Destructive Fiction | Dominion

Cross-Check

2007-11-25T16:59:00.000-05:00

Mr. Dark steps over Dylan Thorne’s bleeding corpse. “And to think…” says Mr. Dark, “most people on this planet believe that Satan is God’s opposite.”

Mr. Dark stares at his opponent with dead eyes. “You never really had a chance, you know. Some things are unavoidable in this world.” He begins to type a few choice codes into the computer at his side.

Mr. Dark returns his glare to his adversary. “It seems we were all pawns in this game. Even you. …And me.” He presses a final key. “This failsafe will trigger an explosion about a hundred times more powerful than a hydrogen bomb. It will most likely crack the planet wide open, and jolt the earth out of its orbit. No one who was immune to the effects of the pandemic will possibly survive this.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“I doesn’t matter. As I said, some things are inevitable. Death always is.”

THIS IS NOT OVER

SWAT Team Encounter

2007-09-26T03:12:00.000-04:00

“FREEZE!”

Frank stops in his tracks. Surrounded by over a dozen SWAT soldiers, he’s easily outgunned. A helicopter circles overhead, keeping its spotlight trained on the highway below.

Frank holds his hands out to his sides, gauging the situation, studying every angle. Capture is not an option, he thinks. Not again. And death? Well, he’s not finished with what he was meant to do in this world. So Frank thinks back. Ten years of Marine Corp basic training. Ten additional years of combat experience, in the farthest reaches of the globe. He remembers the self-hypnosis techniques he learned when he was fourteen.

Frank snaps back to the present, as the SWAT team slowly makes its approach. His lips part, and whispers a single phrase: “Clear the mechanism.” Suddenly, the world grows quiet and still. Frank falls into a trance, and the air takes on the smell of gunpowder.

A block away, Sniper crouches on the roof of a local bank. “Jesus,” he says to himself, as he watches Frank through his telescopic sight.

A voice crackles in his ear radio. “Status?”

“The Annihilator has just engaged the enemy. He’s outnumbered twenty to one.”

“Acknowledged. Complete your mission.”

Sniper takes aim, and controls his breathing as he squeezes the trigger.

Frank expertly moves through a hail of bullets, picking his targets and executing them with an expertise that most men will never know. Death is his art. Death is his life.

Frank’s dual Berettas empty of their ammunition, as he leaps through the air, disables a hostile, and procures his weapon, a Colt Automatic Rifle. Bullets fly through the air like rain. Frank grits his teeth, and his increasing anger pulls him out of his trance. He screams as he pumps the remainder of his clip into the last SWAT team members.

The helicopter comes in low to take Frank out. Machine gun fire dances at his feet, as he dives for cover. This wouldn’t be the first time he’s had to take out a helicopter. Frank produces his H&K USP, and takes careful aim. He shuts out the noise, slows his breathing, and ignores the bullet that grazes his left shoulder. He fires, and the rear rotor sputters and fails. The copter spins and comes down on the asphalt.

The pilot struggles in his seat, trying to ignore the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, and his shattered femur. He looks up as a shadow falls on his face.

“This isn’t over,” says Frank. He raises the gun to the man’s head, and takes him out.

Sniper lowers his smoking rifle barrel. “Mission accomplished, sir. The Annihilator is still in play.”

Burning Skies

2007-09-06T03:01:00.000-04:00

"I see burning skies. I see wars without end. I see fear. I see hopelessness. I see good men fail, and I see evil men triumph. I see the end of everything, and of everyone.

"It’s not a question of if. It is only a question of when."

The End of Human Evolution

2007-09-06T02:54:00.000-04:00

Dylan sits at the head of the table, a shadow cast over his face as he broods. The board members present numbers, discuss business opportunities, and make inquiries into ventures that haven’t made returns on their initial investments. But the banter dies down, and Mr. Thorne makes his final remarks. Votes are taken, resolutions are reached, and the men shake hands and begin to part ways.

Dylan stays behind, furrowing his brow in a look of distressed concentration. “Mr. Gainey, if I may have a word?”

Mr. Gainey is a fifty-year-old man with a paunchy figure, and an overabundance of moles dotting his body. His eyebrows are furry, and unkempt, and a thick sprout of hair grows between them. His hair is wispy, and covers only the sides and back of his scalp. “Of course, Mr. Thorne,” he responds, with only a vague sense of respect for his boss, ten years his minor.

