Here you go then. It's pretty long.
WARNING: THE FOLLOWING CONTAINS PROFANITY, VIOLENCE, AND IN GENERAL IS AN EXTREMELY UNHAPPY STORY. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.
Requiem for a Valentine
a Tragedy by W. A. Draper
Part One
Silus Valentine could never quite remember where he was when he got the call. It bothered him. It seemed like the sort of life changing news that should imprint itself on your memory forever. He might have been at home, on the road—anywhere really—when he first heard.
First heard that his brother was dead. Markus Valentine, his older brother, dead. Gone forever. How had he felt? How had he reacted?
He couldn’t remember that either.
He did remember the funeral, dimly. Black clothes and sombre music and people offering awkward words of comfort. He’d loved his brother, though he hadn’t seen him face to face for years. Markus was a wanderer, always traveling, never staying long in one place. He’d send postcards and letters. Sometimes he’d phone. Silus relished the contact; he loved his brother’s adventurous spirit. It made him feel better about his own dull office job. Maybe it was unhealthy, living by proxy, but Silus didn’t care.
All in the past. Markus dead, succumbed to an allergy that had haunted him since childhood. He never even got to see the body; for some reason it never found its way back from Spain where Markus had died.
A depressing picture, perhaps, but not quite a tragic one. But of course, that’s not the whole picture. It rarely is.
* * *
Silus Valentine stood on his doorstep in his pyjamas, two weeks after the death. He had just started easing back into normal life; he had telecommuned the last few days and planned to resume regular work after the weekend.
In his hands he held an envelope addressed to Silis Valentine, a person he’d never heard of. Maybe a distant relative of his? He knew he should do something about it—notify the post office, have it forwarded to the correct address. In fact, he fully intended to. But first, just a quick peek.
Mr Valentine,
Thank you for your patience. Full payment for services rendered has been forwarded in the usual fashion
yad sEnit Ne Lav. Lensetime.
- (symbol not recreatable in text)
So read the letter. It was all word processed until the last two lines, which were scrawled at the bottom with pink ink. Other than those two lines, it wouldn’t have worried him.
yad sEnit Ne Lav. Valentine’s day, spelled backwards with random spacing and capitalization. Something he and Markus had used as a sort of codename in their childhood. Something they had never spoken of to anyone else. Lensetime sounds like the last two syllables of Valentine. Another fond childhood memory. Put that together with the name ‘Silis Valentine” and something weird was going on. Something connected to his brother. He’d never questioned the lack of a body before, but now...
Last and most worrying was that symbol in place of a signature. That was connected to something much darker than the nonsense words of his idyllic childhood. So much so that it bothered him deeply to see them both on the same page.
Silus Valentine worked for an international insurance company. Since nearly the start of his employment he had suspected it of shady dealings. Speaking up would of course have gotten him fired, and he valued his job. Even if parts of the company operated on uncertain moral ground. That sign was exactly the same as a sign he’d seen on numerous company documents. It wasn’t his company’s official symbol; the symbol that appeared on people’s insurance forms was an umbrella deflecting a lightning bolt. This squiggly thing was on the top secret documents that he wasn’t allow to read, to see, or even to know about. Had his brother, free-spirited, high-flying Markus gotten mixed up in something sinister? Filled with foreboding, Silus resolved to find out what was going on.
He dressed and showered. He would go to work that afternoon. He needed answers and had only one place to start.
As he climbed into his car, he felt the claws of despair on his chest. Everything went dark and out of focus; he had to fight to turn the key, to turn his car on. He wasn’t ready for this. It was Friday, maybe he should give himself the weekend—hunt for truth with a clear head. Maybe he should forget about this whole thing. Maybe he should see his doctor about some antidepressants.
No. He pushed down on the gas pedal, driven by a subconscious guilt complex he had built up in all his years of employment and nourished on forgotten papers, ignored clues and deliberate gullibility. This time it was personal. This time—he stopped himself before he thought ‘my brother is dead’. It wouldn’t do to have another attack while driving.
He reached his company, driving past the giant billboard with the lightning/umbrella logo and the giant letters proclaiming ‘ThunderCover: there when you need it most.” He saluted, thinking ‘Ignorance is Strength’.
