And from my thoughts hang twisted kites
That steal the night unhinge the locks
Their fingers search out every tumbler
Their tails jump-start the mourning clocks
~ Obi ‘Black is Burned’ 2028
That steal the night unhinge the locks
Their fingers search out every tumbler
Their tails jump-start the mourning clocks
~ Obi ‘Black is Burned’ 2028
 |
| Henri Lanos |
Alec stands in the warehouse doorway, unable to take his eyes off the spot where Joe’s body recently lay. There is no indication of what happened other than a triangle of glass, a fragment from one of the lenses of Joe’s spectacles, missed in the clean-up.
There is a fragment of Alec that understands what led his boys to do this – Joe could be a pompous arse sometimes – but it’s a justification easily dismissed: he cannot equate the act of killing with any of that, nor how far these apples have fallen from this tree.
Justice; he asked about justice; now he’s not so sure what he’s looking for… what does justice even mean?
He can’t look anybody in the eye, and he fears they too cannot look him in the eye.
He remembers seeing a banner once at one of the marches: an eye for eye leaves everyone half blind.
Those days had been something else; things had been clearer then.
He remembers retelling stories of those days much later in the Carny.
“Brave hero” she’d said.
He’d laughed; compliment? Insult? You could never be sure with Peye.
He moves to where the fragment of glass lies, disguised by the umbra between the two huge lamps that hang from the shed’s main roof beam. As he bends to scoop it up one of the lamps’ burning LEDs focusses through the fragment, forming a small sun in the palm of his hand. He closes his fist around it, perhaps hoping to draw blood.
Daniel walks past, a shotgun in each hand, head down, backpack swinging.
“Let’s go” he says.
Alec lifts his head, stands, and swinging into his own backpack, follows.
Outside, he flings the fragment into the undergrowth where Marty still hides, guilty, shivering and wet.
There is a fragment of Alec that understands what led his boys to do this – Joe could be a pompous arse sometimes – but it’s a justification easily dismissed: he cannot equate the act of killing with any of that, nor how far these apples have fallen from this tree.
Justice; he asked about justice; now he’s not so sure what he’s looking for… what does justice even mean?
He can’t look anybody in the eye, and he fears they too cannot look him in the eye.
He remembers seeing a banner once at one of the marches: an eye for eye leaves everyone half blind.
Those days had been something else; things had been clearer then.
He remembers retelling stories of those days much later in the Carny.
“Brave hero” she’d said.
He’d laughed; compliment? Insult? You could never be sure with Peye.
He moves to where the fragment of glass lies, disguised by the umbra between the two huge lamps that hang from the shed’s main roof beam. As he bends to scoop it up one of the lamps’ burning LEDs focusses through the fragment, forming a small sun in the palm of his hand. He closes his fist around it, perhaps hoping to draw blood.
Daniel walks past, a shotgun in each hand, head down, backpack swinging.
“Let’s go” he says.
Alec lifts his head, stands, and swinging into his own backpack, follows.
Outside, he flings the fragment into the undergrowth where Marty still hides, guilty, shivering and wet.
| Obi | ||
| Black is Burned | ||
No comments:
Post a Comment