Dylan nods at the blonde secretary, who closes the conference room doors behind the final departing guests. “What was your take on the Peterson Accounts? Was the error a result of our negligence, would you say… or some outside interference?”

“Well, it’s hard to pinpoint at this time…”

“Arnie, don’t give me that. What’s your opinion?”

Mr. Gainey sighs. “The new accounting staff needs to get their act together, especially if we’ll be taking on these kinds of accounts next quarter.”

“There it is. See now, we agree on something.” Dylan chuckles.

“Was that all, sir?”

Dylan pauses as his laugh fades. “Why don’t you take a seat, Arnie.”

Mr. Gainey obliges, and then nervously takes stock of his situation. A one-on-one conversation with his boss in a closed-door conference is never a good sign.

Dylan shakes his head, “You know, I really just… can’t stand negligence. I guess it’s the old ‘human error.’” Dylan looks out the window at his city skyline. “You know, there was this fellow, maybe you’ve heard of him, by the name of Charles Darwin…” Dylan looks at the floor as he paces the room. “Now he laid out this entire theory called ‘survival of the fittest.’ He basically explained the concept of evolution and how it works: Those genetic variants that are best suited for survival reproduce, and those that aren’t… well…” He pauses. “They die. No one ever hears from them again.

“Now, the human race…” he continues, “has been around for, oh, let’s say 130,000 years. Ballpark figures here. It seems we evolved from apes. And gradually, those freak apes that stood upright seemed to be a good fit for evolutionary development, and here we are.

“But now we have civilization. Modern science. Technology. If a part of our bodies stop working, we can grow new parts and have them put in. If a part of us gets damaged, we can go to a hospital and get it repaired. Close to half of the population has bad eyesight. We have remote technologies, and fast foods encouraging obesity. One in three Americans are obese. Did you know that, Mr. Gainey?”

“I—”

“Siblings are marrying, creating genetically retarded children. The moral fiber of society is virtually non-existent. Let me tell you something, Mr. Gainey: Humans are no longer evolving. We have made it possible for the weakest members of our civilization to continue living, and worse, we allow them to reproduce and infect future generations with their inferiority.”

“Yes, Mr. Thorne, but even if I agree with you, what does that have to do with anything?”

“Very little. It’s just my way of saying that you are inferior, and that you needn’t blame others for your own shortcomings. It occurs to me that your parents had no business having sex with one another, given that you are the result of that congress. And I can’t tell you how many times, every day, that I see people who are an embarrassment to the human race, and to the entire concept of evolution.”

Dylan produces a Kel-Tec P-11 pocket pistol, immediately putting a 9mm bullet in Mr. Gainey's forehead. Dylan smirks. “Consider that my contribution to the human race.”

Never Loved

2007-09-06T02:49:00.000-04:00

Frank stares through deadened eyes at a happy couple a block away.

"Thank God I’ve never felt loved. If I had, I probably wouldn’t want to kill every human I meet. I probably wouldn’t want to rip people apart and lick their gaping wounds.

"What a horrible life that would be… to actually care about other people."

Wishing for Death

2007-09-06T02:47:00.000-04:00

"I spend most days trying to come up with reasons not to commit suicide. I elect to live, because destroying the lives of others is so cathartic. If I were to die today, nothing would change.

"I feel a drive to infect this world, and essentially bring it around to my state of mind. Little by little, I’m gaining ground. It won’t be long before everyone feels that suicidal tug at the back of his or her minds.

"I’ll make the human race wish for death. And then I will give it to them."

Suicide on a Grand Scale

2007-09-06T02:29:00.000-04:00

“I feel a swell of pride in what this planet has accomplished in recent years. Thanks to the decision-makers in Washington, and others around the world, firearms are relics. No longer will the decent people of this world be burdened with guns in their homes.”

“Quite an achievement, Mr. Thorne. No one can argue that fact.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far, Mr. Glenn. Did you know that in the last century, approximately fifty-six million people were killed in various genocides around the globe?”

“Really? I had no idea.”

“Genocide is a horrible business. But it doesn’t happen all at once. It takes planning, and it requires certain… policies to make its implementation effective.”

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Mr. Thorne.”

“The Soviet Union, 1929. Gun control was established, and twenty million people were exterminated before 1953. Turkey, 1911. Gun control took effect, and one point five million Armenians were killed. And of course, no one will forget Germany, who killed thirteen million citizens after establishing gun control in 1938. The list goes on… China, killed twenty million political dissidents, Guatemala, killing a hundred thousand Mayans, Uganda, killing three hundred thousand Christians, and Cambodia, executing one million of their people… all after instituting gun control.