He had always wondered about the name; was ThunderCover some kind of pun? Did ‘cover’ indicate a cover operation? Both? Was it just a laughable coincidence?
Silus had always wondered, but in an apathetic sort of way. He’d never cared enough to make the effort and find out the truth.
He pulled into his parking space. You knew you were valued when you had your own parking space, right? Until two weeks ago that had mattered to him.
Until two weeks ago a lot of things had mattered to him. Maybe in two more weeks they would matter again.
People at the office were surprised to see him; he’d already called in to say he wasn’t coming today. Their clumsy condolences hurt like pins on a fresh wound. He’d known he wasn’t ready to face this. He tried brushing them off, but it was futile. People he didn’t even know seemed to think they had to comfort him. It was maddening.
He forced himself to focus. He’d come for a reason. This was for Markus. Everything went dark for a moment, but he pulled himself out with a thread of false hope. He’d never seen a body. Maybe Mark was still alive somewhere. He knew he’d regret it later, but right now he needed this line of thought to face the world.
He got past the ‘oh I’m so sorry’s, but even then his co-worker’s pitying glances pierced him like knives. He bore it as best he could and made small talk, searching for clues.
Small talk got him nowhere. Soon, unable to bear it, Silus slipped away from the water cooler. He went straight to his office, avoiding human contact, and locked the door.
There was something on his desk—something he hadn’t put there. Of course, he hadn’t been in the office for two weeks, but he had specifically told everyone that they were to stay out of his space while he was gone. He liked to keep everything orderly and in its proper place. Normally it made him feel in control. Right now it all just felt sterile and pointless. He swept a wad of paper from a cabinet onto the floor as he passed.
The thing on his desk was an unmarked envelope. No, that’s not true. One side was unmarked, the other, the side that you open, had tiny writing on it. It said ‘For Valentine’s eyes only.’ Silus opened it.
Silus Valentine,
Your brother’s death was not an accident. He was murdered.
I know who killed him.
If you want to know the truth, just look around you. It’s everywhere.
- C. L.
He stared at the letter. If this was a joke, he wasn’t laughing. Mark? Murdered? Who would want to kill his brother? Why?
Whoever did it, he’d kill them! His brother’s death demanded vengeance!
Staring at his office ceiling, Silus Valentine took an oath to track down his brother’s killer no matter what it took. He swore that justice would be done.
The red faded from his vision. Of course, all that assuming this was real. Assuming it wasn’t a joke; a horrible, morbid prank. Assuming C. L. wasn’t mistaken. Assuming someone wasn’t out to get him.
C. L. A set of initials. Maybe someone he knew. No one came to mind. Whoever it was, why were they doing this? If they knew who the killer was, why not take action? Why pull him into it? Was C. L. a coward? Someone connected to the killing, someone who couldn’t take action themselves? What exactly had happened? How was ThunderCover tied into all this?
So many questions. Silus hated questions. He hated having to dig for the answers to things. Everything should be clear and simple; no silly rules making everyone’s lives more complicated. Of course, nothing was ever clear and simple. Nothing was ever straightforward. Just a hopeless dream.
There was more on the back of the letter. Random letters and numbers. A password. He booted up his computer and typed the code on the letter instead of his normal entry code.
Words popped up on his screen. ‘Welcome Silus Valentine,’ they said. ‘Clearance level 4 granted.’ Clearance? He worked for a private company, not the CIA.
There were new icons on his desktop. He clicked on one that read ‘Recent contractors’. A list of names popped up. He scrolled up and down the list. One name jumped out at him
Silis Valentine. The name on the letter he’d received. He double clicked on it. A short blurb popped up, giving precious little information on the person but mentioning that the name was actually an alias and, at the very end, that he had died. Two weeks ago. It also said that Silis had been here, in Silus’s own city when he’d died. Cause of death? Bullet wound. Listed as an accident. Yeah right.
Using your own last name as an alias is a gutsy thing to do. Exactly the sort of gutsy thing Mark would have done. What had his brother been up to, exactly? Had he been in Spain at all? Had he been lying in those letters?
More questions. Silus pushed them all aside. He couldn’t believe anything bad about his brother and that was that. He just had to find the killer. Just find the killer, bring him to justice. That’s all.
