Paths never to be walked again, roads i wont find interests looking down in the future… Visions vanishing, echoes fafing away… Names, memories, smells and taste… Old wounds, valuable teachings… Parts of the story torn apart from the book, rejected and thrown away. Lingering nostalgia right beneath the surface pulsating
Piece after piece I gave it away
When I didn’t know I was
When I did it willingly
When I was driven by it
When I felt I hadn’t much left
When it felt it was forever
When I feared it was just a moment
Against my better judgment
Against common sense
Against all odds
Through pain
Through storms, fogs and from miles and miles away
Now I can tell I don’t have any left in me
There are nights, nights that feel empty… Just memories, like vultures reluctant to leave a cadaver. This feeling crawling up the spine of my soul, every now and then, digging itself out of that hole, the hole where I buried it. The pain surfaces once again, you are someone else, what have u become? U had to be cold to do it all… And now I’m numb to the bone. The music is not playing anymore, I don’t recognize these sounds… I dig deep down to try and feel, try and find that beast you unleashed on me and slay it, leave it dead like you left me bleeding on love’s pavement. I need to feel alive again, I need to feel again. I ll never be the same, Sundays neither. On the inside, I feel like I’m losing my grip. No one knows what I feel, no one has the words to help out. When does it go away? When am I going to feel peace inside? I wish u could see what u made me today, I’d like to know if ur wildest dreams are worth the pain I live with today. And even then, would u tell me honestly? I was sacrificed, what was the price?
I can’t explain
Every sound and word is a reminder
Every smell and sight is a kitchen knife
Protect my soul, don’t let it go sour
I ve been stabbed, deprived of life
Never felt like I had so much to say
Never knew words wouldn’t find their way
Lost all sense of direction
No logic in my actions
I couldn’t find my reason to save my soul
I’m empty. My words don’t resonate at all
And with them drawing my fall
I’m left with nothing to hold
The emptiness is to be accepted, I’m told
trapped in this moment against my will
As if I could flip a switch on how I feel
Let go of everything I feel is real
What’s the point of driving my mind ill
This came as a sentence with no appeal
These thoughts, my dear, they kill
I was robbed of everything
I’m tired, I’m on my knees, bleeding
Every wound of my being screaming
A world of pain or a bottle in the sea
At some point u ll have to acknowledge me
no different than I was that winter night
When you had no desire to put up a fight
Now it’s long gone and I ll never feel right
Deep in my heart, ur only out of my sight
There is no Magic
Teams were created for sports
Trust was never part of the politics that moved the world
Twins might be born the same day, same hour or even the same minute but they come out one after the other…
Understand that, you will understand the world… and eventually accept it
I am no longer under the illusion
1 is the most important number
1 is the one that matters
see things for exactly what they are:
Nothing more, Nothing less…
My lids have fallen down… its black…
In a last effort I try to gain clarity, see the big picture… its dark
I mean… its nothing
But far, there is something…
Something I can’t see, something I can’t quite hear…
But, there is something
It seems far, I feel its presence inside
It won’t give me peace
Like a stone between my heel and my shoe
I just took the road to happiness and my skin is slowly getting worn off
But… wait
It’s like a sound… a drop in a body of water
There’s been a few otherwise it wouldn’t be a body right?
So where is the proof?
All I can distinguish are repetitions, the noise of it, over and over
No
It’s the echo, amplified… where am I?
I can’t sense the north, nor the west, south or east
Like a broken compass
Maybe let the inside lead
What else do I have to guide me?
What if it’s like in one of those movies, Liam Neeson walking to the heart of the wolf territory?
Rationality, with no invitation stirs the pot
Mixed signals, find out, stay put, think, run for it, stay stealth… what the hell?
I’m stuck in the moment, between two drops
What do I trust, my instinct or my head?
Pandora’s Box for now, jack in the box soon enough
I’m blind, provide me a window
I want to shed some light, see the way through
The phoenix was reborn from his ashes but never anyone provided the gas
The fire is within, for the rebirth or to burn it dead
Everything stands still
Until the next drop
Everything stands still
Until the next noise
Everything stands still
Until I shock’ em with the one two
Everything stands still
Until I believe the drops are true
It’s easy for the bone to shatter. The thing is, it’s not probable. The bone can take a beating, get bruised, or present scratches on the surface. So what defines the bone shattering blow? What elects the latest shock as the winner?
It’s like words in fact.
Some words can be thrown over and over into someone’s face. How long does it take before the snap? Before it all turns sour?
What prevents the snap for so long but yet when comes that very moment appears to be weak enough to let it happen?
Timing was perfectly set, the daily codes were about to change. The operation was generated on the main computer and was a task that was solely handled by him. All he had to do would be to send the first set of codes generated to the council room before generating a second set without them noticing it. That was the easy part of the plan. The problem was to create a reason or a security breach threatening enough to make the members lock themselves up in the room.
He definitely would need some help for that part.