“…And now. Crime is at an all-time high. Record-keepers have to now re-adjust all their charts to express how horrible this world has become.”

“And you expect gun control will curb this?”

Dylan laughs. “No. Gun control has caused this. Today is the day that mankind is finally defenseless. The only humans on this earth with firearms are the governments and the criminals. The rest of the populace is no longer citizens… they are subjects. And seeing as how I now control the governments of this world, no one is in any position to challenge me or my dealings.”

Dylan turns his back on his guest as he pours himself a glass of brandy. “Did you have any idea?” Dylan laughs. “Don’t worry; nobody else did either. You see, that’s the great thing about most humans: They only see what they want to. If something is inconvenient to them… if it doesn’t fit into their understanding of the world… they reject it.”

“I think your imagination has gotten the better of you, Dylan.”

Dylan takes a sip of his liquor and chuckles softly to himself.

“What are you planning?”

“Death.”

“G-genocide?”

“Oh, something a little more ambitious than that.”

“You’re dreaming. You’re nothing more than a… a misanthropic businessman.”

“Do you know what the true source of power is, Mr. Glenn? Money. Not knowledge. Knowledge is useless without the means to use it. Yes, with enough money, any man can rule this planet… …or destroy it.

“I have agents all over the world who will do anything I ask, provided I throw enough money at them. Many of them are heads of state. In fact, I had a United States president killed so I could get one of my own men into office.

“But I find… the most accomplishments in life… are sadly disappointing. I effectively own the world, and now I don’t know what to do with it.” He sighs and looks up at stunned listener. “Did you know that there are at least twenty ways in which the world can end abruptly? Nine of them are within my power to execute.”

“But… why?”

“Ah yes, ‘why.’ ’Why’ is the most important question anyone can ask. The ‘what,’ and the ‘who’ are just frivolous details… scenery. You ask me 'why'?” Dylan’s voice turns into an icy whisper. “Think of it like... suicide on a grand scale.”

The Business of Death

2007-09-06T02:27:00.000-04:00

“Terrorists, arms dealers, governments… Their differences lie in the details of their respective operations. But to color any one of such organizations as evil is an idiotic precept. Criticize terrorists as much you like, but at least they are committed. They have values that they are willing to die for. There was a time when that was an admirable characteristic. But principles are vagaries of perception that are ultimately an effort in naivety.

“Have you ever heard of the elephant seal? The elephant seal is the sole member of a particular genus of the family known literally as ‘true seals.’ Their name is derived from their great size, and the fact that the adult males have a large proboscis. There are the largest members of the order Carnivora. It is common practice during their mating season for males to quarrel over females by lunging their heads at one another. After a seemingly endless series of blows, one of the seals becomes so thoroughly wounded, and so weak from blood loss, that he will retreat into the ocean, effectively yielding to the stronger or, in this case, durable male. The more I learn of animal behavior, the more parallels I find between these many species and man.

“Mankind has an inherent heir of superiority that leads them to believe that they are unique in this world, that their collective existence is justifiably greater to anything and everything else. It is this same line of thinking that allows the citizens of a bloodthirsty empire and war machine known as the United States to consider terrorists as inferior life, as an evil gagle of savage and foolish men. The only difference I see is the money each group has in their bank account.

“I cannot delineate my actions; what I do for one side, I do for the other. War is the business of troubled governments. Political reaction is the business of terrorists. My business… is death. And both sides have a great deal of common ground as far as that objective is concerned.”

“Are you telling me that you fund, and profit from… terrorists?”

“On both sides, Mr. Evers.”

Dylan's True Colors

2007-09-06T02:12:00.000-04:00

The Guardian approaches Dylan. “Who are you?”

Dylan smiles, chuckling slightly. “You know my name.”

“Satan.”

Dylan stares back at his accuser. “I couldn’t imagine him being much different than myself.

“You call me devil. You call me... Satan? Hh. If I were to go out on a limb, and entertain your petty notions of that fairytale you call ‘religion,’ then I would recognize you as the fool you pretend to be, Mr. 'Guardian Angel.'

"Evil exists in the corruption of good. Now there’s a task that can never be entirely successful. Lucifer is a loser. My enterprises supercede anything that that pathetic fool could ever hope to accomplish. Lucifer, just like God, places value in life. God loves humans, and hopes to see them ascend to greatness. And Lucifer? He has an affinity for humans as well, constantly calling them to his side against God.

