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Two Sides of the SpectrumThis story may contain adult content. |
| Written by J.J | |
| Tuesday, 15 July 2008 | |
Vernon sat at his old desk, lost in thought. The study room was ornate, and antiquated, a frozen part of the wealthy past. In front of him, encased in a cheap gold-painted picture frame, the face of Enoch Powell gazed intently, as if waiting for Vernon to detail his plans to him. Vernon sighed and leaned back into the ragged leather of the chair: taking another long drag on his cigar as he did. He breathed out slowly through his nose, the smoke furling around his head and drifting skywards, and he felt the sweet tobacco heighten his awareness of the room whilst relaxing and stabilising the thoughts in his mind. He loved cigars, ever since he was a teenager, but he couldn't afford them too often nowadays... Vernon had, in front of him two explosive devices and a detonator. Bombs, that, when activated, would create a pair of expanding spheres of split second fiery death, stretching out for a reasonable radius. He was planning to blow up a building, specifically Westminster Palace, whilst the two Houses of Parliament were in session. The device would erupt, kill him, and also hopefully kill most of the 1391 pathetic, weasel-like indecisive fools that made up this accursed government. The bodies of the Right Honourable and Honourable jokes of men would litter the grounds, many dead and many others soon to join them. With that, the weak-willed liberals and moderates, and, of course (even though Vernon was only thinking this, he snorted out loud here) the conservatives would be swept under the carpet of history, and then real men could take the reins of power and make Britain great again. Oh, yes. Vernon smiled a fanatic's smile, and his eyes gleamed with a strange sort of lust. Imagine it: casting out the sub-humans that were supposed to be foreigners - those accursed animals would be put down for the good of all humanity. Filthy throwbacks, mewling beasts, by God there was so many of them! Shiftless ape-men, greasy Italians, slimy Japanese, and, of course, the Irish...how Vernon longed to spit on those failures when he saw them in the street. But, no. Vernon needed to concentrate. The time was at hand, the time when he would be Fate's messenger, the harbinger of a new dawn. When the true Conservatives had taken the seats of power, he hoped for a monument. Nothing extravagant, perhaps a statue, and maybe a town re-named in his honor. Vernon looked at Enoch again. Powell had been a fool, true, and he was always a little too soft, but he was an inspiration, a giant of a man. Vernon stood up and left his office, stumbling into the cold daylight for what he knew would be his last walk around London town. - Robert lay on the tattered old mattress, staring at the ceiling of his bare flat. A slightly ripped poster of Che Guevara hung from one of the bare whitewashed walls, the fervour in Che's eyes looking past Robert and out of the window. Robert mumbled something and took another hit off his reefer. He felt that sweet chemical mix slide into his bloodstream, held the smoke for as long as he could, then breathed out...oh yeah, weed was the way to go. ******* needs to be legalized, ‘cause although Robert had Danny and the others to supply him, there was plenty of young guys and girls who didn't have any kind of chance to experience real freedom. Robert loving rolling, loved smoking it, even loved going on missions... Fuckin' A, man. Robert had himself a volatile mix of chemicals called a bomb (Two bombs in fact). **** was gonna blow tonight...the left was full of brilliant minds, beautiful people with revolutionary ideas, but they kept hitting this brick wall called the current Government. This wall, of moderates and greedy Conservatives, of money-hungry corporations. How can you communicate with people like that? Bourgeois pigs who would force good men to work to death, then sell his carcass if they could. They hated everything that was different to them, hated love, hated freedom, hated equality...if it got in the way of money-making, they got rid of it. Not for much longer, though. Push a man too often, soon enough he's going to start pushing back...that wall, that wall of greedy pigs, it was going the way of the Berlin Wall. The conservative scum who refused to care would be wiped out, for good.Robert was going to blow a hole in this barricade of hatred and greed, and his fellow intellectuals would pour through, slay any pigs still squealing, and usher in a ******* Utopia. No religions, no people abusing power, no poverty...Robert's only regret was that he wasn't going to see real men make Britain great again. No more animal abuse, no more ethnic discrimination, no more religious hatred, everyone a vegan, everyone getting the same opportunities in life...surely that was worth a thousand or so dead bourgeois? And Robert was going to be loved by thousands. He would be immortalized in words, in films, in song, as the spark that ignited the Revolution with a capital fuckin' R. R for Robert. Robert was going to herald a new dawn. Robert stubbed out the end of the J and looked at Che. Poor doomed Che, you sought to bring down the oppressors in guerilla war; but it took the ultimate sacrifice before one man could make a difference.The great man looked at him as if to say: Go do what I could not. I was weak, you are strength embodied. Robert left his flat, and breathed in the fresh air, for this would be the last time he would enjoy his London, ever. - Vernon walked quickly through streets, not looking at anyone, hurrying towards his glory, his moment in history. He saw a group of schoolchildren, blacks and whites alike laughing and joking with each other. Soon the children of Britannia would no longer have to lower themselves to keeping such