Forget that, gun in the palm, sweat dripping down the neck, one jump to set his person in combat. May the Lord have him; this was survival, a new beginning, perfect ending. When a man can’t take it no more, rage exploding, ears whistling, heart pumping, he hadn’t touched this drug in a while. Targets at the door jumping back, TUF TUF, bullets out the silencer, he ducks them, lets the .38 roar, sparks all over the room. Spin move, slow mo’, PAUSE: corner of his left eye, the bastard survived, draws out a 9… BOOM BOOM, shot gun blast from the second gorilla, right through Mark’s still flying jacket, close, retaliation shots, head and neck, Chopin will be playing for him RIP…
His mind quickly came back to reality, would be an heroic moment but even if took the guards down and made it to the room he had slim chances, and it would probably wouldn’t end it all.
Hollywood ending, mediocre results.
He needed something big. And it came to him, like the providential rain 3 weeks into a harsh summer.
Nothing would have to actually happen. No lives besides the ones of his targets would have to be in danger.
For a decade now the Council had started a stealth disarmament campaign. Replace chemical and atomic components from nuclear weapons belonging to a few countries that were judged instable because of the soon to be volatile world political situation.
He looked through the list of official spies alive on the planet, no matter where laid their loyalty. He was looking for the most reliable element.
He soon found the tools he needed. Truth Jeagal was the most decorated North Korea intelligence officer still on the field. She was totally devoted to her government. Miguel Baron was an ex drug lord reconverted in the sale of various information to the best buyer. He too was known to always be dead on and therefore his business was booming.
As fast and calmly as he was able to, Mark compiled the last 20 years of the Council’s manipulation and the exact co-ordinates of the very building he was in into an electronic file before sending it to Miss Jeagal and Mister Baron. No ip address, no name, no demands. Just a signature: F.H, K.R & I.K
He figured Truth would forward the file to her government. Once they would discover who is running the world it wouldn’t take long until they blamed all their problems on his employers. Their wrath would most surely encourage the use of the red button, in that sense the Council was right, there were few out of control rulers throughout the world. That would be his advantage.
Miguel on his side would study the file and select the biggest scandals to narrow the most interested buyers. The more they were cheated by the Council the more the rulers involved would pay.
Soon enough Cuba, Iran, Afghanistan, Iraq to only name those few, would turn against their puppeteers.
Once they would open fire and target the Council location with what they believe are atomic bombs, the alerts from intelligence would come first and only through Marks computer. All he had to do would be to alter the names of the country causing the threats. The U.S, France and England had real and efficient weapons. Those names would strike enough fear in the Council to put the building on lockdown.
That would give him few minutes to forward to them an info, intelligence discovery of the message sent, signed by the infamous initials.
A malicious grin was working his tense face when the first alert came through. North Korea was following the plan as expected. “Or France must I say”.
He felt good, light hearted, he was Moses and John McClain put together, leader and savior.
The first siren ripped through the hallways. The protocol was in the book, and still panic took over the entire organization. The “oldies” themselves couldn’t believe it. What was happening and why?
The head of security was quick to stick to the book and launch the security protocol. Each Council’s members was taken to the safe room, the doors locked behind them before few layers of walls made of different materials started surrounding the room.
He noticed something wrong. The council was “safe” in its room but the rest of the organization workers were locked inside the building. There was no escape. That must have been a little twist from the “direction”. It was expected, they were in all situations protecting themselves, their secrets.
It hit him hard. His mission was kamikaze. This was it. He would have to die to save the world and his loved ones.
No turning back, it had to be done. It was right in his reach, dying a hero was a satisfying idea, Pride and Unconditional Love for his peers and the human race took over.
By the time Iraq had launched its missile the organization’s intelligence sent its first report and attached was the file he had gladly sent earlier.
He picked up his phone for the security debrief. The voices inside the bunker were tense and confused. What could have gone wrong?
Mark felt his moment rising.
“Sir we have received a report that doesn’t provide the source of the situation but the instigating element was recovered. I am transferring the files to your tablets.”
Once the sent button was clicked, he poured himself some coffee and went back to listening to the council. He would distinctively hear Forry Himla, Kim Ruth & Ingar Kjaaergard protest and swear with anger… three of your very own Council members. A rumble and horrified screams soon occurred followed by gun pops and deflagration.
It was still very much a gunfight in there when an insane blast rocked the building. Mark saw a flank of the wall being propelled towards him, he waited for the impact for what seems to be ages but soon the warm wave hit him…
ARRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH He felt like he was jumping out of his body. His head was pounding as if hell had relocated in his cranium. His neck felt stiff and his arms and legs non responsive.
“Laur… Save… I love you…”
“Mark stay with me please”
She seemed so real but everything was fire around him.
“Sir you have done well, keep on hanging on. You will soon be taken care of. You are on a helicopter to Nairobi’s American Hospital. They will for sure know what the matter is. I will to try to keep u stable during the transfer.”
“Nairobi?”