"Those two… those two fictional characters are like two pathetically eager masters calling to a confused dog for obedience. I choose to dismiss such ridiculous fabrications. Humanity is a mutt with no master. It’s a wild animal that carries on the pretense that it serves some higher power.

"I will never believe that there exists a greater power than myself. In lieu of God, in the absence of Satan, I have dominion over man. And I don’t beg for his obedience. I merely serve to put a bullet in his head.”

Global Self-Destruction

2007-09-06T02:10:00.000-04:00

“Oh please. You act as though my actions are evil or malevolent. This world will end. It’s just a question of when. I am merely expediting that process.

“Have you ever pondered the existence of intelligent life elsewhere in the universe? After all, the universe is vast enough to make that possibility incredibly probably. But humans will never learn of their existence. Humans will never make contact with such beings. Why? Because with the evolution of any civilization, the path leads invariable to destruction rather than progress.

"All intelligent life, be it here on earth, or in some distant galaxy, has the predilection for self-destruction.”

Forces Beyond Imagining

2007-09-06T02:05:00.000-04:00

“Somewhere, beyond the edge of human imagination, there are forces battling on levels we can’t even begin to understand. You ask me who God is? Like he’s some human being reining over all creation? That is a concept that humans have invented in order to comprehend the incomprehensible.

"There are more dimensions, more… facets to this reality, and the others beyond, than any one person can reasonably wrap their mind around. Religion is a translation of spirituality. It is a simplified interpretation of the metaphysical. Religion is fairytale, designed to put what is beyond human understanding into common terms. It is so much easier to take something as horrifying and as bleak as chaos, and call it evil. And many take it a step further, and turn it into a villain called ‘Satan.’ And that’s a human thing, taking forces and vague concepts, and wrapping them in flesh. I find it amusing that many humans believe that death takes the form of a man in black robes. Death, like Satan, and especially like God, is not human, nor does it resemble anything like that.

“God is a force, not a person. God is not vicious, or vengeful, or even benevolent. Like anything in nature, God is neither good nor evil… it just is. God is like a conduit for the unseen energies of this reality. It connects all things, everywhere, and in every way. And if you close your eyes, and quiet your mind… you can feel that power… you can sense that presence. It’s available to anyone who wishes to access it. All you have to do… is reach out.”

Kill Me

2007-09-06T02:04:00.000-04:00

The man is visibly shaken. He’s an emotional mess. “You ruined everything… How could you do this to me?” The quivering Glock handgun is trained at Dylan’s face.

Dylan’s face is blank. It might seem that he’s nervous, but his voice is unwavering. “Come now. You make it sound like your life had some greater meaning. What I did to you was nothing compared to what will happen to your species.”

“I’ll kill you.”

“Yes. There’s that passion I no longer have. Do it. Put a bullet in my head. Do it now, while you have the chance.” Dylan smiles.

The man drops his guard for a brief moment. “You… I didn’t realize…”

Dylan’s smile drops. “He’s not going to take the shot.”

Instantly, a sniper’s bullet spirals through the man’s forehead, and he collapses to the floor.

The Terror War

2007-09-06T02:02:00.000-04:00

"The war is eternal. It began somewhere in the first few years of the twenty-first century, and we’ve been fighting ever since.

"First, it was Iraq. Then, it was Iran. After that, Pakistan and Afganistan. We were caught in a never ending battle. The Terror War."

Evil Incarnate

2007-09-06T01:56:00.000-04:00

“Vampires don’t exist, son. Nor do ghosts or zombies. There’s no such thing as Santa Claus or the Tooth fairy or the Easter Bunny. There are no aliens that we will ever see, and there are no superheroes or super villains. There is no God, and there is no Satan.

"...But evil… that does exist. You’re looking at him.”

A Soldier's Life For Me

2007-09-06T01:52:00.000-04:00

Frank is in a strange land, surrounded by American soldiers caught in endless and repetitive training routines. The setting is a subtle amalgam of swamplands with jungle canopies and dirt roads.

Every soldier is willingly mindless. They shout their opinions as if they were something new, something worth expressing…

“I hate the fucking towel heads.”

“A real man can survive.”

“Pain is weakness leaving the body.”

“If it ain’t raining, we ain’t trainin’.”

“Work smarter, not harder.”

