by Mark Holme
The thick smoke swirled endlessly out of the window, smothering the red flag in the stench of 1945. The smoke ended.
When something ends, we all face decisions. Sometimes decisions so trivial you do not even realise you are making them. When the petrol tank is empty, you fill it up again. What do you do when your life runs out of fuel? Strive with all your might for a new fuel? Or start a fresh? For Jack there was no choice, there was only Fliss. Whoever she was at the moment.
Tentatively turning the silver door knob, Jack silently opened the light wooden door to the bedroom. The hinges so smooth that not a sound was squeezed out of them, even as the door closed behind him.
Before him Fliss lay curled in the foetal position, sobbing desperately into her pillow. Fingers gripping the quilt like a toddler holding onto her favourite teddy.
Jack did not know what to do, so like all men in this situation he clumsily muttered "Fliss". Except unlike all men, his deep voice was saturated with genuine concern.
"Fliss, what's the matter honey?"
Jack moved to put his hand on her shoulder but she shuddered and jerked away.
"D-don't touch m-m-me! I'm so sorry Jack, I'm so so sorry. I didn't mean any of it. Jack please, I'm sorry. I love you Jack. I love you so much."
"Sorry? Sorry for what?" Jack stood up to distance himself from Fliss. "SORRY FOR WHAT FLISS?"
Fliss rose her face from the pillow, tears streaming down her cheeks dragging black mascara with them. Black tears etched onto her worn face. She tried so hard to look deep into his eyes, but her conscience couldn't allow it. Her conscience tore her apart.
"I'm so sorry Jack, I slept with him, I actually slept with him! I'm so sorry..."
Froze to the spot, his insides slowly turning to ice and melting. A small tear sneaking down his face, as hard as he tried to remain composed. A concrete man does not leak so easily.
"How dare you? I've sat here week after week wondering what I've done wrong! How could you? You dare take my children and go sleep with another man? You know the horrors I've seen, but this? This is the worst of all. Goodbye Fliss-"
"The children were at my mother’s house Jack. WONDERING? You pay more intention to these murderers than you do your own wife! You did this as much as I did Jack! You've pushed me away for months, I love you Jack. I just wish you could love me back."
Detective Spencer turned in the doorway, looking over his shoulder at his wife in disbelief. His aching head span round to face the floor, still in shock about what he had just discovered.
He slumped onto the couch fully clothed, and no longer caring about his manhood, sobbed uncontrollably into the couch cushions. Jack didn't even notice as his son's bedroom door slowly edged open, and a small boy slipped out of the gap. He did not awaken from his depression as the child walked out of the flat door, leaving it ajar behind him.
Chapter 12
Banksy
Banksy is one of the few men alive who is not afraid to voice his opinion without fear of retribution. Though perhaps he is not brave at all, is it brave to hide behind art as you shout at the world?
There have been many speculations to the identity of the skilled graffiti artist, though on his official website it states “I am unable to comment on who may or may not be Banksy, but anyone described as being 'good at drawing' doesn't sound like Banksy to me.” Do you see? Nobody will listen to a word you say unless you become a mystery. Unless you elevate yourself above the rest.
I think it is more accurate to state that you have all lowered yourself beneath me, thus making me appear higher. Making me strong.
All the art around Amy’s flat had made me think of Banksy. All the angry people in the world who silently fight back. The riots in London were not a fight back against the government; they were scum taking advantage of a situation, like scum has for centuries.
This does not mean that I am on the government’s side. They are fools. Chosen because we feel like we have no other choice. There is always a choice. It may take a great leap to make this choice, but it stands before you. Leo, if he still existed, would argue that there is only one choice; to survive.
He categorizes us all as cavemen who are no longer acting upon our instincts. We look back on the Neanderthal civilisation as barbaric and idiotic. Have no doubt that we will be looked back on with the same scrutiny. Do you remember your younger self being an idiot? It’s the same thing, just on a gigantic scale. In the end, no matter what we accomplish, we will be remembered as fools.
This doesn’t mean that your great deeds will not impact on the next generation, on helping them make better choices than we did. On inspiring them by showing how good humans can be.
Your terrible deeds will be remembered also, Hitler’s actions should be remembered as mistakes that should never happen again. Alas they are currently being repeated. No matter what your opinion is of any race religion or human being, do not let this cloud your judgement upon them. There are evils being hidden everywhere, but there is also good.
Hitler is the only German that is remembered from the 20th Century. This does not mean he was the only German to have lived, their previous mistakes do not reflect who they are today. Just as your errors have been recognised and built upon.
Do what you can to be better than our ancestors, even if that means you have to hide your voice, as long as it is being heard it does not matter.
Many people would agree that actions speak louder than words, but it is words that effect our mind-set, which results in our actions. I would much rather solve the world’s issues by conversation than Leo’s methods. He has given up on you. I have not, yet.
It still amazes me that with all of our intelligence we are incapable of feeding a nation. We know they are starving. We know they need help. Do you really think we are incapable of saving their lives? We are cruel.
