Troubador
11-14-2013, 01:48 AM
Part 1
This is what I do, all day every day, twenty-four seven, three sixty-five. Once the tests are graded, everyone will go back to their silly routines of their miserable lives. I sit and wait for the day where everyone realizes, just as I did, that they are being cheated of their happiness and will never attain what they strive for. Everyone believes that they deserve respect and happiness for all the hard work they put into society but in reality they don’t deserve jack ****. I was told once that there are three certainties in life: taxes, death, and change. I have seen the public be taxed into poverty and, by association, seen people die and even kill.
People always ask about the change. They always think that it will get better. That their lives will improve. What they don’t know is that their lives have changed and will continue to change. Their lives will never get better, what they don’t realize is that they have to take the opportunity to change their lives. Once they realize that they have to be the catalyst, everyone will know the wrongs that have been done to them.
Yet, in all their tragedy, they still hope that someone will come rescue them. That’s what I admire most. Hope. In the rough scheme of things, hope won’t get you very far. But if you believe in yourself, hope is just the thing you need to survive and surpass all that you know. So as I said before, I wait. I wait for the day when we have enough sense to govern ourselves and no longer need a central body controlling us. Back when communities helped each other. Back when everyone lived instead of survived.
The only thing keeping me in this ****ed up world is my wife. As much as I’ve explained to her, she doesn’t understand that as long as she stays in the government’s control, she will never be truly happy. She fakes her happiness and tries to get me to believe that she is happy, but I know her well enough to see her sadness. It blankets her in its cold hands and depresses everyone she comes into contact with. She has no feeling in her body. No emotions to share. The one thing keeping her from becoming the lifeless husk of a person that I strongly despise is me. Somehow I have managed to breathe life back into her. If I leave, she will conform to everyone else. If I can just get her to see the Truth, to make her understand, what is happening to her and how it is slowly destroying everything we know.
Everyone thinks I’m crazy. I’ve been called clinically insane. They’ve put me on medication to try and slow my brain functions but I secretly toss in the toilet. Once they control your mind, there’s no coming back. You’ve become too far gone to ever return to normality. I’ve been examined by numerous psychologists and they seem to think I’m schizophrenic. Uncontrollable paranoia mixed with strong hallucinations. The only thing that gives me hallucinations is the medication they give me. It clouds my judgment makes me believe what they want me to believe.
I write this not to incite anarchy but to make others see that they’re being lied to, that they have a right to be happy and in control of their own lives. They have a right to individuality and freedom. I’ve thought about moving countries, even continents but it’s the same everywhere. The only way to escape it is to create a sovereign nation within an already existing one. I have been thinking about that for a long while but even that is absurd, not to mention illegal in the United States. Even talk of secession is treason and can mean life in prison or even death. I decided what I am going to do. I am going to convince my wife that we need a vacation and take her away from all this. Go into a more natural environment and try to make her see how right I was.
I can see people staring at me through the window as I sit in my nondescript room watching them. They think they’re so smart, trying to spy on me as they walk by. They have no idea what I’m planning. They don’t know that I’ll escape from their conformity, from their curfews and diet regimens, from their fancy medication and degrees. From this lonesome bed and the long wait for my beautiful wife to finally return for me. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her. I’ll take her away from this. They’ll see, they’ll be begging me to come back and help them realize the Truth.
The last time I saw my wife, she left crying. At first I thought it was something I had done. I then realized that it was not me, but them. They made her leave me here in this godforsaken building. She didn’t want to but they told her it was over for me. That if she kept coming here it would make her more depressed. Well I’ll show them. I’ll make them see I’m not a homicidal monster. Just because a few people die to make the rest see what’s really happening and everyone becomes erratic and edgy about what to do. A few people die and they brand you a murderer. When I get free, they’ll see who the real murderer is. When I get free, I’ll make them pay…
Part 2
As I read the psychopathic writings on my clipboard, I couldn’t believe that the man sitting before me in the room was the same one that had committed the horrific murders a year before. The decrepit shadow of a man looked up at me and I could see the glimmer of plot in his dark soulless eyes. What was he thinking? Was he planning on killing me? The questions were endless yet somehow I got the feeling that he could be useful to my research. All I had to do was ask him about the Truth and he would tell all he knows like I was a fellow conspirator.