“Power through.”

“Hoo rah!”

“There are no girls with good personalities.”

“When I get home, I’m gonna fuck ‘er ‘til she bleeds.”

“The only good terrorist is a dead terrorist.”

Frank feels nausea in the pit of his stomach, listening to endless spewing of racism, sexism, and nationalism. Not that these concepts are foreign to him; not much in the way of self-destruction and societal decay is. The thing that snags at his mind are how acceptable these words are, and how zombies exist before death.

Frank takes note of the decaying bodies of Muslims tucked into the swampy river that runs through the makeshift base. He watches the soldiers, dressed in their battle uniforms from the waist down, swimming in the same water.

Frank watches the reporters gather on the adjacent dock, listening to a military PR representative lie through smiling teeth, shifting focus away from the decaying state of humanity to point out how well trained all the skinhead soldiers are, and how racism on a mass scale has snuck it’s way back into the mainstream. The soldiers, the rep goes on to say, are completely mindless. They have no original thoughts, and speak nothing but a series of mantras whose meanings have long since been forgotten. He encourages the young men and women of America to join up, because in light of a failing economy, the poor white trash and millions of others living in poverty with no hope of living a legal lifestyle have no choice but to sell themselves to government service. Their lives will be signed away, and they will be turned into things that barely resemble human.

Frank immediately regrets everything he is, and everything he’s done. Humans have a propensity for self-destruction and degradation. Those men and women who will sell their souls to escape their miserable states will lose everything that they are advertised to protect.

Frank is disgusted by everything. Despair claims his heart. The human race is the king of all lost causes.

And then he wakes up.

Anti-Hero

2007-08-30T15:35:00.000-04:00

“There are two broad categories in which the heroes of literature, both visual and otherwise, can easily be placed into. One grouping of such characters share a passionate need or drive to defend innocent lives from the evil that infects society, and threatens the sanctity of human life. The other grouping, while behaving in a similar manner, have a darker motivation. Rather than a love for good, they carry… hate for those that they consider to be evil. These are the anti-heroes. Though they are heroes, and fight on the side of good, their impetus allows for a more savage means of retribution.

“Human beings are by far the most destructive species on this planet. Every year, as our population rises exponentially, our natural resources are stripped bare, and every other species, from fish to mammals, have been driven to near extinction. Consumption has outpaced the unprecedented surge in population. Our continued existence is literally sucking this planet dry.

“Now, I could easily lie to you, and suggest that I am a hero of the truest sense. I could convince you that I am the ultimate environmentalist, and that everything I’ve done, and plan to do, is for the sake of the planet. If that were the case, I would suggest that I have a deep-seeded love for this planet, and its environment. However, I am no hero.

"I am not determined to carry through my plan out of love for this planet. I do what I do because I hate. I hate the parasitic inhabitants of this planet called humans. …Whenever I am forced to choose between love and hate, I always choose the latter, because while one is the means to an end, the other is the end itself.

"If you called me an environmentalist, the label would be accurate.

"If you called me a hero, you’d be partially correct.

"But if you called me an anti-hero, you’d be right on the mark.”

Mankind's Final Year

2007-08-30T15:32:00.000-04:00

Frank strangles the last guerilla with his bare hands, having exhausted every last piece of ammunition, having blunted every blade.

Frank watches the man’s eyes fill with blood as the dying man’s expression changes from a grimace to look of surprise that freezes and falls. Frank drops him to the ground and looks at the bodies that surround him. He checks his watch as he catches his breath. The seconds tick to the hour. Suddenly, the second hand stops moving.

Frank’s face goes blank as he looks to the sky. A light flickers in the distance, and as the thunderous boom screams through the night air, Frank recognizes that there are bigger forces at work in this game.

Somewhere, Dylan is smiling. Humanity won’t see another new year.

A Game of Chess

2007-08-30T14:01:00.000-04:00

Dylan stares out the window in his robe as the high-priced prostitute he has just fornicated with for the past twenty minutes amuses herself in setting up a chessboard.

“Would you like to play?”

Dylan sighs as he looks out the window. “When I was a younger man, I used to derive some degree of pleasure from that game.” He looks down with a touch of nostalgia. “So much that I used to enjoy has become trite.” He turns to look at her. She smiles coyly. Yes, she is very well paid.

Dylan puts his hands on the back of his chair and has a glazed over look as he stares at the board. “Like chess, the whole course of human action is a mathematically predictable element.” He looks into her eyes, those hazel eyes with flecks of gray and gold.