filthy company, and would stand tall, away from the riff-raff. Vernon walked past a corner shop: a brief glance inside showed him a haggard looking Pakistani man behind the counter. Vernon considered spitting on the premises, but decided against it: soon enough that creature inside would be blackened and burnt, swinging gently in the breeze, his shop looted and burned to the ground...Vernon could already smell the burnt flesh...enough! Keep to the mission at hand, just focus, Vernon, focus. Vernon soon reached the Thames and could see the Palace in the distance. It was a fine old building, a national symbol of pride for Britain, and, as he walked down Westminster Bridge, he wished there was some other way. As he entered the grounds, he could feel the adrenaline coming; but years of attacks on ethnic families and firebombing paddy scum like the IRA allowed him to keep his composure with ease. He'd gotten a security job here, six months ago, and the rest of the staff were never suspicious of the well-dressed man who rarely smiled. He was a little strange, but there was nothing wrong with him, nothing really. He walked in, said hello to one of the officers on duty, and started walking through the miles of corridor, past the innumerable offices and courts, nodding at the occasional person he passed. The State Opening of Parliament had happen the week before, and Vernon had participated in that sham: it was the traditional time when he and his fellow staff members searched the cellars of Parliament for explosives, to prevent a modern day Guy Fawkes from doing England a great favour. Of course Vernon wasn't stupid enough to try anything on the 5th of November, he'd wait till later. Slipping into the first cellar, he slotted the first device into the position he'd chosen months ago. He walked out of the cellar, and began the trek to the cellar underneath the House of Commons...but, no rush. He decided to get something to drink in one of the cafés. An alcoholic drink, after all, he had certainly earned it. - Robert walked quickly through the streets, knowing that, although there wasn't any real hurry, if he waited any longer he'd lose his high and maybe his resolve. School children flocked around him, and it saddened him to see promising minds being saturated and ruined with propaganda and social conditioning, their self-expression denied and repressed by the controllers, the men who were waiting for the opportunity to work them to death. Robert shuddered internally and walked on. All around him were capitalists, good people forced to evil ways by the government, the oppressive powers that be. Men and women forced to cheat and lie to each other to earn money, the money they were taught to lust after...capitalism had so much blood on its hands. The factory owners were still betraying their workers, maybe in more subtle ways, but the end result was still the same: denial of humanity. Fuckers, he wished he could be there to watch the slaughter of the bourgeois that was to come, but he was needed to start it, that was his duty. Robert continued to walk up Victoria Street, past Parliament Square and then into the grounds. He looked up at the damned building: He would be glad to be the one to tear down this repressive hellhole, mocking the working class with its opulence. Not anymore. He'd gotten a job at one of the restaurants, and although he was ostensibly here to work overtime, he wasn't even going to go near the damn kitchens. He nodded to the security guards and was let in. Walking quickly, he soon reached the cellars beneath the House of Lords, and placed his explosive, into an old nook he'd discovered when poking around a while ago. He made sure it was set up properly, then left, and began heading towards the cellars under the Commons. After a few minutes, he reached the appropriate doorway, and slipped in. He reached the place he'd found, and began setting up the second bomb and the detonator. - Vernon finished his brandy, and shuffled off to finish the deed. His explosive was a professionally made device: press the button on the detonator, and both bombs would explode. He opened the door and stepped inside, not expecting there to be anyone already there. - Robert heard someone coming - it was okay, the bomb was set, all he had to do was pull the switch. He was about to do so, then hesitated. It would be better if he confronted the pig, and blew up his dreams and society right in front of him! Yes, that was brilliant. Robert stepped out of the corner, looking for the intruder. - Vernon heard someone moving: there was a guard! A filthy leftwinger no doubt - why, the fool would see Vernon's dreams come to fruition in front of his own eyes! Hah, that would be a final moment to take pride in. Vernon stepped into the cellars, looking for the intruder. - The lighting wasn't too good in the cellars, and both men were expecting that the other would be unaware of their presence and certainly not sneaking about in the shadows. They both saw the same side door that connected the two adjacent rooms and they both headed towards it. Vernon grabbed the handle, and started to open it, slowly, to savour the moment. Robert stood there, waiting for the surprised and terrified look when the detonator was seen by this person; Vernon was thinking exactly the same thought. They both pushed down on their buttons as the door swung open: so their simultaneous surprise and amazement lasted only a split second. It wasn't that they were both holding detonators that was so unexpected, though: it was that each man, each political extremist, looked for the first time at his opponent's face, and saw his exact doppelganger staring back at him in absolute shock. Copyright 2008 J.J |
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| Last Updated ( Wednesday, 16 July 2008 ) |
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