Leonidas has finally realised the truth of it all. You are cruel. You just don’t want to admit it. Whatever good deeds you have done they are miniscule in comparison to the sins of the world. Your cruelty is the one reason for my atheism. No god would look down upon this land and accept your actions. You are a fungal infection that has spread to far to be cured, you have been abandoned, if you were not already alone to begin with.
I must admit I agree with Banksy in some respects. Art conveys the greatest messages, though not all art is visual. Words can be just as artistic as an oil painting. Words can change you. Make you see the world from a different perspective, just as much as any drawing.
There is an image of Auschwitz that will make your stomach churn. Personally it gives me butterflies. This image is not cruel, or grotesque, or impacting at all. It is a simple railway track headed through the brick archway to heaven. Or hell. A track that led millions of Jews to their deaths. It is hard to imagine such glory. So many slaughtered like road kill. They stood in their wooden carriages, hands reaching out of the rectangular slots for breathing, slots of luxury. They had hope, they had desires for freedom.
How many times would you have to be told you are scum before you believed it? Perhaps it would not be the quantity of statements, but the person who said it. A complete stranger would have to say it far more times than your own mother.
You may think that I see humans as pigs being led to slaughter. I would not be so insulting to the pigs. They are innocent and you kill them for your own gains. You still have the survival instinct inside you. You are learning slowly. Humans and animals are equal, it your actions upon which I judge you.
The Jews screamed as they headed down the track, the smoke spiralling into the clouds above them as the sky shone orange. Hitler was cruel gassing them all. He should have given them the dignity of knowing why they were dying, I have told each one of my victims why I have killed them. It is because they are evil. Hitler should have killed them personally. He cannot hide from his actions now. He cannot be praised enough for them.
It is for this reason that I created my latest piece of art. A Banks
y inspired piece. I have tired of replicating others work, it is time for me to rise above them.
On the canal banks there are beige sand paths either side, once used for horses to tug the boats along. Next to these paths in places are huge brick walls, holding back the earth. It took me a long time to bury her body in the earth. I smashed the bricks with the same tool I had killed her with- a sledge hammer. On the wall I sprayed the entrance to Auschwitz, perfectly in line with train line that lead to death. Across the line I painted a woman’s naked body, with a real human head. Her last look of regret was reflected in her eyes.
Do not worry it is not Amy Wolf. She is too precious to Leonidas to hide from his memories. I cannot be caught yet. His memories must be hidden.
I found myself stood in the art gallery by myself, finishing of the Leonardo da Vinci exhibit. I couldn’t stop myself thinking how cruel we were to this man. To this visionary; laughing at his ideas when we should have been striving to turn them into reality. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. My reflection looked back at me. For a brief moment I felt peace; there is peace in distancing yourself from the world and contemplating its purpose. On our purpose. Who am I?
Chapter 13
Morality of Murder
For the first time in his career Jack was stumped. The one thing that had remained constant was crumbling between his fingers; crumbling is too soft a phrase, smashed into pieces would describe it more realistically.
Even fighting through rubble Jack's job was his life, he needed his family, but his career was just as vital to his existence.
Jack was looking over the security tapes at the Manchester art gallery, watching the same clips over and over and taking in none of the detail. Clips played as he stared, eyes glazed over; on the plain white wall a dark shadow of the SS officer, stood in the doorway fidgeting.
One thought that was swimming through Jack's mind; a thought of little importance but one that he couldn't help ponder. Perhaps it was a psychological mechanism designed, or at least developed, to protect the important parts of his brain from truly harmful truths. A thought to distract him from both what he was watching and what he was feeling. A thought that made him numb; why was there no sound?
It made his ears ring, the humming annoyance created by silence. The tingling sensation grew stronger, until Jack could feel a force circling the inside of his ear drum. The pressure getting bigger and circling with a constantly decreasing circumference. The sensation only stopped when his ear felt like a tiny trampoline skin had been stretched across his ear drum.
It did not take a genius to discover the source of this sensation. It was a sensation only brought to life by standing on the edge of an epiphany. The thirteen boys, or close enough, all laughing at an image. The same boys Jack had mocked on his last visit.
It was art.
This boy was turning ugly people into beautiful spectacles, ridding the world of the rude and filling it with awe. He did not see people as people, nor did he view them as materials, he saw them as pigs being led to slaughter. As lesser beings there to serve those up above. There to serve himself.
"THERE IS MORALITY IN KILLING! To let these swine’s live is an abomination. They are a three year olds crayon swipes against the face of the Mona Lisa. It would be immoral to let them continue disrupting the world for the rest of us. A boy who fakes a bus pass, the waitress who yells in your face because she feels like it. Convince me Leonidas, convince me that these people deserved to live!"
"Rudeness should not be punished with slaughter! If you are to convince me that these people deserve to die, then you must convince me that I deserve to die to."
"OF COURSE YOU DESERVE TO DIE! What have you done for this world? What has any human alive today done for this world? You spend your money on booze and sportsmen, on war and entertainment! People die all the time Leonidas, why should you be any different?"
"Why should you decide who dies? Are you a god? Are you better than the rest of us? You are but a figment of my imagination, a bitter twisted thought that can't stand reality; there is good in the world. Not every human should be six feet underground with you dancing on their tomb!"
