The Dark – 3 – Cipher

It is not often that you get to tell people what the poison does to you as it courses through every part of you.

It was raining, it always seemed like it was raining though. It was okay though, it matched the mood that she was in and she could wrap herself in the distant flashes of lightning and the rumbles of thunder that made everything in the world stop for a moment and take notice of the magnificence above them. Not even trying to avoid getting wet, Desiree walked to her car and relished as each drop of rain hitting her, the image of them exploding into steam as they came into contact with her white-hot rage was the only thing that made her smile that entire day in truth.

Now that she was in the car, she pulled her laptop out of the bag on the passenger seat and put it in her lap. She whistled a little as it took it’s sweet time to boot up, the rain getting heavier as it did, coming down in dancing sheets that criss-crossed one another as they did. The puddles growing and then combining until at last they formed a little river of water that sought the most direct way down as they could, their nature programming them to do the one and only thing that was right to do in this situation. Desiree smiled at that thought, taking strength in the knowledge that she was not alone in simply doing what was programmed into her very being.

The computer finally had gone through all of the damnable things she had programmed it to do before she was able to use it for what she needed it to do, Desiree smiled at the little kitten that was her wallpaper and opened up the program and began to type in a very methodical way, making sure each word was precisely what it needed to be lest the meaning of them be muddled by those that read them after she put them where she would.

“Hello,

I know you are all so very confused about why I would do this, so I thought I would try to explain the best I can. After all, you are all so fucking entitled you will obviously think that you are owed this. Who am I to deny the powerful their satisfaction after all?

I am doing this, well, at this point I suppose I should say that I have done this because all of you disgust me. So yes, simply put, that is why.

No though, no there is more.

I hate you and your pretentiousness, your delusions of importance, your absolute denial of reality when things do not go your way. No, no I do not want your money or the tin empire you have built over a boiling lake of fire. I do not want anything of yours, except that which I am taking, well, allow me to correct myself, that I have taken.

I will not hurt you, goodness no I am not a sociopath after all. I admit I was surprised and a little disappointed when they told me I wasn’t, but hey, we can’t all have everything we want right?

To get to that point. I am sure you noticed that when you got home today there was a letter to each of you that had been slipped in some way in a place that I knew you would get it. There is no poison, no death threats. No. No, NO.

All it is a 4096 character block of text and numbers. It will look like a computer crashed and printed it, and, well in a way I suppose that is right in a way.

See while all of you punched and kicked me, teased and hated me, lorded your wealth and power over me, I gained access to each and every one of your lives in the most intimate ways. See, that block of text there, different for each of you as I am sure you will find out when you show them to one another, which of course you will, is the entirety of who and what you are. It is your money, your credentials, your ownerships of houses and cars, and boats. It is every credit card, bought GPA score, Social Security Numbers, Passport Numbers, all of it.

No, not blackmail, hush now.

I don’t want your money. I never did. I simply wanted kindness. You were disinclined, and, as such, so am I.

Twelve hours from now every single piece of you will be forever deleted in ways that you will be surprised at the impossibility of recovery. I did leave an out though. I am not a monster.

Decipher it.

After that, the instructions are truly so simple that you can do them with your eyes shut in a dark room.

Take Care Now Kids,

Desiree.”

Sent was hit to the 382 email addresses. It was done now.

No, of course, there wasn’t a way to fix it. Desiree wasn’t a sociopath, but a compulsively selective truth-teller, that she had that in spades.

The Dark – 2 – Business

Darkness also allows the mind to say what has been trapped behind walls of decency and layers of self-censorship.

The cigar, a moment before clutched twixt the never quite shut jaws of Timothy, dropped with an audible hiss as the cherry of the wrapped delight hit the puddle it fell into. Timothy, his eyes wider than his jaws, dropped shortly thereafter, his eyes wide as whatever eternity greeted him, hopefully with as much avarice and sloth as he had shown the world he had just departed. The cause of the demise of the aforementioned worshiper of avaricious behaviors and slothful contentment hit the wall behind him less than a second later, having transected the skull of the greedy, lazy bastard with some ease.

There was no alarm raised, not shouts of “Murder!” “Police!” or any other sound that would indicate this human would be missed or people were upset by his demise. There were a lot of people there as well, they had gathered in fact to watch this very event and while some were upset by the brevity of it, all were pleased by the final result.

