I looked out to sea and watched the grey clouds being dragged by the wind across an orange sky filled with many shades of red and purple as the sun descended towards the horizon in preparation for its nightly visit to the Underworld. When it touched the sea, a wind turbine was caught as a dark silhouetted tower against the fiery red brilliance of a tired furnace, the day's hard work of warming the atmosphere completed. The sun slid slowly still further down the sky to begin sinking in the sea and so to be extinguished, while the cloud-dotted sky magically changed to a pale blue. Even the clouds had changed from an orange to a dark grey. I bent my neck to view this sky scene sideways and I could imagine myself high up in the sky looking down at the land on Earth. Sunsets like these had been happening for thousands of centuries, but nothing for me could be the same ever again. Not now and unlike the clouds that moved where the winds would take them before they disappeared into the background, I could change my mind. I did have a choice. To turn to the left or right? One way to jump over the abyss or the other to step back to the path of reason.
I had murder on my mind. Cold-blooded, brutal murder.
I had graded four murders. The most pressing to the least. To imagine one murder that is more important than any another and to consider any murder in the terms of importance. Was it fantasy to trivialise murder? A madness? The difference between an ability to act or not was a fine line made from the weakest thread. A massive desire to take action and take a life. Or two. Or three, four. It would be so easy to do nothing and leave the dozing animal alone to enjoy its slumbers, but deep within me I knew that I was a far more dangerous animal hungry for revenge. To extract justice. To take it since it would never be given.
The animal had awakened and resurfaced all these years later and I felt powerless to control it. I knew that I still wanted justice and that someone continued to enjoy the wealth of others by swindling them. I was appalled. The images I saw were repugnant. I wasn't watching a film or reading a story in a newspaper. This was real. It was sickening. I had an absolute loathing for the man and his accomplice. I couldn’t decide which I loathed the most and that was only two of them. I justified to myself that removing the disease would only be justice even though I knew that this was wrong.
The legal system moves painfully slowly and is an expensive process. To blacken my thoughts even more, the fraud squad had returned an unfavourable report regarding my submission. My frustration was overwhelming and I felt completely closeted. Hemmed in and trapped with my thoughts. Crushed between a rock and a hard place and now I understood that description so painfully well. The detailed account I had produced evidently described circumstantial evidence and amounted to an essentially useless document. It would not go anywhere and the police claimed that my case could not be supported. I had no doubt that they could if the motivation was there, but it was clearly absent. That bothered me though I couldn't back up my doubts with anything solid. I just could not accept that a forensic graphologist hadn't been consulted to at least consider forgery. If I could show how easily it could be done then professionals should have no problem. I could prove nothing and the authorities were against me.
I was absolutely convinced that I was right that my logic was faultless and the imagined stench made me feel ill.
Murder could be considered barbaric and I certainly used to think that, but now it was different. I understood it. I felt it. I lived it. This resurgence of an emotion I thought I had conquered. Like the alcoholic who finally succumbs to that overwhelming desire for a drink having resisted for so long or the smoker who hasn't inhaled that poisonous cloud for a long time then gives in to the addict's craving. If I persisted in thinking like this, then the outcome could be my own end one way or another, though only after taking life and I could spend the rest of my life in prison with that knowledge. Guilty as charged.
Only if I was caught.
Could I justify murder? I would place myself beneath contempt. I would disgust myself by what I had done. It would amount to suicide without actually killing myself, but yes, I could justify it. The desire to self-destruct felt so strong, yet I would never take my own life. I refused to even consider that. My survival instinct was just too powerful, but I would consider taking life. Was my reasoning distorted? Maybe. It worried me terribly that intense, inferior animal instincts were growing within me. To kill. I must surely be losing touch with reality. With being human.
In the growing dimness of the warm evening air, I could still make out the blades of the great turbines that gave meaning to a new age. The wind farm generating electricity from a natural resource. Pure and clean. Another method of taking something that is available for nothing and perhaps it's a way for us to take payment for the destruction caused by so many storms. But what about our attempts to destroy planet Earth? The people who have suffered the most would not gain anything and the businesses that exploited this natural resource would be the only winners. The people who have lost so much would simply pay again.
I began to see the connection between victim and offender as my thoughts went around and around like the great turbine sails went around and around. Relentlessly around and around with nowhere to go. Spinning it all around in my head to distort any distinction between the offender and victim. Wasn’t I the victim?
The slow moving picture show in the sky had a calming effect on me and clarity appeared. My murderous thoughts seemed less intense. Surely the victim has justification? As I watched the great turbine blades rotating against this tapestry of grey, red, orange, purple and blue it struck me that events will continue relentlessly unless stopped. Could one murder enable the next by making it easier? Thoughts of my targets suddenly hijacked my mind. Could I seriously be considering this? This storm of unrest could send me over the abyss. A leap away from the edge of reason. I am quite capable of physically dealing out death, but psychologically there is a high price to pay. I know this. Taking a life is wrong. This conclusion is one that I had come to only in recent years since my life of violence had ended. I had argued with myself endlessly about the rights and wrongs of this ultimate sanction. To act like an avenging angel or a ruthless devil? War legalises murder. It makes it acceptable to kill. I could never countenance this even though I did my duty and killed the enemy. Kill or be killed. Simple. It sounds so easy when the responsibility is spread about and decisions are not of my own determination. An enemy of people like me with families. Different cultures perhaps, but people nonetheless. Innocent fatherless children made into monsters as they grow up and want revenge. Against an unknown killer. A whole nation will pay the price. Crude. Mindless. I was thinking just like the damaged child. But I am an adult. I am capable of reasoned thought, not mindless acts of violence.
I had the advantage of knowing my targets. Carefully selected by me. My choice. My decision alone and each of the four for a very good reason. This was revenge maybe at the price of my life and was stupid and represented a poor trade. But I wanted justice. That much was certain, but I didn't want to descend again into the depths of horror. The aware alcoholic's view of the pit is one of dread. If the ultimate journey is made and escape from the pit is achieved, the sense of release from this black and soulless place is something wonderful. Like a child's first smile. Your own child. Part of yourself looking back with absolute love, innocence and hope.
Something had happened to me in those moments between the change of the orange sky to blue. I am not helpless. I have my intelligence.
My intuition has manifested itself in many ways over my life and I have only just begun to acknowledge what it is and to follow it. I don't understand it and I realised there were occasions when I had acted for an unknown reason. An unconscious, unthinking moment. A decision made somehow. An act performed. If the outcome was known to me then I knew I had benefited though always in a very unselfish way. Sometimes the outcome would be unknown. That sudden urge to change the route as I drive to my usual destination. I could never know if something terrible might have happened to me had I not acted on my intuition. I have never had a premonition of impending disaster though I do have these waves of impulsiveness.
Was I not contemplating a selfish benefit? Was I not spinning the distinction of victim and offender back again?
The flash of consequences and options was too much for me to understand and I felt so helpless and confused. I knew I needed help. Professional help. I baulked at the idea, but maybe I needed to consult a psychiatrist. Or a psychologist. I wasn't sure which, but certainly a psycho-something. I felt a hot rush of anguish and despair and was totally overwhelmed.
I instantly felt helpless and didn't know what I should do.
I chose to use my intelligence and would search out some professional help.
© Louis Brothnias v 1.1 (2004), v 1.2 (2009)