“You are an attractive woman," Dylan continues. "Attractive enough that a few thousand of any man’s dollars will allow him to savagely penetrate that bleeding orifice that most humans mistakenly call a vagina. This gives you an heir of confidence and a misled sense of sexual supremacy that makes you bolder than most.

"However, the very nature of your lifestyle, and your ‘career’ is so stigmatized in our current society that you do have an underlying degree of… guilt? No. Shame.” Dylan smiles at his analysis, ignoring the offense that the female has suddenly taken.

“That is your life in aggregate. But the analysis of your day, of all those random bits of positive and negative stimuli, from the moment you regained a conscious sense of the world to the moment that you almost achieved an orgasm but faked the unfelt result for the benefit of your paying customer, would lead to more telling conclusions about your present state of mind.

"You are in a pleasant state of mind, hence the introduction of the chessboard. A plethora of addition clues are readily available, from the pinhole tear in your stockings to the vague smell of gasoline that is barely perceptible beneath that expensive conditioner you use to eliminate your mild dandruff problem, and your perceived issue with split-ends that is in actuality a neurosis you barely acknowledge.” Dylan lowers his eyes to the chessboard.

“You are right-handed. The most obvious indicator of that occurred thirty-two minutes ago. Given the nature of your day, the elements of your personality, and even that genetic code that served as the basis for everything that you currently are, your mind is itching to make a Latvian Gambit.

"No small surprise, especially since your entire familiarity with the game of chess is derived from computer games rather than real-life scenarios. It’s an aggressive opening, but dubious as well, seeing as how it invariably leads to wild complications.

"As unpredictable as this might seem, it is not, and after I mimic your initial movement, you will cautiously move additional pawns toward the center. I will sacrifice a knight to one of said pawns, which will open you up to a check. This will then force you move your king out of harm’s way. I will put my bishop into play, and move it rapidly between two of your pawns. You will underestimate this move, however, because my queen will remain at the board’s center. Using your bishop to eliminate mine, you will have a false sense of confidence that will be destroyed when you realize that I’ve slowly pried your king out of concealment into a discovered check.

"With the beginning of the endgame, you will be so distracted by playing defense that you’ll hope for a stalemate that will never come. My queen will hover near your king in anticipation of the checkmate, but your remaining pieces will inhibit my movement. Unfortunately for you, the queen you will use to protect your king will actually trap him, and limit his movement considerably.

"The pawn that kept guard of your king will be briskly taken out by my rook, and that will be checkmate.” He squints at the board. “In fourteen moves.”

Misanthropy

2007-08-22T15:45:00.000-04:00

“I’m angry at everything in this world. I can’t stand the living, I can’t stand my past, everything mocking me, laughing at me, showing me how ugly I’ve become, and how ugly and pitiful I’ve always been.

"I want to destroy everything good and valuable in this world. Because nothing is really ever good. Nothing is valuable. My life, all life is completely with out purpose.

"My emotions have become so few, but so intense. I am destroying myself. I can’t stand the sight of humans. I want everyone to suffer in such a terrible way. I want to purge this planet of every life it supports. I want to hunt down every last human life and snuff it out with all the bottled hate I have inside me.

"I want nothing more than the complete and total annihilation of everything.”

Ex-Wife, Ex-Life

2007-08-22T15:36:00.000-04:00

Dylan stares at her with deadened eyes. For a man who doesn’t believe in souls, it shows. He keeps his gaze as he sips his cognac.

“Dylan, I’m sorry things didn’t…”

Dylan grunts. “Didn’t evolve? That our time together, as brief as it was, was trite and entirely meaningless?” Dylan sighs as Jane hangs her head.

“I didn’t want it to be this way…”

“There is no other way it could’ve been. Love sustains nothing. Love is a mere mental orgasm that fades as quickly as it begins. I don’t doubt that I could ever find it again; I could convince myself that I love any whore on the street, but to what end?

"Happiness takes many forms, and love is only one player in that pursuit. My love for you was in vain. I never really loved you in any real sense. I was in love with the idea of you; the idea of your weak feminine mind being infatuated with me boosted my ego in a manner that can only be described as pure satisfaction.

"But when you fell out of your enamored state, I saw the lie for what it really was. Love is as meaningless as it is useless, as fleeting as it is intense.” Dylan turns his back on her. He finishes his drink in one gulp, and grits his teeth.

