I M P A L E D

Think twice before you read it. And think twice after you have read it. Then it’s better you stop thinking overall. The ones that cannot think are privileged in life. Oh, and - I really don’t care if you DON’T read it. I really don’t. Just close my blog. Do it. Do it now.

One way

They were right. He was wrong.

It was not question of morality, ethnicity, law, future, past, innocence, art, science, religion – they were just right. Moreover, they were what was right. They represented everything there had to be and everything that should be. They were the rules. They were the truth. There was nothing beyond, it was all there was to it. And he… he was wrong. An aged man hardly standing there, defying them with words I could not quite understand. The three figures loomed over him like willows, absorbing every bit of decency he had, leaving him crushed, small and worthless. He was nothing. They would show it soon. They would destroy him, mentally and physically. They would annihilate every smallest part of his mentality, every part of his thoughts and words… leaving him without a trace of reason and belief. After this, he would not deserve to have lived. But they will probably not kill him in the end… they will just show him the way. The only way. If he kills himself after it, it’s his choice. Not that his choice will matter. His life or death will be too insignificant to be observed by the smallest unit or matter anywhere in the universe.

But he didn’t stop. He kept on talking the unrecognizable words. The passers-by began to gather. They wanted to see him crushed, they wanted the see him fall under the hands of truth. But I was there first. I would enjoy it more than them… I would see every word twisted and every cell burnt. Ha ha… I thought I could wait for ever. Eternity would not be enough a price for the pain he deserves. They waited. They stared at him, listened, waited. I knew what was coming, and so did the rest. Most of them were grinning. The revelation was coming. It was just so simple… how could the old man still stand there, talking, while he was so essentially wrong, so down-to-the-core failed at all aspects of everything that breathes? He seems to last long though… perhaps he is strong in his religion. Perhaps he has the power and will to face them decently, without kneeling down… well even better. The stronger he was in his faulty mentality, the more the fun it would bring….

I could count about 30 observers. They were all everyday people, on their way for their errands… which could wait. The old man was getting more and more hunched up. The three black figures presented no escape, physically or mentally. He was getting weaker by the second, his voice was trailing off every now and then, and he was trembling. Compared to them, he was smaller than anything imaginable. He was less than empty space. He soul was damned to eternity and non-existent at the same time… He should die. He should die soon. They were right. And he was wrong.

But he… didn’t stop. He kept on going. His meaningless words filled the air, his blasphemous voice penetrated through our ears, painful and sorrow. I could not stand it anymore. How can someone so wrong in his roots get to last more than a second? He should be tortured… he should be hurt… just someone make him stop talking. He does not deserve to breathe the air we breathe, he does not deserve to be in the same universe as they are. Make him stop… Crush him. Don’t let his voice sicken our ears… He is not worthy of our pain. I couldn’t stand him talking. I fell to the floor, holding ears and repeating the prayer of insatiable repentance. I was no one to judge them… they will crush him in time. Stand up. The old man will fall. So will his memory and everything he said. So I stood up. I looked at them. They were still standing, listening intently to every word he said. Not long now…

The pain was becoming unbearable. If I could die for them, I would, but the searing pain hurt my head so badly, I could not take it anymore. I went to them and the old man. When I got close, he suddenly stopped talking. Others watched with vicarious malice… yes, the time of the old man has come. I knew that I came too close to them, but I will die willingly. It was how things went. It was the pattern. The old man looked speechless – his face was full of tears and his cane trembling in his fingers. They looked somewhat… smaller from up close… but it didn’t matter. This is the point when right and wrong is decided, this is the point where some people die. At least I was right in my ways… the old man, full of gibberish, will be uncompensated. No one will grieve for him. He will just simply not have existed.

They started moving. They started walking away. I could not understand. I could not comprehend. Crush… him… please. He must die. He must be silenced. He must be denied… Everything started to hurt. My head felt unbearable. I lost the grip over my feet and fell down. They were disappearing in the distance. Not a word. The old man still stood, even though barely. He stood and started talking again. I don’t remember what happened next. It must’ve taken hours, because when I woke up, it was dark already. The others were lying on the floor, their skins pale as stone, their bodies motionless.

The old man was still talking. He looked as if he’s going to fall down any moment. His words started getting shape - I understood some of what he said, though I could not comprehend the meaning. I realized most of the other spectators were dead. Some were still rolling on floor, gawping with terror. I didn’t know what was true or what was beautiful, I didn’t see what was left or what was right. It pained. I did not belong anywhere. I did not stand for anything. Everything that was true left, and left this blabbering old man behind… Ah that’s right. I decided to ask the old man the meaning of his words. I needed something to hold, some truth, some religion.

Just when I started talking, he fell down and I caught him just before he fell down the nearby stairs. He looked at me with visible fog in his eyes, and uttered his last words. His words did not bring any given value, any given idea, nothing for me to hold, nothing to rely on, nothing to compensate. I felt a huge void inside me. His words could not bring me any comfort. All he said was: “I’m sorry.”

Afterwards I realized many things. I researched the old man’s life, his story and why they did not act when he faced them, but I won’t bother you with it. It is all meaningless now. History does not matter. Future is pre-determined. War is inevitable.

The text interchanges between action and thought without additional markings so that it would appeal to our usually chaotic train of thought. If you are eternally bothered by this, please, get a life.