An echo of the rage he’d felt at first rose in him. This wasn’t a joke, then. His brother had been killed. Someone had killed him. He was dead. These thoughts chased one another around in his head, going in pointless circles like a dog chasing its tail, making him more and more angry. Anger felt better than sadness. Anger would let him fight.
Someone knocked on his door. He yelled at them to come in. They knocked louder. He remembered he’d locked the door and went to open it.
It was a girl of twenty-something. He didn’t recognise her. He apologized and greeted her, trying and failing to sound pleasant. She wasn’t bad looking; once he would laughed and grinned and flirted. Now he stared off into space as she recited some inane complaint. He didn’t listen, then when it sounded like she was done he waved her on to the next level of management, saying he didn’t have the authority. Maybe his boss would take pity on him and not chew him out for shirking work. Hell, maybe he actually didn’t have the authority to deal with whatever. You never know.
Ha, like he’d have that kind of luck. He stepped on something that scrunched while walking back to his desk. The papers he’d knocked down before. He kicked at them, spreading them further across the floor.
What were those initials again? He checked the paper. C. L. Who in the company was named C. L.? Rather, who was named C. L. and would have high security clearance?
He checked the company directory. Answer: no one. Not a single soul above his level had the initials C. L.. There was a secretary named Caroline Louis, but she worked for one of his subordinates. No way she’d have more clearance that him.
What about these ‘contractors’? There was just one; Cory Lawrence. From his description, he was pretty low on the ladder. Just muscle. In fact, it sounded like he didn’t know what company he was working for. Not a likely candidate.
Well, there were two other new icons on his desktop. One said ‘Cases’ and the other ‘Special income’. Special income had no names in it, it was just a revised company budget that seemed to have about twice as much money in it as the original.
‘Cases’ had names in it. It had the name ‘Curtis Law’. Curtis Law was a hacker from the slums. He skimmed the article and saw the name ‘Valentine’. This was probably it. Even if he wasn’t high on the ladder, a hacker might be able to get the passwords. This Curtis Law knew who had killed his brother.
Name: Curtis Law
Profession: Unemployed (Hacker)
Details: Curtis Law was contracted to break into ThunderCover’s insurance records and cause chaos as a cover for—
Silus’ screen went black for a moment. The words ‘access revoked’ flashed in his face a few time, then his computer went back to normal.
***.
Someone higher up must have caught him spying. This could be a serious problem for his career. He tried to muster up some concern about that. Nope, nothing.
Any minute now someone would be calling him to their office. There would be awkward questions. They would either bribe or blackmail him into silence. Whichever it was, he wasn’t going to hang around for it. He’d been dreading the long drag of the afternoon anyway; this was an opportunity to escape. Forget the questions. Follow the lead; take the next step. One step in front of the other, like a balance beam. Don’t look down or you’ll fall. Trust that your next step won’t send you hurtling down to your death.
His thoughts were wandering. He stopped thinking and rose from his chair; walking to his door and down to the bottom floor, all the way dodging the eyes of those around him, not even seeing the halls, hypnotized by the checkered pattern of the floor. Thought can wait, he told himself. Now is for walking.
He found the door. Found his parking space. Found his car. Turned the key. Pushed down the pedal. Turned the wheel.
Where was he going? He didn’t know. Damn, why didn’t C. L. just give him an address?
He found himself driving home, operating on autopilot. Alright, why not? Just go with it. Go with the flow. Don’t rock the boat or you’ll make waves. His head was all messed up; empty of useful thought, full of pointless sayings. Don’t rock the boat? His brother was dead and he knew nothing about it. Maybe if he’d rocked the boat a little he wouldn’t be so much in the dark right now. Or if he’d searched a little he’d have been able to help. Or if he had wheels, he’d be a train.
That didn’t even make sense. He was slipping. Belatedly, he realised he’d just drove through a red light. He’d get himself killed before he found out anything about—
No. Don’t think. Not now. Get home. He had to stay together whatever it took. For—
No.
He made it home in one piece and once again considered just forgetting about everything. A wave of apathy washed over him. What did it matter? What did anything matter? Then the wave passed and he was angry again. The *** who killed his brother would not get away. Never.
