The Fall

10^th floor

-Please, I’m sorry. Please forgive me!

I remember this. How could I forget? My first love. She cheated on me on our second anniversary. Decided to go off with some prick just because I did not have the money to go with her to the mountains that weekend. Wonder why I’m remembering this? Out of all the things in my life I’d expect at least to remember the good.

We’re in my apartment. Next she’s going to take off her blouse and try another way to convince me. I don’t want to remember the rest. In the end I don’t forgive her, but I’m too weak to deny myself the pleasure. It’s something I live with for the rest of my life. It’s something that haunts me till this day.

Please remember something else, please…. God she’s beautiful. I have been trying to forget that, but it always seems to come back. Why did it have to be like that? End like that? Look at her… even know my heart aches for her touch. Her blonde long hair, her smile, her eyes, her breasts, they all stab my heart now.

There I go, one last time, one last time to make love to her. The last time I actually make love. And to think what happened did so only because we were so young. So god damn young to even realize what we had and we put pride before that. We lost it all. I lost it all.

9^th floor

10 years from this moment I will meet her. Now I don’t even have the desire for girls. I’m remembering this… I guess I asked to remember something better.

My grandfather is still alive. Look at the two of us standing on that makeshift bridge over the stream. Where are the ducks...? There are the ducks. We’re here to take the ducks swimming. I’m so young, so innocent, so different from the man I will become. But then again this kid hasn’t faced the life that made me into the man I am. But he will. Very soon, he will.

-Once upon a time…

My grandfather’s stories… They always seemed so elaborate. I remember one about the white woman and a black man being in love. She was blind. He became a doctor to cure her blindness. Nobody liked that he was black. Yes, my grandfather was transforming old movies into stories. I don’t judge him for it. In fact I love him for it. He made my childhood into a period of joy.

8^th floor

The phone rings. I’m still young. This is the day it starts. This is the call that starts opening my mind. I suppose we all get a moment like this. Some chose to build on it and reach the horrible truth, while others, just burry their heads into the ground and ignore it.

-Hello honey.

The voice, a 20ish something woman, is surprised that I don’t recognize her, then asks if I am my father. I may be young here, but through the telephone I suppose I sounded enough like my father to confuse her for just the right amount to make her goof.

In the fallowing weeks I slowly investigate and I all the values my father instilled in me, were proven to be just bullshit. He was cheating on my mother. My family was nothing more than a sham, a show for the world. Behold, the perfect family: a loving family, a caring father and their child. But in truth, a cheating man, a workaholic woman who hasn’t spent more than 1 hour in the night with her child and a boy that is slowly – and unknowingly – searching for the Hemingway solution.

7^th floor

-DON’T YOU FUCKING EVEN TRY TO GET ME!

My first snapping. Highschool and my math teacher tries to belittle me. I hadn’t slept in four days and I wasn’t in the mood to take her crap. She was a very dislikable person. Always pretended she was so above us. No one could deny her knowledge of math, but because of that she acted like she knew everything there is to know; about everything. That day I broke.

-Who the fuck do you think you are to judge me. A little piece of shit with some knowledge of math and yet never left this piece of shit highscool. Don’t even try to say “you love teaching”. Maybe you love picking on those who you can pick on.

I go on to rant on. After all I did just snap. There is no logic into what I say, well not as a whole. I try to attack everything that I feel is wrong in about 3 minutes of angry screaming. That’s not how one can get a point across. In time I realize that there is no way to actually get my point across. I was doomed from the beginning and I didn’t even know it.

6^th floor

I’m at my computer. It’s 2:00 AM. When is this? What am I doing? Ah… I remember. A friend of mine is really sad. I’m trying to keep him from doing something stupid out alcohol. I suppose one might argue “if you did that for him how come you’re now falling”. I have done what I have done because I lasted through a lot of it. No one thing broke me. No one thing got me to the top of that building and no one thing pushed me beyond its edge.

I suppose we all have it bad to some degree. But there’s always the other side of the coin, a balance that keeps us going, enough good to keep all the bad at bay. But what happens if one day, you wake up and realize that there is no good? That nothing in your life can bring you pleasure, or that even the smallest dream you might have is so beyond you reach that it makes you feel stupid for even thinking of it? What about seeing that all the people around you have nothing but their own desires in mind and take things FROM you just to see their own good achieved? What about when even your friends do that? What if you are so alone that the sound of your own voice is like a dagger to your heart?