This “Truth” was supposedly the central idea that caused a giant controversy in what to do with this man. There were many ideas being thrown around but eventually they decided to lock him up for medical study. I’ve been told that he is schizophrenic but I’m not so sure. I’ve seen multiple cases of this around the world and there is a similarity to their madness. All of them were being “guided” by a single Truth. If his Truth matches the others’, I’ll know that we’re dealing with something a lot bigger than a few homicidal maniacs.
“Hello Mr. Trapper. My name is Dr. Kingston. I was wondering if I could ask you a question.” Trapper looked up at me and I could see that he was trying to find out what I was doing here.
“Have you come to mock me as the others did,” he said. Quick to respond, I simply restated that I wanted to ask him a question. He looked away again then said, “Sure, but let me ask you one first.” I found it appropriate that he wanted to get to know the stranger in the room so I agreed. He simply asked, “How much do you know?” Taken aback I replied, “I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t. You don’t have the slightest idea of what’s going on, do ya boy.” Trapper started laughing. “You think you know but you can’t make a decision without hard evidence which you expect to get from someone who is branded clinically insane? You’re more of a fool than I made you out to be. I have no desire to continue our conversation and feel no need to answer your question about the Truth.”
He knew what I was going to ask him before I said anything. Either I let on too much what I was interested in or something else is at work here. I looked down at my clipboard and noticed that I had furiously scribbled on my copy of Trapper’s homicidal notes. I looked back up to find him staring at me. Startled, I tried to keep my composure but he noticed what had transpired inside my head and he grinned.
“You want to know about the Truth? I’ll tell you all you need to know.” Trapper looked all around. “Here’s what I know is going to happen. You are going to get up and walk out of this room. After that you will go back to your family in Brooklyn. Yes, I know where you live, even what you had for breakfast this morning. There’s no hiding from me, Kingston. All of you fancy doctors call me Trapper. That was my name once, a long time ago. Now, to my disciples and soon the rest of the known universe, I AM THE ARCHITECT!”
Part 3
I stood there, mouth agape, as The Architect started laughing maniacally. I glanced back at the door and slowly inched my way across the room. When I was close, I decided to make a break for it. I spun around and was standing face to face with The Architect.
“Going somewhere, Kingston?” The Architect glared at me with an insane lust.
“Please don’t hurt me,” I cried out.
“Hurt you?” he exclaimed. “Why would I ever want to hurt you? Don’t you see, Kingston? What could I ever possibly be without you? You complete me. If I killed you, there would be nobody left to play with.” So he thought this was all a game. How disturbing! He reminded me of a horror movie where the villain played “games” with the victims.
I couldn’t take the insanity any longer. I ran out of the room, making my way through the winding corridors as I tried to remember the way out. Every patient, every guard, every soul in this god forsaken place looked like The Architect. I couldn’t escape. I felt trapped, drowning in the dark corridors. As I turned a corner, I saw a light behind a door at the end of the hall. I took a deep breath and started sprinting towards the door. I burst through the door and into the warm sunlight and was blinded momentarily.
When my vision returned, I made it to my car and started the engine. I started towards home and turned onto a bridge, where I slowed for traffic. Suddenly I was flying through the air. Time seemed to slow as I turned to see the truck that had thrown me over the edge. As I fell I heard The Architect’s voice whispering to me, “I am everywhere.” All I saw was darkness as the car hit the water.
This is what I do, all day every day, twenty-four seven, three sixty-five. Once the tests are graded, everyone will go back to their silly routines of their miserable lives. I sit and wait for the day where everyone realizes, just as I did, that they are being cheated of their happiness and will never attain what they strive for. Everyone believes that they deserve respect and happiness for all the hard work they put into society but in reality they don’t deserve jack ****. I was told once that there are three certainties in life: taxes, death, and change. I have seen the public be taxed into poverty and, by association, seen people die and even kill.