He looked Curtis Law up on his home computer. Got an address in the slums. Got back in the car. Racking up the miles today, he was. His head hurt. He should have picked up some pills while he was home. A lot of pills, maybe. Not just headache ones.
He reached the address and climbed out of his car. What if this wasn’t the right place? What if it wasn’t Curtis Law after all? What would he do?
Who cares? Now there’s a question he liked, one to shrug off all the other questions. Who cares anyway?
He knocked on the door. It opened and a tall, greasy-haired, underfed man was pointing a shotgun at him and demanding his name.
Silus Valentine stuttered it out. Maybe this was a really bad idea. Maybe that was a horrible understatement. The crazy looking man introduced himself as Curtis Law and invited Silus inside.
Inside was a dump. The furniture was crap, the carpeting filthy, the paint peeling. He bit his tongue and made himself ignore the stench.
Curtis Law began to talk. Despite his appearance and circumstances, Curtis was clearly a very intelligent person. He told Silus about ThunderCover, what they had had him do and why. Silus began to understand why Curtis answered the door with a shotgun.
ThunderCover had hired a team of hackers to selectively destroy their insurance records. Hundreds of people had lost their insurance money outright, vanished like smoke. When they complained, ThunderCover told them it was all the hacker’s fault and that they were doing their best to get rid of the hackers and prevent future incidents.
Which they were, in fact, doing. Instead of paying the hackers, ThunderCover gave them the shaft. All the holes in ThunderCover’s security vanished overnight. The cops were called in. The hackers never got their pay.
They were pissed. They faded into the shadows and struck back repeatedly, thinking that ThunderCover would realise they were losing money and pay up. ThunderCover did no such thing. Instead, they brought in outside help. Someone with a reputation for making people disappear when necessary. Someone called Valentine.
Silus’s jaw hit the ground. His mind bent and twisted, paralyzing him with mental agony as Curtis listed the horrible crimes attributed to the one who bore his name. Markus, a monster? His own brother, his own flesh and blood? Impossible! Impossible! Part of his mind flat out rejected it, wanted to yell out that it was all lies, horrible slander. Part of his mind accepted it, though it hurt. Knew it had to be true. Why had he never wondered where Markus’s money came from? Why had he never questioned his weird habits of contact, the times he contradicted himself? Love is blind.
Most of Silus’s mind just wanted to die.
“Take this. Watch it when you go home,” Curtis was saying, handing him a DVD. “I want you to know the truth. I planned this as a kind of test. I can’t live with this any longer, I need to feel clean. I know in my heart I was only defending myself, that I did the whole world a favour, yet, I can’t live with it! Why not!” His voice rose. “I deserved to live! It was him or me! Why should I die so he can go on killing! WHY! WHY DO I STILL FEEL HIS BLOOD!” Curtis screamed. “Valentine! I’m sorry I brought you into this, but I can’t take it any more. Press charges or don’t as you think is right and just!”
No, Silus thought. Don’t say it. Please, whatever you do, don’t say it! How would he react? What would he do? This time he thought he knew the answer, and it scared him. He wanted to cry out in warning, but couldn’t make a sound.
“Valentine, I killed your brother,” Curtis said. Then his eyes went wide. Silus had snatched up the loaded shotgun on the table. He levelled it at Curtis and paused, shaking, fighting his own vengeful hands. God no, please let the safety be on.
“Blam,” said the gun.
Part Two
The most realistic video games have yet to accurately capture the sense of blowing a man’s head off with a shotgun from point blank range. I won’t even try to describe it here, suffice to say that blood was everywhere and Silus nearly fainted. The shotgun’s kickback nearly breaking his ribs contributed slightly to the stabbing pains in his head and the horrible feeling of blood all over his hands and face.
He found a sink and washed the blood off. Oh god, he had killed him. Curtis killed Silus’s brother so Silus killed him. Isn’t that justice? Isn’t that? He laughed a high, mad, despairing laugh. He had killed a man. That one phrase filled his whole mind, driving out everything else. He was wearing a dark dress shirt and black pants, so the blood stains were barely visible. Just wet spots, slightly darker marks on his shirt. Hardly see them unless you were looking. Hardly see anything at all when waves of red and black rolled across your vision and a dead man’s eyes stared at you from the shadows.
