Dark Thoughts
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)