“I take solace in the fact that your life will be spent in the endless and fruitless pursuit of satisfying yourself with that… emotion. And that this… Ted is it? …That your newfound love with Ted will crumble and expire like the rotting carcass of a dead mule.

"I used to believe in souls once… until I lost mine…” He trails off as he stars vacantly out the window.

“Dylan…”

“Quiet. There is no part of you that I respect, and certainly no part of you that I would crave after the breadth of two and a half minutes. Your life, and all your beliefs, all your hopes, and your wasted prayers are forfeit. Your purpose on this earth, and in my life, has been served. You have made me who I was always meant to be.”

Dylan looks at her with eyes that would strike fear into the blackened heart of Satan himself. “I existed before you, and I will exist after you. You are a footnote in my evolution, but I am the end of yours.”

Dylan walks toward her, and before Jane can escape, he clasps his hands on her face. “How easily your love can be reallocated to another. How easily my love for you can turn to hate.” His words turn to a whisper. “Of all the meaningless lives on this planet, yours supercedes them all.

"You are the only one who I’ve ever loved who still lives.” He moves his face in closer, as if a kiss were immanent. “That can be remedied.”

* * *

Dylan watches the janitor take out the garbage. He stares vacantly at the process. “There is no one in this world who has ever taken me to such dizzying heights, or such abysmal lows as that woman.”

Images of his ex-wife bleed through his mind. “An acquaintance of mine once told me that the lessons we learn from pain make us the strongest. Indeed, happiness teaches us nothing. Happiness is fiction and fantasy. Pain is this world’s only reality.”

Vigilante?

2007-08-22T15:31:00.000-04:00

The alley is twisted and forgotten, and two muggers close in on a meek businessman with a briefcase.

“Hand over the case, old man.” They grin as they approach.

Suddenly, a gunshot cracks through the air. One of the goons has a softball-sized hole in his chest. He looks at his partner as he falls to the ground. “Tony…?”

Tony looks around frantically. “Where are you!” he cries. He turns abruptly and is met with a gunshot to the face. He falls to the earth missing half of his skull.

The businessman is frozen in fear as the silhouette with the smoking Pancor Jackhammer approaches.

“You… you… you saved me…?”

The silhouette responds, “No. I didn’t.”

Another crack and the brick wall gets a red spot of human paint over the graffiti.

Happy New Year

2007-08-22T15:26:00.000-04:00

Dylan exits the party, retreating to his office. He strides up to the window and looks out across the city skyline, lit up by all the fanfare of hundreds of parties on the ground and in the castles of a modern world.

Dylan sips his champagne, feeling its taint make his mind feel soggy and dull. He hears the party below him, as the throng begins counting down from ten, all in a drunken unison. He glances back, and then returns his gaze to the horizon. He watches to see a sphere in the distance slowly descend down a pole perched in the center of Time’s Square. He checks his watch, and then takes a final sip from his glass. A smile creeps up onto his face in anticipation, but he keeps it confined to a slight smirk.

Dylan hears the chanting from below reach “one,” and in that second, he closes his eyes as if to take in the most moving piece of a symphonic experience. Even beneath his eyelids, he sees the flash, blinding in its intensity. He imagines people dying in the streets, millions of lives feeling the all-consuming fires, and the unbearable pain of a violent death. Satisfaction washes over him in a wave that is awesome in its scope and palpability. He opens his eyes. He gazes at the world. And he smiles. “Zero.”

“The purpose of life is to end.”
--Smith

Vengeance

2007-08-22T15:19:00.000-04:00

Lauren spits up a little more blood as tears and mucus stream down her face. The large thug has his hands clasped down on her shoulders.

Vengeance strides up next to her, removing his black trench coat and folding it in his arms before placing it on the desk. He sits on the desk himself, very casually, with a wry smile on his heavily scarred and mostly bandaged face. He looks at the whimpering girl with a perfunctory glance and proceeds to roll up his sleeves as he talks.

“There’s a very good chance, Lauren, that you have no idea who I am. We only met once before. You probably don’t remember it, and if you did, even I would be impressed. You see, I didn’t always look like this…” He removes his sunglasses, and only one of his eyes is visible, as the other is covered in bandages.

“You’d be surprised at how easy it is to find people you barely even know.” He looks at his sunglasses in his hand. “But I’m a collector. I collect things, I retain things for my own amusement. When I was younger, I used to collect baseball cards.” He chuckles to himself. “But my tastes have changed with time.”