Judge me, Valentine, he had said. He had wagered on Silus’s justice. He had wagered on Silus’s sanity. He had lost. Now he was dead.
I failed him, he thought. He had killed him. Killed him for killing a monster who happened to be Silus’ brother. Blood is thicker than water. But blood was diluted with deceit, and water was tainted with madness, and who could tell the difference anymore? Justice? Where are you, justice?
Questions, driving him mad. The sharp line of black and white he so treasured was obscured by hues of *** crimson. Questions didn’t need to drive him mad. Wasn’t he mad already?
He left the house and its dead occupant. He left the man he had murdered to rot. He left him dead in the chair where he had shot him. He left with his mind in morbid turmoil and drove away like a maniac, barely seeing the road for the blood.
Sirens. Flashing blue and red lights in his rear-view mirrors. For a few seconds he thought it was just in his head, just an illusion. Why would the cops be after him? They couldn’t have found the body. If they had, they couldn’t connect it to him. He’d left fingerprints, but he didn’t have a criminal record, so they didn’t have his fingerprints to compare to. How could they be after him? It must be a paranoid delusion. He must be going mad.
Then he glanced at his speedometer. Oh. He pulled over, screeching jerkily to a stop.
The cop pulled over behind him and walked over to him. Said something. Did you know how fast you were going? Silus tried to answer, tried to act normal. He was talking to a cop while wearing clothes that were still stained with blood from a murder he’d committed mere minutes ago. Surely the cop could smell it, smell the horrid, incriminating, irony stench. Ha ha, irony. How ironic, to commit a murder and be stopped for speeding. So funny it was driving him insane. Surely the cop knew, he was just pretending. Putting on the pressure. Trying to make him confess. He wouldn’t fall for it.
He was just being paranoid. The cops couldn’t know. If he wanted to live, to get away, he had to act normally. Did he want to live?
Apparently he didn’t do very well at acting normally. The cop made him take a breathalyser test, which showed him completely sober. Good thing those things don’t pick up guilt, isn’t it? Is it?
The stench of blood was unbearable. How could the cop miss it? How could anyone miss the horrible reek that clung to him? Miss the telltale marks of guilt on his face, clear as if it was still covered in blood.
He was just paranoid. A natural reaction to an unnatural action. The cop wrote him a huge ticket and nearly took him in to the station to check what he was stoned on. Blood, nothing but blood. And not high, but as low as man can be. Guilty, to be stoned to death. Ha. The cop was gone. He took off, just managing to drive normally till the cop was out of sight. He barrelled home like a maniac. Like?
Then he was home and nothing had changed. He changed his clothes and showered, but the maddening stench of blood clung.
Justice. He had sworn that justice would be done. He had failed. Justice? Was there such a thing as justice? Had he set himself an impossible task?
Who cares?
He cared! Where is right and wrong? Why does it hurt so badly? He could feel his mind twisting and bending. He wondered if he would feel it snap. Would he know he was mad?
Was he already mad? All this pain. And yet...
And yet, how many lives had ThunderCover destroyed when they erased those files? How many people had they ruined? And then the hackers, their lives were ruined and they were hunted down. But they were guilty. They had helped hurt those people.
Was his pain worse than theirs? And was he less deserving? He had overlooked his company’s corruption over and over.
What about his brother? Was he also guilty of the crimes—
WAIT!
Wait. Innocent until proven guilty. What if Curtis was lying? What if Markus wasn’t a monster? A breath of comparatively cool air. But so what? He still should have pressed charges, not blown the guy’s goddamn head off. Why the hell did Curtis leave a loaded shotgun on the table? Was that part of the test too, Mr. Law? Had he subconsciously wanted to leave that possibility open? Fair judgement, allowing any sentence between absolvement and instant execution?
Well, that wasn’t very considerate of him. Silus wouldn’t have pressed charges, he suddenly realised. With a cool head, he would have let Curtis off. Maybe they would have become friends. Two sinners on two sides of the law, both willing to hurt others for personal gain, for personal security. What a friendship.