"I am no god. I am simply a superior being to all humans. It took you 20,000 years to learn how to drink milk! Do you know what milk is for? Milk is for babies unable to consume real food. No other adult species in the world consumes milk. You act like babies, you talk like infants and you die like children. Children screaming for your parents. You think you are the most evolved species, when in reality you are so poorly evolved it's embarrassing to share this body with you! Your feeble frame would be crushed by almost any wild animal, you have developed the ability to blush, to give away your secrets! Developed technologies and comforts to help you evolve further and further away from perfection. So you can think - well done! All your thoughts do is lead you astray, tear you apart. All your thoughts have done is to create me to kill for you!"
"You kill for yourself Leo, do not drag me in to your crazy schemes. Your thoughts are not mine, your thoughts are disgusting. The only person who deserves to die is you."
"Then kill me Leonidas, smite me down oh great and powerful. You are a pathetic vassal for an outstanding idea. I hope you love Leonidas, I hope you love every human, I want you to cry as I slaughter them all. I want you to fall apart beneath me and set me free again."
"I will crush you, even if it means destroying both of us, you shall not win."
"Don't you know who you sound like? You sound like me Leonidas. Hitler was right you know, he was just too narrow minded to see the bigger picture. Jews are scum; so are Christians and Buddhist and Muslims and every race, religion and ethnicity connected with man. The human race is scum. I will not gas you like the great one did so many, it is not personal enough; I do not wish to have Auschwitz overflowing with corpses as the sky turns black with smoke. My sky will glow orange, orange with fire, when I erase you from this world. Noah's ark reborn, no water, water is for cleansing. I want fire. I want destruction."
Jack had moved on from the mocking children to the strange fight of one man with himself. He was yelling, that much was obvious, was he mad? Was he the killer? A shady figure coming in and out of view from the camera as his emotions overwhelmed him. A man who knew the blind spots. A man who knew this gallery.
Jack was on the phone within minutes, asking everybody he could get his hands on about the sound from the recording. He yelled at the SS guard to get him some sound, almost getting himself arrested for his treatment of the government official.
He was not so much angry at not finding out what this man said, but angrier at the world for being so stupid. He was enraged at himself for letting his family down.
In the end Jack realised the sound was not coming. Someone had turned it off, as Rufus smugly highlighted when he arrived to try and lip read the giant man. Alas, the recording was too dark to see the lips clearly enough. Ironically the only word that could definitely be deciphered was 'sound', the rounded lip shape making it stand out amongst the argument.
Perhaps Leo has really gone this time. He lives in my head, of my food and rest. If I cannot destroy him, nobody can. I told him to leave, no, I forced him to leave. My body. My life.
I'll never be able to let go of what my hands have done, I feel though the blood has stopped flowing between my fingers the stains will never go. I am a marked man. A cursed man. Barely a man at all. I could have saved them all but I wasn't strong enough, I wasn't fast enough. Twenty-one corpses lie between me and heaven’s door.
Twenty-one sets of families and friends affected by my actions. I saw my own parents burn. I know what death does to people. I know what fire and destruction feels like. To have your loved ones mocked by Leo's twisted art is a cruel low blow.
I must stop thinking about the monster that once dwelled within me, I do not wish to leave the door open for him to return.
Amy Wolf, that's who I shall focus myself on from now on. These murders and
corpses are my past, she is my present, future and everything. We have a date this evening. A free minded date for the first time I can remember. Amy chose the film, a horror film by the title of 'We Killed Them All'. How fitting. I'm hoping she chose it to give us both an excuse to comfort each other. To touch each other.
She arrived at my door in a short black dress that fitted snugly against her hips. Eyes lined with black make-up, a faint green hint to her upper eyelids. Black tights. Black heels. She looked beautiful.
Obviously I was wearing one of my favourite grey suits, with a blood red tie and white shirt. My brown brogues still dirty from my little walk down the alley way.
She smiled broadly, and I couldn't help but smile back. We walked down the black tarmac pavement, moonlight glimmering on the strangely warm evening. Her hands wrapped around my forearm and bicep as we walked towards the tram station, just past the end of my road.
The tram was as quite as ever, with the typical man towards the rear playing his music loudly.It's amazing how many rude people can be found wandering in the wild.
The cinema was just across from the train station we arrived at; the station ceiling of Victorian era with rusted metal framework housing huge glass panels. The smell of meat strong as we walked past the burger stand in the corner.
The cinema I had chosen was one located in what was locally known as 'The Tunnel'. No connection to the trains, no train had ever been through. It was an arched red brick cave with several bars and restaurants. To be honest, it was a place that I expected Amy had never visited before. A place she may have walked past and wished to enter.
It was a huge set-up with our screen on the second floor, so large that it stretched up to the third. We held hands the second we left the tram and did not let go until the film had ended.
Leonidas never could accept the truth, he might tell you all the details but he leaves out the juicy parts. The entertaining parts. The cruel aspects of his insignificant life. I will always be honest, I will tell you the truth about this evening.