by Mark Holme
I have a secret to tell you. I did not convince Leonidas of the truth about the war for his benefit, or mine. Ok, mainly for mine. I told him to distract him. To blind him from my actions. I was dragging the boy to Jack’s apartment. Snook him into the dining room as his mother wept in her bed. I made him scream for her, and of course she came running. They saw each other one last time before I ended it all with a butcher’s knife. I threw it into her skull as she ran screaming towards me. The two daughters were easy pickings after that.
Then the fun began, and I created my masterpiece. Not the painting, the painting was just a small part of the bigger picture. The blood on the handle, the red trail to their corpses. He has their blood on his hands. He caused the path to their destruction.
You may be glad to know I did not eat an ounce of them, not one bite. Not out of a sense of virtue, they were simply not good enough. Not worthy.
As I stood, the van burning behind me, I thought of Jack. I thought of what he would be feeling, and I smiled.
I turned back to find a hand gun aimed at my face, from around twenty yards away.The muscular one had found the way out.
“Killing me won’t bring anyone back; but do it if you think it will make you feel better”
As his finger edged towards the trigger, the fire edged towards the petrol tank, the whole thing exploded sending flames flying towards us. Setting the muscular one on fire. He ran towards us screaming, but he fell lying dead at our feet. Nice try child.
It was the fire that killed Leonidas of. When I see fire I am in control. When Leonidas sees fire he is destroyed. I can think freely now, he cannot hear my private thoughts as I heard his.
He is the voice inside my head now, though of course we were born the other way around.You are all going to die. Change is not always what you want, it is not always what you need or like; it is the unavoidable pulse that keeps the world spinning.
I may not be a good man, but I know exactly what a good man is. A good man is the man who treats his enemy as he treats his best friend. Who treats rich and poor alike, who shares his assets and skills until he has only enough to survive. A man who doesn't say 'why me?' but 'why not me?’. A man who constantly strives for improvement, to be better tomorrow than he was today; secure in the knowledge that the day he stops doing this is the day he is no longer good. I am not a good man. I do evil things to achieve my goals. They are goals that need to be achieved.
Jack followed me in anger, desperate for his revenge; there is nothing he can do to me on the same scale as what I did to him. He is a bad man, who treated his family like animals, hiding behind the facade of the law. As life goes you must take into account the good and evil, the yin and yang, when evaluating a man’s worth. The good detective has saved many lives, but he has ruined the lives of the ones who care about him. To the world you are nothing. To but someone who is nothing, you are the world.
He tracked me to the harbour, unfortunately for Jack I saw him before he saw me. He is a fool, an angry fool who can do nothing.There is no greater way of reducing someone’s IQ than making them angry.
I struck him across the back of the head with an oar, knocking him unconscious. When he awoke I was on a stolen white yacht with two corpses in the galley, bordering the horizon.I believe Prague is nice this time of year.
I will always win because I do not fear losing.I may fall so that others can rise up to greater heights; it is only by standing on the shoulders of giants that we can rise up to mountains. Hitler was more than a giant, he was a god; standing upon his shoulders I can look down upon the world.
About the Author
Born in 1994, Mark is a current engineering student at the University of Leeds, and published his first book on the 8th October 2013.