5^th floor

There are three of us in my house. We all have water guns. We are young. The doors to the living room and bed rooms are closed. We have the hallway, kitchen and bathroom as our battle ground. That day was fun.

I will come out dual wielding and charging the kitchen. Boy will I be clobbered from behind. There’s nothing really bad about this day. I suppose there were good days. Some. But in the end they proved to just be set-ups for much bigger let downs. One of these two friends will call my grandfather and tell him I got hit by a car; a stupid childish prank that gave my granddad a heart attack.

Years later he will tell me he is sorry for what he did. I do forgive him, attributing what he did to the stupidity of youth. But the weight never truly goes away. Nor does my grandfather’s death.

4^th floor

Ah crap. Why this? Why am I here? Why can’t the ground just come faster? Why must I relive this?

My grandfather is paralyzed. The man who brought me up, who gave me a childhood like no other, who took care of me is now paralyzed. A stupid blood clot caused this. Another one will kill him very soon. A man who took care of his dying wife, who raised his son on his own, who raised his grandson during months of endless summer. The one honorable man I have ever met and the one who will always miss the most. Now he is in shambles and ruins, barely aware of himself. The fuck at the ground floor who one beat me for playing with my ball in the street died quietly and easily and my grandfather gets a send off worthy of a serial killer?

Why am I remembering this? Please… please…move on.

3^rd floor

Is that? That is… This day is where I gave up a girl. She was a looker. I’m leaving her house never to call her again, and to make her think I’m an asshole. I did it on purpose. She was dumb. Oh and I mean really dumb. As much as she delighted your eyes, the moment she opened her mouth, you realized she was about as smart as a well educated chimp.

I could have taken advantage of that. She fancied me. I could have taken her, do with her as any other would have, then leave her broken and useless. I could not. Nor could I bring myself to telling her the reason why I did not want to pursue a relationship any further. How can a man tell a woman “You’re dumb”. I couldn’t . So I let her believe I was just an asshole who never called. We parted ways with her angry at me instead of sad insulted or heartbroken. I found out she soon found somebody else.

I am still proud of myself.

2^nd floor

Nothing… I have nothing to remember… Be it good or bad, my mind wants nothing of it. Soon it will end. I will stop and so will the pain. The world will go on without me, as it should. My end is nigh, and I best open my eyes to see it. It’s time. Open your eyes!

1^st floor.

-Hello.

-What are you doing here? So close to the end and I’m imagining you?

-Yes. I wanted to tell you I’m sorry for cheating on you.

-I loved you so much.

-You still do. The real me may be living another life now, but I am the part of me that was given to you. I have always been with you. You love me. You always have. Even through my mistake, you loved me and never stopped loving me.

-What do you want? You are not here to say sorry. The real you did that already.

-I am part of you, always have been. I am here to remind you give you a small measure of pace. Before your end, I think you deserve that. Kiss me.

I kiss the imaginary version of the girl that broke my heart. I feel warm as I remember the love I held for her and I remember how happy I was with her. Later pain does not matter. My end is now and I remember her face, her eyes, her lips, her taste. I remember the good.

Ground floor

Hymn to the Immortal Warrior

The night sky was beautiful. The pattern of the stars, timeless, showed the gods and told their story. The cool night air was refreshing as it was moved around by the winds. The sounds of the forest were something that only hundreds of years later people would call a symphony. The lake provided a mirror image of the world. Meldún loved this land. He had known many through ought his life, as his days as a raider had taken him far and wide. His small boat slowly moved outwards while everybody else were on the shore.
-A long time ago, a young boy came to me and said “Father, I want to come with you next time!”. In my drunken joy of that night, some victory celebration of mild importance to us, I shoved him away and told him that the battlefield was no place for one who’s balls still have no hair on them. He proved me wrong. Some of you remember that night, how we were attacked, how the great “warriors” were to shitfaced to even lift a finger. How we were saved by our sons, and how my boy forged his friendship with your sons through blood and steel.
The old man told the story of Meldún’s ascension to manhood. It was a story rarely spoken, because none of the elders wished to remember the day they were saved by a young boy and his friends, with arms that could barely hold a shield. However on this day, they would gladly hear it again.
Meldún’s friends, real friends, were few. Their cheers at the story were lost in the cheers of everyone else. Even those who regarded Meldún with eyes of envy or discontent on this day forgot that and joined in the celebration. After all, such an event comes once in a lifetime.
The small boat slowly drifted further out, while the warrior lay still in it. His eyes were closed, his lips were in a smile.
Back on shore, the old man gave the word to a younger Norseman.
-Less than 5 years ago, we were somewhere in the south of Europa. King Björn was leading an attack on a settlement. To our surprise, it was heavily guarded. Apparently news of our travels have reached that area before us and they prepared. It was a battle worthy of poems. We were outnumbered and on the clear path of losing. It was a dream. A chance to die in such a glorious battle, to call out our war cry that even the fallen brothers in Valhalla hear us… it was glorious. We charged. In the heat of battle, I saw Meldún. The fire in his eyes was somehow different than all of ours. He fought with not only for the glory of it, but for something more, something that goes beyond the words of mortals. His gaze was clear, his moves were poetic, each blow he dealt was clean and deadly. I consider myself lucky that in my lifetime I saw someone with such passion for what we do. Özurr, your son would have made the Gods marvel.



