘ere”7
Spelt like some cockney brat wrote the way he talked. She drifted into a trance, recognising gunshots getting closer, then an indistinct shout and a very loud bang, she may have heard a sob in there to, But in the daze she did not know if it was her or Kat that made the sound. Not knowing how much time passed she was roused when Kat said “Let’s get outta ‘ere”. As they snuck down south along Opulentia Crest Dax thought maybe Kat tagged.8
****************************************9
Michael had been walking about two kilometers when he observed the two women turn a corner onto the boulevard. It was odd, it seemed like they were watching him. His thoughts slipped into his minds eye as he tryed to imagine what they where thinking. Then he noticed a lone boy on the side of the road, barely seventeen, and half scared for his life, half trying to blend in. Micheal straightened his walk, a lone tear slid down his face as he heard gunshots echo far of, through the Outskirt’s streetscape. Another band** boy in trouble with the law, L.I.E. (Letum, Insultus, Exxcesium) did an important job if a little too zealous. He suppressed his cynicism and kept walking on, reaching his door as the kid checked the map. The gunshots were closer. Damn! He dropped his keys, not noticing the scrapped foot, barely ten metres away. He picked the keys up, fumbling with them as he struggled to find the one to unlock this door. The young outlaw began walking north. That was the wrong way for a white band. The key now in the lock, three L.I.E. officers rounded a corner, one yelling "There he is,” at the top of her lungs, and opening fire on the boy. A scream for help resounded through the street. But none here were heroes. Not even him. He just opened his door weeping for the madness of this world. The pent up aggression of over valued gods, spewing forth into the streets and taking the lives of those who only had poverty to call there own. A final bang. Then quiet.10
************************************11
The road here was pot holed, run down and generally disintegrating from a road into a dirt path. It was here that Derrick found himself, running from the gun fire that was by no means far enough for comfort. It was then as he came to a “T” intersection that he observed two girls, no, women ducking around the opposite corner to hide behind a dumpster that looked like it had seen better days. He looked north now, seeing an up right middle aged man walking down the street calmly as if the gunshots were not clearly audible. A sign that he came from a bad neighborhood, or a good one depending on your social status! He went to the nearby signpost on the right hand corner of the “T” intersection and looked at the tattered map. Taking in the overall suburb map before looking at the suburb map he read the street names, taking in the irony of the names "Opulentia*** Crest" and "Argentium Drive". As he did this he heard the sound of keys dropping and the scraping of a boot softly scraping across the ground as he listened more intently trying to determine if the gunshots were getting closer. Damned L.I.E., The raid had woken him and five other slummers three were gunned down in the first two kilometers of running, he had lost the other one a little after that. He had been running all day on and off, he should be safe, but they were getting closer.12
*************************************13
Derrick started walking northwards hearing the up-right man still fumbling with his keys, then the click as he got them into keyhole. Then the novel sound was over shadowed by rushed footsteps followed by loud gunshots, now on the Crest. A sob went un-noticed by the over all street life, from a dumpster to the south, near the Boulevard. He kept walking slowly till a yell echoed through the whole neighborhood “There he is.” Derrick didn’t even turn to check if they were yelling about him. He just ran, ran as fast as his legs could move, automatically falling into the rhythm of breathing that well seasoned runners prized. The impact of his foot fall resounding through the street, making the symphony of his destruction rise to the crescendo of his demise, a door hastily opened and closed with to much force the final build to a crack felling the noise like the swish of a conductor’s wand at the face of an orchestra. Then slow paced footsteps fell in time to take the place of the big band’s noise, like soft percussion filling a tiny gap in the composition, and then quiet voices came in to fill the melody. Then the last silence14
****************************************15
A young officer approached, at a glance she would be no more than 16, but looks could deceive. She took in the White band. Similar to her grey. She wondered why L.I.E. wore bands, probably to remind them of there duty. She cut the white bracelet off his arm… 00/00/00 … was printed across his arm. “Another one of these scum bags trying to cheat the system,” one of her deputies rumbled. The other replied “Well he is dead now. Lets get a drink!” something weighed on this mans voice, almost as if he needed the drink. As if he needed to forget something!16
******************************************************************17
“Martin Luther King spoke out against the discrimination of minorities, some excerpts of the speech make my point abundantly clear,” A voice echoed through the dark hallway, “a great American set the African Americans free from slavery, but one hundred years later this man spoke of the injustice that these ‘Niger’s’ suffered at the hands of the majority.” The Voice was now a yell, the echo forming the perfect symphony of emphasis for his speech. “Martin Luther King said ‘I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: ‘We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.’’ But this is not the case for one thousand years later there is still a minority, that is pushed down to support the thinking of the majority, so let us make Martin Luther King’s dream a reality.” A murmur ran down the hallway not loud enough for the echo of the hall to take, but echoing none the less. The disembodied voice continued, “but the talking has done nothing,” now almost a whisper “this is why I mention another figure of the time, Malcolm X, the time of talking has passed. The mortals must die.” Applause sounded along the hall. Then silence, the motion carried from this clandestine gerousia. They thought to kill for what they believed. They would end up, killing for what?18
*******************************************************************19
Michael entered his flat to some surprise. The soft green walls were now splashed by hard, blood red, with solid black text enforcing the message as it was slowly covered by the running red liquid, which began to look more and more like blood. Slogans where spaced so they surrounded a main one in the middle, which read,20
"THE ANSWER IS UNDER THE BAND!”21
the others read like,22
"Trust is for fools"23
"YOU DIE IN 3 DAYS"24
and other cliche's of a similar nature and one small note in the bottom right corner that was out of place with out standing out, different but unobtrusive,25
"Kat was 'ere"26
feeling some what disconcerted Michael went to the kitchen, and made some coffee. Brake ins happened on a regular basis in the outskirts, so the fact that someone was in his apartment, was a concept that he was used to without being comfortable about it, and they often left graffiti when they found nothing of value, usually more threatening, but there was an odd feeling about this, like, well like the graffiti was telling the truth. He took a sip of his coffee, then got a knife and some sticky tape and put them on the table that like every other apartment was attached securely to the floor. He thought for a long while perplexed, taking more sips from his mug at regular intervals, spread far enough apart that he eventually just skulled it because it was cold. Then he took the knife, and shoving it between the yellow bracelet he had worn all his life and his arm which began to bleed as he tried to cut the thin band and then with a sharp tug he broke it's hold over his arm, simultaneously breaking free of it's hold over his life to find staring back at him six numbers separated by back-slashes into groups of two. It was a Date! It was three days away! He paced the room. He returned to the wall. He read it all. Then he decided..!27
It took him four hours, but he had sterilized his stock kitchen, and had brought a powered drop saw with his life savings installing it on the preparation bench, before sterilizing it and the area again, Michael spent his remaining six dollars on a bag of sugar. He then heated the hot plate and plugged in the drop saw before he turned it on. He was ready.28
He put the sugar next to the drop saw. Then he put his left arm under the drop saw, that spun, as if baying for blood, reminding him of "Out, Out", an ancient poem, the author lost in time. He pulled the saw down on his arm with the right. Blood erupted from his arm violently. Michael stuck the stub in the bag of sugar for two minutes, felling it congeal on his arm. If he was going to die, he was going to fight. He then jammed it against the hot plate as hard as he could hold it there until he passed out. The last thing that went through his conscious mind was a quote, sprayed on his wall that he had seen before somewhere else, he tried to place it as he fell to the floor. It was "Leaders should be scrutinized the most!"29
Adding your comment: