HOME | DD

Description
Do I realize the bar is closing? Why yes I do, the chairs are already stacked up on the round tables, the drunkards have already been thrown onto the streets to die carelessly where their own kind lets them rot, and the sign on the door is turned as if its significance is more than just a sheet of paper. A sheet of paper holds no power over me, good sir. It's due to your own neglect to lock the door that I'll be staying here for a while. If you want to keep people out, you should do it properly, and you know how to do it properly, I know for a fact. Yet you've left the door open as if it was an invitation. I suppose you were expecting me to come. Just for you.
I've journeyed here for a purpose, so I can't leave until it's completed, especially now that I've started opening the lid of the box. You see, I'm worried about you, good sir. I have seen what you've been doing lately and I can't rightly say I'm proud to know you.

Why would you be afraid that you don't know me? Why fear? Why not intrigue or interest? There's nothing to fear, right? Can't you trust in humanity to keep you safe? Can't you believe that anyone in your same species is a potential comrade? Your fellow creatures wouldn't turn against you, would they? Their cordial smiles and warm skin are bewitching for a reason, correct? If that all stands, then there's nothing to fear but the dangers of the world around us: careless speeding cars that knock the life right out of us, malicious machinery that empty our vessels and spill us in roads, fires that diffuse skin from our shapes, viruses that devour us inside then out , vicious animals that make a snack of us. But I'll tell you a secret: I'd rather deal with all of those things combined than just one human being. Sadly I haven't been given that choice.

My name? I'm afraid I can't give that to you, good sir. I fear I don't have one. Names are a silly tradition, anyways. What good does it do to know a fellows name? I'd rather you remember by my presence here tonight, my voice, my words. Names only remind me sadly of the superficiality of our existence. If they were some part of our being rather than just a title, I might give them a chance, but alas a title is all they are. Having the name 'Grace' will not make me anymore fluid if I've lost a limb. And what an irony I'd be living with. Being stuck with the name of 'Jerold' as opposed to 'Leonard' will not make me a different person if I was born in the same fashion. Names, yes, they are completely useless. It's what's attached to images, thoughts that matter.
For example, you'd remember my face better if I killed a man in your restaurant tonight, would you not? The image of the life fleeing from the eyes of a costumer, red silk making a silver blade slick, and the emotionless smirk I'd present as I looked upon my defenseless prey would be a fairly dominate picture. My name wouldn't change how you feel about me after I spilled the blood of a potential innocent. But rest assured, I don't care for killing as most people do. Too time consuming.

But you, good sir, have seemed to take quiet an interest in murdering. Tell me, what do you believe is murder? Is it a flock of crows? Or is it something more well known?

So yes. Simply, it's killing something remorselessly. So a murderer would be one that kills something without remorse.
If you went outside tonight, right now, and killed a man in cold blood, it would be considered murder. Tempting as it is, I don't think you're that lost yet, good sir. But that bug you killed today would qualify you as a murderer, would it not? You killed it without remorse, didn't you? I know you didn't shed a tear when you brought your hand flying down upon this wood right here with that angry, over-killing smack.
And what about that man you let leave your bar tonight with the gun at his side and suicidal thoughts? You can't say you didn't see his hand shaking as he cradled his sweating brandy as if it was his last… and that look in his down turned eyes… so dull, so empty and lost… You knew, did you not? It was practically the same image you peer at in the mirror before going to bed… yet you let him go when you could sympathize to a fine point with his thoughts. It's rightful to say letting one kill themselves and not doing a thing to prevent it is just like being a murderer yourself. Without remorse you let his life slip away, not even a second thought. Are you so callused to the world now that you don't even spare a small piece of your mind for him tonight? Is it really all about yourself, good sir?
I suppose you would like the focus back on you. Then think about that part of yourself that you have blocked away for so many years that it has just withered away. That undesirable part, you know: the corpse still remains. Now it just hangs from your being like an arm that's lost a function. Yes, you killed it, didn't you? All life is gone in that part of your being. You didn't like it's imperfection so you squashed it like an insect, remorselessly and in cold blood. You're a murdered, are you not? You can't deny that.

Silly accusations? Oh really? What makes them silly? The truth is no laughing matter, good sir. No one laughs at the sun because it shines or the rain because it falls. They simply are what they are and exist as they're commanded to. So are truths. Truths do not create themselves, humans do.

Mad man? Do I seem angry, good sir? I'm not yelling or throwing a fit. I'm simply smiling in light of things. Optimism some like to call it. But what would you know of that? Negativity is a what you treasure. You're just like a greedy little goblin clinging to its single piece of gold. Does it fill that void inside of you, the one that aches each night while you cry for sleep to find you? Negativity, yes. It has a tendency to do that, take up places I mean. Once its' planted in your soul it can only grow like a vine hell-bent on squeezing every last ounce of joy from everyday actions. The pure song from a blue jay will become an annoyance, refreshing spring showers will be depressing, and what's more is people will become nothing to you anymore. Nothing. No more than that insect's crushed form that you've wiped into the garbage now.

Again you ask why I'm here? Haven't I made my purpose clear, good sir? I suppose if you don't know it by now you never will. Not until the end, at least. Well I will have given you something in the end, though regret will leave a bitter taste in your dying mouth.
I'm afraid I can't spoon feed you anymore. I know for your kind knowledge must be condensed and handed to you little by little, but I don't have the time for that. Yes, it's already two o'clock. It's unsafe for a creature like me to be alone on the streets you see. If I'm caught bringing this message to you, well… I don't think they'd be happy.
I can only hope you'll have a safe journey, my friend. I've lead you to the stream, so please drink from it, I know you're parched. We all are nowadays.