(A slight re-working of "The Horrorist")
A plague of snowflakes swarm, a soft, unseen invasion carried across a
choked wind and onto a starved frozen ground. It's minus 11 degrees
this morning, and even the TV presenters looked cold, shuffling their
feet nervously together rapidly trying to keep warm.
But snow is no longer any big deal here anymore. It's the same old
shite every god damn winter – it's just a little earlier (or later
depending on your point of view) this year and just as unwelcome.
Who can tell why it happens? Global freezing, global warming, perhaps
it's actually global nothing. Who really carers or gives a rats
arse anymore. If death really is to come and grab you by the scruff of
the neck, it will come to all of us sooner or later no matter what we
do or try.
Look at those children playing across the field from me. They haven't
got a care in the world. All they're interested in blasting each other
to death with as many snowballs as they can.
Sometimes I wish I was that young again. Young enough not to care.
Young enough not to understand all the dire straits the world is in,
but I care -- or I did. I did once.
It all happened on a day not unlike this. Some other children were
playing in a field not too dissimilar to this. The snow swamped the
grass, making everything look like a bleak white desert. I was out
walking my dog, wishing I didn't have but knowing it must be done. A
sense of duty or something.
I could remember the children were playing football. Not the version
where you see millionarities softly kicking it around in front of
70,000 screaming worshipers. Their kind of football was the sort when
you kick ten bells of shit out of your opponents. I forced myself into
stopping for a minute so I could watch. Such youth, children all in all
really.
"Their blood will freeze soon" a female voice said from behind me.
"I know, it's fucking freezing" I replied turning round.
"Can't you hear them screaming?" She asked.
"Of course I can" I answered without really thinking, "Children
are
children. They're screaming, yelling at each other in enjoyment, in
pleasure because they are enjoying themselves"
"But are they?" She said
"What are you saying?" I said studying her for the first time.
She was young. Pale, thin and haunting looking. If she wasn't speaking,
I could have almost sworn she was actually dead. Almost like a zombie
apart from those eyes. Those eyes.
"Can't you hear them? They are in pain. They are in unbelievable
agony." She spoke, her eyes shining with a lifeless quality that was
harrowing in a haunting way of its own.
"What are you on about?" I replied, beginning to get annoyed.
"Look, look" She pointed towards the back of me.
The children were dead. They were lying on the floor, their bodies
blown to pieces, almost ripped in half. Soldiers picking up their
remains with bayonets and stabbing anything that were still alive in
the heads until they were dead.
"Shit!" I cried out, tumbling to my knees "Not now!"
"Yes," She answered, "Yes now. The children are not dead. Open your
eyes. See what really is happening."
And so I opened my eyes. The children weren't dead. They were still
there. Still kicking ten bells of shit out of each other, just
basically carrying on from before.
"Was I dreaming? Did that happen?" I asked half stunned, half unsure,
half unclear. Just everything really.
"I don't know. What did you see?"
"I saw them dead. I saw them ripped to pieces. I saw some
soldiers
killing and murdering for no reason whatsoever."
"But did it really happen? Or did you see a reflection of times to
come? Did you see events that are yet to happen?"
"Who are you? What are you? " I said getting to my feet, my dog
however still shaking on the floor with terror.
"Call me the Horrorist " She answered " For that is what I perhaps am."
"The Horrorist" I replied, puzzled and confused.
"Yes, the horrorist or perhaps if you like a fortune teller who really
can see the future."
"What did you do to me?"
"All I did was show you what you really truly want to see. I just
showed you your
innermost desires."
"I didn't desire that" I half snapped, my face turning blue.
"But you did" she said, "You longed for your childhood. The days
when you were out doing what they did, playing football. Larking
around. Doing childhood things."
"I didn't desire to see them killed."
"You didn't. I shown you how different children and adults are.
Children always grow into adults and never the other way round. All
children begin as sweet, innocent young things. It is society that
corrupts them. Those soldiers were children. Once they played games
like this, games where they could beat the living hell out of each
other."
"But then they grew up, " I reliped, my face in my hands "My god, then
they grew up and took the games further."
"Yes, then they took their games further. The training they received in
childhood took them to their final conclusion. Their viciousness which
had always existed as a child had been bred, taken further and to the
point when they turned into little more than animals."
"Yes, animals" I answered shell shocked, everything I had believed, all
of my morals and values beginning to crumble beyond belief.
"Now do you understand?" She said walking away "Now do you understand
why I am a horrorist? Now do you understand why it hurts me to simply
sit here and watch children even playing on a field? It is not what
they are doing. It is what they are capable of doing in the future. It
is what they could do in the future. I can see it all. I can see it
all....."
It was such a cold night. A plague of snowflakes was swarming, a soft,
unseen invasion carried across a choked wind and onto a starved frozen
ground. It's minus 11 degrees this morning, and even the TV presenters
looked cold, shuffling their feet nervously together trying
to keep warm.
I could see it all and I would see it all over and over again, clouding
my each and every thought leaving me with nothing but bad memories and
a coldness of a night that was more than just cold weather.
The Horrorist.
(Click here to visit
Andy's website).