The Lining Is Silver
002: .38 Special
There’s a bone-weary tiredness that spreads through me. It comes with the life I’ve lived, the things I’ve experienced, the things I’ve done. I tap my fingers against my chin, pondering which album I want to listen to tonight, which crackle and pop I want to distract me from the thoughts that constantly torment my very soul. Ah, there it is, Daddy dearest’s favourite band—Blue Oyster Cult. I select the Tyranny and Mutation album and place it on the record player and let it begin its course.
It’s always the same when I hear any of their albums; the feelings invoked within me—the intense hatred towards the man who sired my being—the man who attempted to take my life when I was only a defenseless child. If one wanted to get all religious and spout those rules of not going against ones parents, well, have you ever had to fight for your life? Have you ever had to question whether or not it was okay to love and hate your father at the same time? That ingrained obligation to love the person who brought you into this world, who provided you with a roof over your head, food on the table for you to eat, clothes on your back—on the rare occasions would have you lifted in the air with a smile on your face, mirroring the one on his own, not in a drunken stupor.
I slide down the wall at my back and let my thoughts drift to his last moments—yes he’s dead. He can no longer hurt me, I told him so when I heard him gurgle out his last breath and that light dimmed from his wide, frightened eyes as they stared up at me. Television and film dramatize—as it’s their duty to do so—the acts of murder, the insight to the minds of those willing and able to take the life of another human being. I’m not a sociopath, nor am I a psychopath; I am very much able to feel and am very in tune with my emotions. Depression might be my only mental instability, but I’ve had plenty of environmental factors that pushed me to the limit of snapping.
Are you aware of what you’re capable of doing in moments of sheer adrenaline? Of sheer determination? Of sheer will? Of nothing but pure, unadulterated rage? Those claims of inhuman strength are true. There’s a sense of doing no wrong too. Not even a sense of justice or peace at getting revenge, there’s a calm like an eye of the storm that settles within your mind despite the actions your body’s making. A sense of completion to that ever ponderous question of life—and no, the answer is definitely not forty-two.
There’s a deep sense of relief that settles within the very deepest pits of yourself when you realize you control the life of the mere mortal in front of you. You get to play god for a moment, an hour, days, weeks, months even—it really is all up to you. If you let yourself—I was twelve when I first did.
It’s always the same when I hear any of their albums; the feelings invoked within me—the intense hatred towards the man who sired my being—the man who attempted to take my life when I was only a defenseless child. If one wanted to get all religious and spout those rules of not going against ones parents, well, have you ever had to fight for your life? Have you ever had to question whether or not it was okay to love and hate your father at the same time? That ingrained obligation to love the person who brought you into this world, who provided you with a roof over your head, food on the table for you to eat, clothes on your back—on the rare occasions would have you lifted in the air with a smile on your face, mirroring the one on his own, not in a drunken stupor.
I slide down the wall at my back and let my thoughts drift to his last moments—yes he’s dead. He can no longer hurt me, I told him so when I heard him gurgle out his last breath and that light dimmed from his wide, frightened eyes as they stared up at me. Television and film dramatize—as it’s their duty to do so—the acts of murder, the insight to the minds of those willing and able to take the life of another human being. I’m not a sociopath, nor am I a psychopath; I am very much able to feel and am very in tune with my emotions. Depression might be my only mental instability, but I’ve had plenty of environmental factors that pushed me to the limit of snapping.
Are you aware of what you’re capable of doing in moments of sheer adrenaline? Of sheer determination? Of sheer will? Of nothing but pure, unadulterated rage? Those claims of inhuman strength are true. There’s a sense of doing no wrong too. Not even a sense of justice or peace at getting revenge, there’s a calm like an eye of the storm that settles within your mind despite the actions your body’s making. A sense of completion to that ever ponderous question of life—and no, the answer is definitely not forty-two.
There’s a deep sense of relief that settles within the very deepest pits of yourself when you realize you control the life of the mere mortal in front of you. You get to play god for a moment, an hour, days, weeks, months even—it really is all up to you. If you let yourself—I was twelve when I first did.