Counter-Currents
887 words
She was eleven. He pushed his hand into her face and removed the blade, twisting it, and let her drop. It was nothing. Soon enough he was arrested, but in reality he felt he was still in the room.
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3 comments
Hanging is too quick and painless for this character; I would opt for flaying and flensing! What does Hwanan eart þū mean?
It seems to be Old English and probably means “where are you from?”
We don’t even have the balls to hang criminals anymore. As he said “they would do nothing to him”, and he’s right. He’ll get put in a cozy cell, with careful attention to respecting his human rights and dignity…
The invisible man who called himself No One sat with his cold coffee watching the scuttling drones beneath his hoodie this particularly chill October morning. Not quite a Paleface at first glance, he was an entity from the south of Europe. He’d heard what happened an hour earlier to the poor child. Before him, the swarms moved like tidal waves. These things had long ruined his childhood home and the cancer never ceasing following. Perhaps, because he knew too well, the twisted mysteries of fate decreed that such misfortune follow him everywhere without a single moment’s peace. Knowing had cost him the one forgettable survival job he ever had. And family. Not that either was worth remembering but people he admired had cherished the latter and he trusted them extolling the family as sacred, as a social cell of prime importance. A loud clamor from down the street and around the corner marched a group with intifada signs accompanied by squawks and squeals and a faintly unpleasant odor. The invisible man noticed most were indisputably palefaced and sworn enemies of everything he knew to be true. Soon enough, the other ones and that repulsive star would clash with the counter-protest. Police sirens blared in the distance. He’d been here before when rabble rousers and the most repulsive skins of divergent and pathetic causes except the Only One That Mattered assaulted the petulant throng. The invisible man mouthed a silent prayer of the darkest maledictions upon them all. He ignored the coalblack with the shopping cart who approached him for money. That poor child. He could sense the stirrings of a ferocious storm of violence as he gazed upon these creatures whose conditioned obliviousness to completion was why it stayed the way it was. Why millions like that White child never had a chance. Further ruminations on the matter risked awakening his condition he successfully hid from the world. Frank Lyons? A new addition always pleased him. Pleased him that it was growing and would soon take the world. Wait…Is that that rabbi over there…? That Schmuelly something? Doesn’t it and its daughter sell…? The invisible man spat into the suddenly foul-tasting coffee, left it on the ledge, and walked away into the fog.
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