the world as we write it
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
THE INQUISITOR part 2
The chief sat down behind his desk playing with steel marbles in his hand as he looked at one of The Black Rider's letters. A haphazard hand written leaflet that appeared to be of little consequence, but it's contents were grave. It was the composition of words that the chief did not want his citizens reading. Words like these were as poison in his eyes. Seeds of malicious and rebellious thought that would derail the din of discipline that the chief had spend decades to culture.
He looked out through the glass window in his office door, to make sure no one was looking at him and knew what he had in his hands.
The leaflet was folded in two, made of newsprint paper, it's letters were written in blue ink.
The chief put his feet on his desk, his freshly spit polished black brooks brothers shoes made a thud as his wooden shoe heels landed on the surface of the table, he placed one wrinkled and weathered hand on his furrowed brow, unfolded the leaflet with his other hand, and began to read its forbidden contents...
"fly like a flying fly
to have pain is to have pathos
to have emotions is to have ethos
pain and emotion breed and carnal convulsions create the eruptions of Eros
cry baby cry
the hands will heal you
face upon the breast of your mother
no claws shall steal you
hunt hungry hunt
feed the desire of pleasure
kill vagabond kill
'tis your nature and your will
be fearless and unabashed
your sorrow is a seed
the heavier the load, the more portent there is of a bountiful harvest
do not despise your afflictions
embrace your uniqueness
live your life as your recognize your death
trade will for ill
let not nil be the fruits of your daily expiration
glean and plant again
eat and kill again
love and laugh again
be carefree and careful, delightful and deliberate, celebrated and celibate,
smile with a cunning disposition,
see with the eyes as weapons.
THE BLACK RIDER."
The chiefs heart was heavy. His head felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds. As he folded the illicit leaflet, a headache of immense proportions became born in his brain. He quickly arose from his leisurely pose and jumped up to an erect posture. He put his hands on his head to try and relieve himself of the pain of his oncoming headache. The leaflet became crumpled in his now sweating palms, the office was at a moderate temperature but to the chief it suddenly began to fell like a humid summer afternoon inside. He crouched with his hands on his head and began to shriek. He let a loud whelp escape from his guts.
His officers heard the commotion going on inside the office. One of them, a young cadet fresh out of the academy made eye contact with the chief through the office window. The chief knew from the look in the cadets eyes and expression on his face that the cadet knew what the chief was doing in the limited privacy of his office.
The leaflet was now crumpled to a paper ball within his hands, the sweat from his palms beginning to dissolve the paper. He threw the paper ball at the glass window. It fell to the floor with an unimpressive plop.
"What the fuck are you looking at?" the chief yelled to the young cadet. He rushed to the office door, opened it up, and marched right into the cadets face. The chief towered over the cadet. He was four inches taller than the young and impressionable lad. The cadet was looking at the crumpled piece of paper laying on the floor. He knew the words on the crushed leaflet was forbidden prose, corrupt compositions as the chief would refer to them. The ramblings of a dangerous madman that was regarded as a destructive virus that infects the unprepared mind. However the cadet, deep inside just wanted to run over and grab a quick read. In his mind, the cadet thought, one read cannot hurt. Not at all.
"You think you can handle that filth?" The chief asked the cadet pointing at the crumpled paper mash at the office door. "Well, do you?"
The cadet quickly shifted his gaze to the chief. The chief was so close to the cadet, he could feel his breath on his face as he inhaled and exhaled. The chief smelled like smelling salts. The cadet's heart rate increased as he looked into the chiefs stewing eyes, his hands began to shake.
"Give me a fucking answer you sack of shit!" The chief demanded.
In his heart, the cadet knew that he could handle the words of The Black Rider, he knew that he was capable of processing what his entire company, family, and town, and jurisdiction claimed were poisoned decrees of a heretic turned lyrical. Nonetheless, the cadet looked the chief in the eyes and replied "No sir, I do not believe that any of us are."
"Good answer." The chief retorted. "None of you are." He turned his gaze to the company of officers now looking at the confrontation. Where the chief stood now became a stage. "Don't worry about me reading the letters of the libidinous lecher. I know what he is doing, I know what his agenda is. People should be not allowed to read and think the thoughts that he is out there proclaiming. We've got Hundreds of his letters in here, safe from the preening eyes of those we are sworn to protect, and must protect them from this, but there are thousands of letters on the streets. Thousands. If you had any idea of what I just read, all of your heads will turn to mush. So stick to the plan at hand. Get me the head of The Black Rider. I want him alive to answer to his rebellion. Is that understood?"
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Bombed by The Black Rider at 12:47 PM
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