The battle of five years passed was not so great as described. It was true that the Vikings were outnumbered. It was true that they relished in the battle. It was even true that Meldún fought like no other man on that field, but to describe it as something that even the gods would marvel at, was an exaggeration. But on this day, it was allowed.
In truth Meldún had always been a great Viking warrior since joining their ranks. And he had always been one of the best. However the battle from the North of Italy was not his best. It was not the one that made him shine. The one battle that marked Meldún as poet of war was a duel. Years prior to King Björn into Europe, in the homeland of the Vikings, he was challenged to a fight by the champion of a neighboring village. The premise behind the duel was stupid at best as this monster of a man felt Meldún had insulted him by not attending his homecoming from a war.
The sun gleamed that day, a rare occurrence in this part of the land. The air was cool, the skies clear and everything around them was silent. Swords and shields were ready to clash. Both men were fighters but neither expected the fight to go the way it did.
Fast swings of steel met each other and the silence was broken. Shields collided as the two charged each other. They were equal in stature and strength. Skill alone would determine the outcome of this battle. Moving as swift as the wind, they countered each other’s moves in a cascade of flurries and blows and yet neither landed a hit. This WAS a dance fit for the Gods. The two mirrod each other’s blows and the spectacle let forth by them was something seen only in Roman Gladiator fights. This time no one was there to cheer, no one to admire their skill, speed, technique and most importantly their heart.
Meldún had come into this fight looking to defend his honor, while his opponent looking to impose respect. Now they were friends. Fighting to the death, but they admired each other. They knew that what they were doing was not just a fight. It was something more. It embodied the spirit of their people. The reasons disappeared in the flashes of sunlight that shined of the steel. Now the fight was one for the purity of combat. They were warriors doing what they were bread to do. What they were born to do.
It did not last long. No real fight lasts long, especially one on one fights. Soon both were standing up only by pure will. Their swords were heavy in their hands, their shields more so. Each fighter had a smile of joy and friendship. Though these two would never be close, they would be brothers forever. They knew what they had created in that small meadow was as close to perfection as anyone dared to achieve. They did not feel pride in themselves, but more in their spirit and will. Even though no one would know – oh they’d tell the story time and again but no one could truly know without seeing – what kind of battle took place, it would always be part of them and be the source of their fire in battle.