But what if Curtis was lying? Yet that idea had no grip on Silus’ mind, no purchase, no safe foothold in the storm of grief and madness. He remembered the DVD. Did he still have it? Yes, it was in his hand, right there. He’d had it all along. Never noticed it. What could be on it? Did he want to know?
Yes. He did. Despite everything, despite the taste of blood and ashes in his mouth, he still wanted to know the truth. What could hurt him more now? Hadn’t he reach the limit of mortal pain yet? He put the disk in a player and punched the buttons.
It was proof. Proof of Markus’s horrible lies. Images of documents, contracts, everything. Then it cut to video. Silus saw his brother shoot a woman in the head without flinching.
So it could hurt more. Fascinating. Was this what the snap felt like? He couldn’t watch any more. He believed it already. The DVD had two parts. He skipped to part two.
Part two began with a short message from Curtis. It was a confession to the crime of killing Markus Valentine. Then it cut to a video. This was meant to be evidence, Silus realised, should he choose to press charges. He realised what was coming next and paused the video. Did he want to see it?
No. Would he watch it?
Yes. He had to. He had to know how it had happened. Maybe it would kill him. Maybe it would save his life. Maybe he was already dead. He mashed play.
Markus Valentine appeared on the screen, clutching a gun and stepping over a dead body. His face was a devilish mask. The same face that Silus remembered as laughing so easily when they were children. Markus Valentine walked down the dark alley away from the fresh corpse and the spreading pool of blood, yelling a name that Silus recognised. Curtis Law’s name.
Curtis dashed out from behind a door, clutching a gun in a shaking hand, pointing it at Markus.
Markus Valentine laughed a dark, sinister laugh as he shot Curtis in the hand. Curtis screamed and fell to his knees.
“Now, Curtis,” Markus said, “Why did it have to come to this? All you had to do was let up. Disappear. Go somewhere else to ply your filth.” The voice was so different from what Silus remembered from his conversations on the phone, and yet so similar. His mind reeled and strained. How far could it be from snapping? How far could he bend before he broke?
“But you didn’t disappear. You kept showing your filthy face, you and your stupid hacker friends. Now, I’m giving you one last chance. That’s more than I gave your friend back there, Curtis.” Markus laughed again, advancing slowly toward the quivering Curtis. Curtis made a grab for his gun. Markus shot it, sending it skidding across the filthy pavement. “Now, what will it be, you filthy hacker scum? Will you stay or go? I feel generous, so fade away and never show your face here again, and I’ll leave you alone. Stay and I’ll find you. You know you can’t get away from me.” Markus smiled, showing all his teeth. “Also, I still don’t know where all your friends are.” Curtis found himself staring down a barrel. “Tell me now or I kill you.”
Curtis stuttered that he didn’t know. “Well, that’s just too bad. Goodbye forever, Curtis Law.” Markus’ trigger finger began to tighten.
A brick fell loose from an upper story window, smashing into Markus’s shoulder. There was a loud crack and then it was Mark who fell screaming to his knees. Divine retribution, Silus thought.
Curtis Law rose to his feet, picked up his gun in his good hand, and walked over to Markus, who was screaming in pain and pleading for his life. Curtis was absolutely silent. His face had become an implacable mask.
“Don’t kill me! Please, take pity! I’ll do anything! I’ll give it all up, let you go free! I’ll kill everyone whose ever hurt you! Anything, just DON’T KILL ME!”
Curtis Law raised his gun, his hand steady, and whispered something. Then he emptied his entire clip into Markus Valentine’s chest. He stepped over the corpse and began to walk away. Three steps later he broke down screaming. The video cut out.
So that was it. That was the real story. That was the lingering allergy from his childhood, the accident that had put six bullets in Mark’s heart and lungs.
Markus had deserved to die, hadn’t he? He had ruined so many peoples lives, killed so many. Curtis had been right to kill him, hadn’t he? What would he have done? Would Silus Valentine have cut the monster that bore his name down in cold blood, while it begged for mercy?
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone. What right did Curtis have to dispense justice? A hacker who had knowingly destroyed the livelihood of hundreds for personal gain? Yet he gotten squeamish when he had to pull the trigger himself? What hypocrisy.