The flames faded to black, the bips from the machines became continue, Laur vanished… Life vanished…
Mark Walters passed away from what was thought to be an extremely aggressive form of meningitis he contracted while on a safari in Kenya, diagnosis made mostly due to the hallucinations he was experiencing during the last hours of his life. It was unclear how he contracted it although he had been vaccinated. Sources were unclear on the subject of those hallucinations; Mrs. Walters was forced to remain silent on her husband’s “gibberish” by the insurance company that paid her Mark’s life insurance. Some 15 years down the line the world would learn he was the notorious virus “Beliator” first ever victim, a virus that decimated earth population, mostly the poor.
He didn’t live on to see Zoe’s wedding and was six feet under when Harold and his wife had their first child. He never saw his family grow richer than they already were, he was spared the great riots and the New World Order…
“We are told our imagination product is abstract but since based on real elements is it farfetched to somehow believe our imagination could draw scenes very much closer to our immediate future than we are allowed to believe?”
Reflection Eternal
He had to think fast. Come up with the right plan to put a halt to this and get rid of the council members once for all. He would have to kill them…
This was, of course, easier said than done. He couldn’t just walk in the conference room and shoot his way through. Security was heavy and heavily armed, composed by the finest sharp shooters from around the world.
He had to use his brain on this one. He wished he didn’t have to carry this action out alone. This was a huge handicap for the task at hand.
Pushing his chair backwards he reached down for the bottom drawer. He wanted to study the very structure they were in to find a weak security spot, a secondary entrance to the conference room, an emergency exit, anything…
He went over each and every detail for what seems hours to him. Every time his phone rang he would jump and freeze as if he was caught doing something illegal and each time he answered he calmly handled the situation that was presented to him. He was aware that his voice tone and stress levels were analyzed by the listening office, standard procedure of course. As soon as he was “alone” Mark did his best to dissect the building blueprints, making very detailed notes.
Unfortunately he couldn’t see another way to get in besides the front door. These old men seemed paranoid to the point that they had thought of every single security details and were at ALL TIMES safer than a baby in his mother’s womb.
They had covered every possible scenario.
Mark was boiling from the inside. For the first time ever in his life experience every aspect of the problem was clear. He had fully understood what was at risk. He knew who was behind it and since he was the only one to know he felt he was the one that had to act. He evaluated what the possible outcomes could be and the risks that came with it. This right here was his window. The time window, in which his decision making and courage would be bigger than himself, bigger than any event men, had ever known.
This moment of clarity provided enough perspective for him to get a helicopter view of the situation. Soon a daring feeling of satisfaction and motivation took over him. He had to think outside the box, literally…
If it was almost impossible for him to get inside, he had to find a way to trap them inside and hopefully contain and destroy them from the inside.
Mark grabbed the security procedure book, decided to find the best way to achieve his goal.
He soon came through the procedure concerning bacterial, chemical and atomic weapons attack.
In case such events were to threaten the safety of the council members, they would be moved by security two floors below ground and protected in the main bunker. Like the conference room there was one way in to this bunker. Once inside the door could only be opened on two instances:
1- If 3 of the council members were to enter the security codes to that effect
2- If the “file handler”, as the men that preceded Mark and himself were called, deactivated the lockdown via the secondary base in Ecuador. That course of actions had to be requested by at least 3 members.
http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/07/08/weekly-writing-challenge-humor/
If he was to take action, it had to be stealth and fast. It was clear that a man alone wouldn’t find any success in this campaign.
An obvious issue was at the center of the problem. Who could he trust? Who in their right mind would want to go against the World’s owners? Life was the price no matter the outcome. That was a lot to ask from a man.
“Someone has to act!”
It was unconceivable as a human being not to naturally go against this machination but in today’s world, fear was way more common than courage and most souls would rather live a miserable life than die…
It didn’t matter anyway he was sure that from his hiring the Council had secured his connections, if they hadn’t why would they fear anything? No one would ever believe the whole thing in the first place let alone act and put their lives on the line.
He took once more the file in his hands and went through it. He was amazed by the simplicity of the plan. Specific but simple.
For years now the Council had financed researches to come up with a very lethal virus, impossible to identify or trace. Many unsuccessful tries marred the Last decades. Those failures are known as Ebola, H1N1 and such.
Once the virus would be ready, the next step would be to introduce it to the general public through a very precise list of manufactured medications for common diseases. Those tempered pills would be sent throughout the world to the poorest cities and neighborhoods of the planet. This was in fact the last step of the actual Council plan. The rest would unfold before their eyes. Facing this new virus, pharmaceutical companies would keep on coming short to finding a cure. The infected, their families and their communities would soon feel left aside since they would be the only ones infected. Soon protests would rise and riots would take place and eventually civil wars all over the world. A few media outlets would soon blame the “rich” for not assisting the dying “poor”. With the already boiling atmosphere that’s all it would take to create a planet ruled by mayhem and brutality. This combined with the victims of the virus would drastically decrease the world’s population, mostly the “poor class”. The world would start over new, one class left with all the space they never had and new opportunities.
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