The small boat was being slowly pushed further out into the waters of the lake. Meldún’s weapons lay by his side.
-YOU BASTARDS!
The cry broke the cheers and the joy. It was Meldún’s mother. She loved him more than anyone at that celebration.
-You all sing stories of my son. You parade his achievements like they were worthy of Valhalla. And yet now…
-Silence wife. You cannot understand.
-Understand what husband? That you sit here talking with joy as my son is in that boat. An earshot away and yet he can’t hear us. Most of you even hated him. Were jealous of who he was. And now you dare cheer him? You make me sick.
-Mother of Meldún, I beg you hear me.
Sighvatr was the one who fought in the meadow. He was not one with gifted with speech nor with a silver tongue. His sword was what made him. He was no friend of Meldún, but he shared something with him that right now made his words speak as if written by poets.
-Your son may have enemies here. Your son may have few friends here. But what your son has and will forever have is ALL of our respect. We live for one thing, and that is to be great warriors, so much so that Odin himself welcomes us to Valhalla. That the skies brake forth and Valkyries come down and show us that we DID live honorably. That we DID come as close as is humanly possible to an ideal that we all carry in our hearts. Your son throughout his life has been that kind of man. Why do you think he has so few friends? Envy. However now on this day, no matter who you are you can’t do anything BUT put aside your ill will and honor Meldún. Be it as a son, friend, or warrior, his life has earned him the respect of all of us. And that is why we sing. We sing for him. He touched all our lives as if he lived and died in a single moment. Great were his deeds, all his words were true, he lived and died a man of honor. His name shall never die.
-I hear you well Sighvatr. I hear you well.
As if the tears and smile of the weeping mother were the sign, a flaming arrow shot forth and hit the now far off boat. The hey and oils light up. Soon the small vessel was engulfed in flame and the fallen warrior’s body was sent, as is the ways of old, to Valhalla.
The Norsemen were lead into one last song by the mother.
“Take thy shield, take thy sword, all thy weapons to the sky, ye shall need them when Odin bid thee rise. For none but the brave, shall rise up from the grave, to see the Valkyries fly”

Insane

His blood is everywhere. I suppose I should have been more careful and maybe keep this cleaner. I could have. But then again I wanted to enjoy this. I wanted his eyes to scream for mercy, I wanted the pain that I felt be his. I wanted him to beg for the hell I was going to send him to.

The walls yell at me with crimson spills. The floor is a pool of what hospitals beg us for. I was not careful at all. I do not regret it. I suppose some will judge me now. Some will consider me guilty, mad, crazy or maybe too big a fan of Slasher movies. This does look like something out of a Wes Craven movie. I feel kind of proud. Such butchery to one who deserves it, I feel like I avenged every single one of the horrified unpunished acts in the world. I haven’t, but it feels like that. Wonder how long this feeling will last?

Three days earlier

-You are nothing but a lazy good for nothing. Why should I let you pass this exam?

The teacher in front of me treats me with disgust. I am young and I don’t study and he feels he should fail me as to somehow teach me a lesson. If he only knew my train of thought, I suppose it would scare him half to death. The other half I’d kill out of mercy. Why am I thinking this? I have plans. This does not even concern me. It’s a social practice that I must endure while I finish what I have to finish.

-How much time have you given to your studies?

-Not that much. Other subjects have gotten more. It’s no excuse, but the exam period is a hectic one.

-You should study more. You’re a bright kid and if you actually applied yourself… Ah. I’m going to pass you. BARELY. If this happens again, I will not give you the same leniency.

-No sir. I guarantee you this will never happen again.

Look at me smiling as to somehow please him. It’s pathetic that I have to pretend like this. I’m not lying, this won’t happen again, but not for the reasons he thinks. Soon either I’ll be arrested or disappeared.

-So what did you do?

Ah my colleagues, always the social two faced parasites. Will bash you behind your back and then pretend that they actually give a flying fuck.

-Not so good, but good enough considering how much I studied.

Am I better than them for pretending like this? Sure, I suppose I do it being very aware of it, but is that an excuse? They don’t have one. They’re assholes to promote their self interest and they do so out of instinct. My instinct has always proven to be the wrong one. Actually caring about some of these cretins? However after the last fiasco, actually not giving a crap and doing what’s expected of me out of pure choice of decision... makes me feel a little mechanic. We are Borg. You will be assimilated. Heh.

-So you’re coming with us to get a drink right?

-Ah sorry, no. I got to get home and finish some stuff up. Rain check guys.

Yea. I need to sharpen my knife. I need to practice lock picking. I need to plan my actions to the letter. This must go perfect. Well… until he’s dead. Then I guess shit can hit the fan, but until then I must be methodical about this.

Present

Come on you piece of shit, cut; should’ve brought an axe. Seriously, cutting him up into pieces with a knife is painstaking and even messier. Why the hell am I even doing this? I said I won’t care after he’s dead. Self preservation I guess. Then why don’t I just get the hell out of dodge? Nobody heard me. The muffle made me the only one to know of his pain. People would just think some random fuck did this. Shut up! You know better. You’d be the first one to be considered. You can either run now and leave your old life behind and consider this a fitting end to it, or stay here and relish in your dead and show the world that sometimes you have to pay for your betrayal.