Darkness and the smell of blood and the sound of sirens were suddenly all Silus could see and hear and smell. What hypocrisy, to work for a company that tore apart lives. That brick, that bolt of lightning from heaven, what if it had never struck? He would be happy, living a lie, believing the lies his brother fed him, ignoring the truth when it was staring him in the face. And he would be happy. He still wanted to go back to that happy lie. What did that make him? What right did he have to pass judgement? Why had Curtis chosen him? He’d thought that if even Mark’s own brother agreed with him, his guilt would vanish?
Maybe if Curtis had waited another month, another week, another day, another hour, all this would have turned out differently. Maybe Silus would have held on to his sanity at the crucial moment. Maybe Curtis would be alive and free of guilt and Silus would eventually come to terms with life.
But that didn’t happen. Curtis didn’t wait and Silus had killed him.
Black, black, shades of black on red. Crimson streaks of midnight. The stench of blood and gunpowder. The worst attack yet. If he’d had a weapon, a gun or a knife at that moment, he would have died. Killed himself. He didn’t have a weapon. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? He didn’t know.
What now, Silus Valentine? What now? Oh, the questions. Why so many goddamn decisions? He couldn’t deal with this. Why live? Forget nobler, which is less cowardly; to live in meaningless pain or to die and be done with everything?
Purpose. Meaning. To live a little longer, to float in the sea of blood and ashes and to tread water. To hold on to sanity.
Well maybe not that last one. The word purpose had sounded an awful lot like ‘snap’ in his head, but Silus Valentine knew what he wanted to do. Maybe it would change things, maybe not. Maybe make them better, maybe worse. Maybe no one would notice. Who cares?
He got into his car and drove off. He was slightly steadier than before, letting his body drive by memory, without input from his demented mind. He had to pick up two things. It was almost four o’clock; he had to hurry.
First he bought a megaphone. He didn’t even remember what it cost. He thought people were staring at him. He thought he was just paranoid. There was no way to tell which it was.
Next he needed a handgun. This was more difficult. The clerk at the store seemed extremely reluctant to sell a gun to someone so obviously crazed. Silus went to a nearby bank and withdrew the maximum he could take from his savings at once. He set it down in front of the clerk.
The clerk sold him the gun. People are self-centered bastards, Silus noted. But he already knew that, didn’t he?
He went downtown. It was nearly five o’clock. Rush hour was on; the streets were packed. He found a road with four narrow lanes that was packed solid with cars and worked his way into the middle of it. Then he turned his car sideways, blocking all four lanes.
Red tinged his vision. Surely he was mad now? He climbed out of his car, megaphone in one hand, gun in the other, and stood on top of his car. Some other people were climbing out of their cars, shouting at him. He clicked off the safety and fired over their heads. They stopped.
“Hello, sinners,” he said into the megaphone, “hello you filthy, rotten bastards. Did you have a nice day today? I had a **** horrible day today. Let me tell you about my day.”
“My brother is dead. Did you know that? Maybe some of you have dead brothers. Maybe some of you know what that’s like. Did you know my brother? His name was Markus Valentine. He was a drug dealer, a gang man and a contract killer. Maybe he killed someone you know.”
“My brother is dead because a dirty rotten sinner named Curtis Law killed him. Curtis Law was a hacker who ruined peoples lives. He worked with my company, ThunderCover, to rob hundreds of people of their insurance money. Maybe some of your lives were ruined by him. Curtis Law killed my brother because he was a horrible person who deserved to die. For that, I killed Curtis Law!” Silus screamed. Darkness tinged his vision and he staggered.
“Tell me, you rotten people, which is better! To taste the apple and die, or to avoid it and live, not knowing you deserve to die? How many of you are tragedies waiting to happen! How many of you are blind to the truth! Run away, now, now! Before the storm comes, and God’s lightning finds you through the chain of corruption! Run, before your guilt finds you! Or don’t run. Don’t listen to me, I’m mad! You’d be taking the advice of a madman! What do I care what you do? What does anyone care? Nothing, nothing, it’s all an exercise in futility. Funny, isn’t it? Yeah, it’s so **** funny I’m bleeding!” He heard sirens whining in the distance, saw the blue and red light creeping toward him, parting the waters of humanity to reach him on his island.