Vengeance reaches in his pocket, producing a small ring box. He opens it and looks at the contents. “For example. There was a girl…” He looks at her. “A female not very much different than yourself… She broke my heart… But I forgive her. It wasn’t her fault. Opportunities moved us away, I suppose. But I just wanted something to remember her by. So I tracked her down, and we rehashed good times.”

Vengeance's voice falls to a whisper. “They were good times.”

Vengeance's voice resumes its normal volume. “And I used a skinning knife to remove her clit before caving in her skull.” He shows Lauren the box that contains a small fleshy nub. “I like to chew on it at night and pretend I’m fucking her with my tongue.”

Lauren shakes, trying desperately to scream or escape, but nothing comes of it.

“I don’t know you so well, though. I think…” Vengeance stands, putting the box back in his pocket. “I think that you and I need to be better acquainted.”

Vengeance walks toward her and leans his face in close to hers. Through the bandages, she can see his empty eye socket. He whispers, “’Just when the caterpillar thought the world was over, it became a butterfly.’” He chuckles. “Don’t you recognize it? It’s your favorite quote.” He smiles. “And how apt.”

Vengeance looks up at the thug holding her down. “The Internet has allowed for the blossoming of such narcissism. Everyone wants to share themselves.” He looks back at Lauren. “Okay, Lauren. Let’s share. Let’s make you into a beautiful fucking butterfly.”

Deserted

2007-07-27T00:50:00.000-04:00

"I never learned the value of life." A solitary soldier, wearing desert camo, limps across an expansive desert landscape. "If I die out here... alone... I wonder if anyone will care." He holds his side, where a bloodstain on his left abdomen gets larger. He winces at the pain.

"They told me that my life meant nothing. They told me that I was nothing. It makes sense. I can't imagine life having any deep meaning. You live. You feed. You breed. And you die. But more and more, I find myself asking... is that all there is?"

The soldier collapses on the desert sand. His eyes roll back.

"My parents enlisted me in the Marine Corps when I was seven. Back then, the JEP, or Junior Enlistment Program, had just started. The war had been going on for as long as I could remember. They needed more personnel, so they got creative with how and when they enlisted people.

"Some of the older folks used to talk about life before the war. I wish I could've seen it. It seems there were quite a few times when America wasn't at war with anyone. Or at least, that's what they tell us. Me, I think war was always going on. Most people just didn't see it."

Determinism

2007-07-24T02:15:00.000-04:00

"If you look at something long enough, and close enough, you'll see the flaws," says Dylan Thorne, as he gazes out of the window of his hundredth and sixth floor office.

“Take the human mind, for instance." Dylan walks to an adjacent table, and pours a glass of Hennessy cognac. "A sensitive mind can derive trauma from even the most trivial of stimuli. There need not be abuse or death. Horrors in this life take many veiled forms, and have a way of compounding in secret. A man whose job slowly chips away at what some would call his soul is just as prone to kill his entire family and rape his dead mother as a man who spent his childhood being molested and beaten by his homosexual uncle.

“My actions have been elucidated as evil.” Dylan smirks as he sips his brandy. “I can acknowledge that my past is… composed of deeds that are unacceptable by societal standards. Of course, such standards are completely arbitrary and as unreliable as American ingenuity. But that is another bent entirely.” Dylan takes another sip.

“I have no trauma worth noting in my past. Nothing to cry over to be certain. Life happened to me. Events unfolded that inevitably made me exactly who I was always meant to be. As often as I think about my past, I see no other possible course of events, no possibility of variation. What happened was all that ever could have happened.”

Dylan takes another sip of his brandy and looks at himself in the mirror. He chuckles, and his lips fall in a wry smile of self-amusement. “Time spent alone certainly allows for the proficiency of talking to one’s self.” He chuckles again as he takes another sip. “But isolation is the one place where you can talk to your equal, and where you can truly carve out your real identity, not the meaningless and superficial façade that exists beyond these walls.”

His smile drops as he finishes the brandy. “Not long now, those lemmings out there will finally get all that they deserve. I might not have a trauma worth discussing, but I’ll be sure to give them one that will shatter everything they stand for.” He smiles once again after he places the heavy glass down on his desk. “Happiness lies in hope. And I have a great deal to look forward to.”

“My childhood was a period of waiting for the moment when I could send everyone and everything connected with it to Hell.”
--Igor Stravinsky