Two days ago

Up up, feel the bolt roll and… DONE! 30 seconds! Oh yea, personal record. The door will not be an obstacle. And to think that someone spend so much time designing a lock to hold people out. A few days of constant practice and I’m passed it? Is it actually this easy to plan to kill someone? Lots of details sure, but none really that require a bachelor’s degree. Given enough planning, anybody could kill anybody.

-Lunch!

-Coming.

I wonder how my parents will feel about this? I think it’s actually irrelevant. They have no say in the matter whatsoever. Well maybe if they wouldn’t have pushed me to go into THIS university, I wouldn’t have met her and she wouldn’t have met him and… bah I’m thinking about it again. That’s done. Now it’s time for the betrayers to pay the consequences.

-Looks great mom!

Looks like crap mom.

-Glad you like it. It’s something new. I read it on the internet.

Why does she always try these stupid experiments on me? I just wanted a clean omelet. But no! I get Mexican squab with toadstool. Hoorah for me. What if I tell her that soon I’ll have my last meal under her roof? Maybe I’d get something nice, simple and good.

Present

And two bags of crap filled to the break. Nice. I wonder where did my fear go? About an hour ago I was trembling in front of locked door, questioning my planning, my motives everything. Now I feel no regret, I feel free, I feel calm. I even feel a little hungry. The room looks like the inside of piranha’s stomach and I feel hungry… Heh.

Five of hours ago

Everything is packed. Parents are asleep. Half the town is asleep. I’d best prepare to go. What am I talking about? Everything is ready. I am prepared. Then why do I feel like … like there’s a ton of bricks on my head. I suppose it’s the last bit of social indoctrination left within me. Killing is bad, everyone is entitled to their own life. Bullshit. If there’s one important truth that I have ever learned is that in this world we live on the whim of murderers; thank you Alan Moore for that piece of truth. It’s true to every degree. We live on the whim of what others might do for their own need or pleasure. Some … most, will trample you just for kicks. It’s time to trample back.

Present

T R A I T O R! Ah now if that in blood doesn’t look like the mark of some insane maniac I don’t know what does? Maniac. I guess that’s what they’ll call me. Society won’t even give a crap about what he did. I’ll get judged. Oh the lunatic. He couldn’t handle it. He was always a bit strange. If anybody calls me quiet or says “it’s the quiet ones you have to watch” I’m killing them to. Judge me. That’s retarded. What I did was a consequence of what he did. I reacted to someone truly putting their own interests in front of causing me pain. But that’s just how humanity works I guess. “Hundreds laid off due to automation of the construction line”. Society goes “that’s just how it is”, completely ignoring the moral atrocity of leaving someone without a job he’s trained his life for and by god might love to do. People care about themselves. So why judge me? I just did what this dead fuck did. I did something for my own personal pleasure at the expense of his wellbeing. I guess people are bothered when confronted with their own atrocities. Besides… who gives a crap anymore? He’s dead. I feel fantastic.

An hour and a half ago

Stop god damn shaking. If you shake while you do the lock he might wake up. And what if he does? Then you run. A thief in the night, he won’t know it’s you. It will give you a chance to let this horror behind you. You’re going to kill a man. No. I’m going to torture him. Then kill him. Do I want to do this? Yes. Why the fuck am I shacking? Because that’s how I was taught to feel. Oh jumping fucking Jesus do I really need to? Was what he did that horrible? Yes and no. Alone it wasn’t. But it’s not the first time people have acted like this. He’s just the unlucky straw that broke the camel’s back. Now man up and do it. I loved her. And he took her away. No regard for how you felt, just fallowed his erection. I loved her, he didn’t but he still decided to rip that away from you. Sure, she didn’t love you because she went through with it, and she would have left you eventually… but a friend taking her away. You die, you son of a bitch! You die for her and for every single other piece of crap that people have ever did to me. NOW OPEN THE DOOR!

Present

By the time the police come I could be long gone. Should I leave? I still can get away with this. There are no prints, no hair, no one knows I was here. Hell. If I leave now, he’ll only be found on Monday when his parents come back. I can go back to my normal life. They might try to put it on me as she might say I did it. But I can fool them all. I might be suspected but not convicted. I could run. Leave this world, let them know it was me and let the world fear that someone who doesn’t take this kind of crap is out there. I could call the police myself. Confront the world. Say it loud and proud “I tore him to pieces, but I only returned the favor”. What should I do?