“Goodbye forever, guilty world!” he shouted, and pointed his gun at his own temple. And did nothing. What was he waiting for? The cops were getting closer! What reason did he have to live anyway? Why was he hesitating?
Snap.
Ah. So that’s what it felt like. He pulled the trigger.
“Blam,” said the gun.
Here's some more old poems.
Punctuation sometimes just gets in the way of the message, man.
hope’s a whisper
hope’s a whisper at the window
truth is scratching at the door
freedom’s waiting in the courtyard
safety’s landing at the shore
if you’re scared and if you’re lonely
if you’re caged and can’t break free
when your hope is faint and fading
when you’ve got no light to see
seek the key to your salvation
seek the hole that’s in the sky
and you’ll find an open window
and you’ll find that you can fly
follow hope that quiet whisper
into freedom in the air
yet in flight you’ll still remember
those who need your hope and share
soon we’ll see the end of cages
soon the world will find its wings
and we’ll live in peace together
in a place where freedom sings
This one is extremely applicable and I don't know why I didn't post it here before. I did not have autism or anything even vaguely like it in mind when I wrote this poem, though it is based on something that actually happened to me.
Of a Statue
The statue cannot feel their eyes.
It cannot know they’re really there.
No biting word can draw it’s blood.
No hurtful glance can make it care.
The statue keeps its vigil there.
It watches with unseeing eyes,
It has no envy of the ones
Who scamper pointlessly around.
But then a pair of piercing eyes
Seek out the statue where it waits.
They gaze into its soul so still;
A stone tossed in the tranquil pond.
Hello there, says the pair of eyes,
What are you doing over here?
And would you like to join with us?
We’ve room for just one more, you see.
The statue slowly shakes its head,
And, setting loose the dust of years,
It makes an odd, uncertain sound
As if to say, you speak to me?
The pair of eyes will not relent,
And as they meet the statue’s own
It sees that there’s a face behind
The eyes; a face filled with concern.
The statue makes its mouth a smile
And says with manufactured strength,
I’m fine, I’m fine, don’t bother me.
I just prefer it over here.
The eyes and face are satisfied,
Receding into their bright world.
They leave the statue quite perplexed,
Its point of view all broken up.
Perhaps there something to be said
For that that’s called Humanity,
Perhaps its worth the pain for one
Who can’t fit in to nonetheless
Seek the bright society
Of those who fit in all to well;
To seek to see and to be seen
As human.
Because some of them care.
Normally I shun free verse but sometimes I get lazy.
Undarkness
The moon has gone.
Clouds fill the sky.
Darkness should crush our city.
Yet, there is no such thing
As darkness.
The clouds reflect the streetlights
And we bathe in recycled brilliance,
Washed in the glow
Of an eerie red sky.
The world is strange
On this night.
Not dark, but not bright either.
It’s hard to believe in anything
On such a night.
Nothing is solid, nothing is real.
Do you stay indoors?
Or do you go out to walk
Amid the wonders and horrors
Of Undarkness.
So, despite what your about to read I am actually not depressed and don't need any kind of therapy ok? I was trying to make fun of dark, depressing poetry but it came out... well...
The Darkness is Eating Me!
Darkness is eating me.
Silent voracity
Slowly eroding me
Into the sea.
Trapped in the darkness I
Can’t help but wonder why
I cling to life, what’s my
Reason to try?
Cut me down, make me bleed.
Life will not make me need
Love that’s no more than greed.
Snapped like a reed.
Redness of blood congealed
Is all I have to wield
As my defense and shield
I should just yield.
Lying here in my bed
Lying in all I’ve said
Eyes burning crimson red
Soon I’ll be dead.
And to end on a lighter note, a poem that was inspire by The Little Prince. This form, incidentally, is called Double Dactyl and is the same as the depressing poem you just read.
Count off a second in
Time and then know it can
Never come back, you can’t
Count it again.
Time is our currency;
Spend it most carefully.
Don’t let mere avarice
Bind you, be free.
Using your time to buy
Money you wonder why
Money can’t buy back your
Time, though you try.
Going in circles this
Serious busyness
Serious business and
Seriousness.
When it’s the end will you
Even remember who
All of your friends were, will
You still be true?
All that’s ridiculous,
Not even humorous.
Throw down your papers, come
Playing with us!
j/k