A genderless and distorted voice, faceless even now, raised above the din the crowd had begun to make as they inched closer to the parts of bone, brain, blood, and viscera that used to be a man or at least male of the species.

“Ladies and gentlemen, now that we have concluded the show and tell portion of the evening, I will have my assistant Jessica take your orders and I will surely see each and every one of you very, very, soon. With that, they assumed that their mysterious assassin had disappeared and having proven themselves true, in that they could make the most inaccessible of people come forward for justice, they rushed towards Jessica in a calm, yet twitchy, chaos so that they could indeed make sure their names were on the list to enlist of this magnificent stranger who could make go away that which was undesired by all.

——

Not too far away, a smile crossed the face of the assassin. The high-powered rifle nearly is broken down and put back into its case. It was a beautiful thing and they made sure it was as cared for as people looked after their young. Actually better, as she wanted this and not that.

Jessica was dutifully taking order after order and they were coming across their phone nearly two a second. Some of them were even special orders. Poison? Ooh, that one would be fun indeed.

Walking over to the lamp, their hand turned it on and the smooth and eyeless head smiled just before the phone went off again.

Business was Good.

There is a certain delight in writing a thing like this and knowing if the right person reads it, it will make their blood fucking freeze.

The Dark – 1 – The Twilight Zone

When your mind is in a dark place, it makes writing dark things so much easier…

The blood dripped from the end of the barrel with an annoying quick beat. it was hitting the puddle in the middle of the floor and the noise was nearly deafening in the emptiness of the room. With a sigh, he dropped the gun and winced as it hit the floor, the metal making a screech as it hit the concrete. Shaking his head, which was an experience and a half now that it had ventilation, Jake stood up and walked to the door, the blood already cleaning itself up so very tidily from the now non-existent entry and exit wounds in his skull. As he turned the doorknob he made sure to turn and make sure all was tidy and, as always, it was as clean as a nasty room in a basement of an abandoned milk factory was ever going to get. The blood was gone, the chunks of skull, skin, brain, and viscera all taken care of. Hell, his shirt was even stained.

There exists a man with whom exists a singular desire. To die. For dozens and dozens of years, he has been trying to accomplish this with no success whatsoever. Why he wants this only to him, seeming immortality would be a gift for some, then again, those men are not like our friend here with the newly formed skull and cortex. Those men do not have the memories of so many horrible moments from history, so many guilt clogged thoughts, so much survivors guilt as to bring the world to its very knees. Then again, this isn’t the world, this, for all of its miracles and menacing moments, is The Twilight Zone.

Walking back and forth above the room he had just again failed in, the man, Jakob Rousalov, tried to think of a thing he had yet to try. Tried to think of a trick he had not thought of. Tried to think, think at all.

He had been in this building for almost fifteen years now. He never ate, he never slept. His only mission was to quiet his mind forever. The thousands and thousands of voices in his head tried to dissuade him, tried to tell him he had a gift, tried to insist he was chosen of God.

No, no God would not have done this to anyone. God would not have brought a boy that fell into the Nyamiha river the year Charlemagne was crowned by Poe Leo III back to life only to then allow him to spend the next twelve centuries going more and more mad by the second. His first voices were his parents. They were comforting at first, telling him that he was loved, missed. Then, then they came. So many, so many who simply wanted to know what happened. Where they were. Why they could not see the glory of God, or even the Infernal One if that was to be their destination.

He tried, Jakob who was not then Jakob tried. There were always more, every moment there were more of them trying to ask him, to beg him for guidance. They prayed he would help, they begged him for mercy and leniency for things he had no control over. All he could do was lay down and scream his sobs into the pillows of the ground, long since having left anywhere where people were located lest they lock him up, an odd irony in the end.

All those years, all those faces and deaths, and names, he knew each name and could read them in order to anyone who would have asked and had the decades and centuries it would take to speak them. It mattered not their tongue, their faith, their anything. He knew all of them and they all seemed to know him.

Ignoring the urge to smoke a moment he returned to the room downstairs with a pair of extra-large and long hedge clippers that would snip the head off in a few moments of agony.

He would be able to free from the voices.

At least until the new head fully grew back in an hour or so.

Then, then he would have a smoke.

Jakob who was not born Jakob. A Man? An Angel? Maybe even God Himself. There will never be answers for him, no. Questions never get resolved, in The Twilight Zone.

The Ever Rising Tide

You’ve seen this before, I just thought I would throw my take into the fire I suppose, I have nothing else to do, so I thought I would analyze my mental health for the internet. I have worse things, so at least this is something I am vaguely interested in.

There are no trigger warnings needed here, I am not going to talk about the Bad Dark, just what the face of it all looks like.

Any of you who have ever met me know that I love to both laugh and make others laugh. I am not particularly funny, I know a stand-up comedian, that motherfucker is funny. I am self-deprecating and I suppose that is humorous in its way. I digress, however.

Even when I am in the middle of the deepest laugh I can have, tears streaming down my face and various floods being ejected from various orifices of my body, I am still very, strongly, deeply, clinically depressed.

When I am walking around the supermarket with my new bandana face mask necessity and I am breathing in my self-produced humidity and I am smiling at the pharmacist and the cashier, I am still having a panic attack that I will crash into. Not when I get home, not until much later when I am alone and it is dark. Then the panic will wash over me like waves that bring it higher and higher until I choke on it and curl up in a ball and simply submit to it all.

When I am sitting in my best friends living room, a human being I trust more than nearly anyone who has ever lived, I know the exits, I know how to get home with no money, I have an exit strategy because that is what I have always needed and you don’t shut off decades worth of paranoia, if it were rational, it wouldn’t be paranoia.

You’ve seen me finging right? You know, fingers finging? Tapping the tip of each finger against the tip of my thumb. Sometimes I count, other times I multiply, sometimes I do days of the week or some other repetitive so my brain can match the absenteeism of my hand movements, trying to fight back the things I don’t want just then. The migraines, the panic, the agoraphobia, claustrophobia, or a thousand other things.

I can be talking to you, laughing with you, lifting you in a hug I never want to let go of, kissing your forehead, drinking with you, eating my best friends food, holding the woman I love, sitting with my kids on my lap, or I can be alone in my bedroom.

It will never leave. It is dark when the light goes off, the eeriness of quiet in the city neighborhood, the shock and awe of a thunderbolt.

It is there.

It is always there.

The Card – Tempeh

Tempeh, yeah, his mum had named him after some goddamned Indonesian fake meat, sat in front of his computer and looked at the page in front of him. He had entered the address on the black card that the bloke who had killed himself had left and it took him to a page with a single line of text above an input bar.

ENTER REQUEST

What the fuck did that even mean? Like, a web request, some kind of a hacking thing, or like was it some genie wish-granting motherfucker that would give him bitches and clothes? Tempeh, T to his friends mind you, sat there and stared at it for a long time as he pondered the existential questions of whether or not this thing was legit. He didn’t give two bloody squirts if it was legal, he had stopped caring about that shit a long while back. He was a thief by trade, sold the shit he nicked on the Internet, bought some drugs and computer things with the money he got. It was a good, reciprocal relationship. It sucked for the people he robbed, but that was the way of things. Survival of the fittest and all of that. Tempeh was a big believer in Social Darwinism, even if he had no idea what that was. If you couldn’t get by on your own, why the hell should you get by at all then? Goddamn pensioners and fucks on the dole and he was supposed to care about them? Fuckers got themselves in that position, so fuck all of that nonsense.

In a moment of clarity or maybe deluded optimism, Tempeh knew what he was going to type into the little bar there. Even if it was a joke site, it would make him feel better to type it out and get it out of his head. His fingers, long since versed in the keyboard arts, flew over the keys as he typed out the semi-long sentence and smiled.

“I want all them pricks on the dole and the pensioners to have it nice and cushy. rich as barons and twice as happy about it. They can has all the money they want with no badside for them at all.”

Now, other than not exactly being a scholar of the language he was typing, he thought he was doing the world a huge service. I mean, what better thing could he do than to make all the poor folk rich? He would be a god among men and they would never know he did it because that is the way he wanted it. He slammed his finger into the enter key and laughed, the screen goes black like he thought it might.

REQUEST GRANTED

The black screen flashed those two words in bright green text and Tempeh laughed along with the joke the computer had with him and forgot about it all instantly and went to a few sites to see what of that bloke’s shit he could sell.