People always ask about the change. They always think that it will get better. That their lives will improve. What they don’t know is that their lives have changed and will continue to change. Their lives will never get better, what they don’t realize is that they have to take the opportunity to change their lives. Once they realize that they have to be the catalyst, everyone will know the wrongs that have been done to them.
Yet, in all their tragedy, they still hope that someone will come rescue them. That’s what I admire most. Hope. In the rough scheme of things, hope won’t get you very far. But if you believe in yourself, hope is just the thing you need to survive and surpass all that you know. So as I said before, I wait. I wait for the day when we have enough sense to govern ourselves and no longer need a central body controlling us. Back when communities helped each other. Back when everyone lived instead of survived.
The only thing keeping me in this ****ed up world is my wife. As much as I’ve explained to her, she doesn’t understand that as long as she stays in the government’s control, she will never be truly happy. She fakes her happiness and tries to get me to believe that she is happy, but I know her well enough to see her sadness. It blankets her in its cold hands and depresses everyone she comes into contact with. She has no feeling in her body. No emotions to share. The one thing keeping her from becoming the lifeless husk of a person that I strongly despise is me. Somehow I have managed to breathe life back into her. If I leave, she will conform to everyone else. If I can just get her to see the Truth, to make her understand, what is happening to her and how it is slowly destroying everything we know.
Everyone thinks I’m crazy. I’ve been called clinically insane. They’ve put me on medication to try and slow my brain functions but I secretly toss in the toilet. Once they control your mind, there’s no coming back. You’ve become too far gone to ever return to normality. I’ve been examined by numerous psychologists and they seem to think I’m schizophrenic. Uncontrollable paranoia mixed with strong hallucinations. The only thing that gives me hallucinations is the medication they give me. It clouds my judgment makes me believe what they want me to believe.
I write this not to incite anarchy but to make others see that they’re being lied to, that they have a right to be happy and in control of their own lives. They have a right to individuality and freedom. I’ve thought about moving countries, even continents but it’s the same everywhere. The only way to escape it is to create a sovereign nation within an already existing one. I have been thinking about that for a long while but even that is absurd, not to mention illegal in the United States. Even talk of secession is treason and can mean life in prison or even death. I decided what I am going to do. I am going to convince my wife that we need a vacation and take her away from all this. Go into a more natural environment and try to make her see how right I was.
I can see people staring at me through the window as I sit in my nondescript room watching them. They think they’re so smart, trying to spy on me as they walk by. They have no idea what I’m planning. They don’t know that I’ll escape from their conformity, from their curfews and diet regimens, from their fancy medication and degrees. From this lonesome bed and the long wait for my beautiful wife to finally return for me. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her. I’ll take her away from this. They’ll see, they’ll be begging me to come back and help them realize the Truth.
The last time I saw my wife, she left crying. At first I thought it was something I had done. I then realized that it was not me, but them. They made her leave me here in this godforsaken building. She didn’t want to but they told her it was over for me. That if she kept coming here it would make her more depressed. Well I’ll show them. I’ll make them see I’m not a homicidal monster. Just because a few people die to make the rest see what’s really happening and everyone becomes erratic and edgy about what to do. A few people die and they brand you a murderer. When I get free, they’ll see who the real murderer is. When I get free, I’ll make them pay…
Part 2
As I read the psychopathic writings on my clipboard, I couldn’t believe that the man sitting before me in the room was the same one that had committed the horrific murders a year before. The decrepit shadow of a man looked up at me and I could see the glimmer of plot in his dark soulless eyes. What was he thinking? Was he planning on killing me? The questions were endless yet somehow I got the feeling that he could be useful to my research. All I had to do was ask him about the Truth and he would tell all he knows like I was a fellow conspirator.
This “Truth” was supposedly the central idea that caused a giant controversy in what to do with this man. There were many ideas being thrown around but eventually they decided to lock him up for medical study. I’ve been told that he is schizophrenic but I’m not so sure. I’ve seen multiple cases of this around the world and there is a similarity to their madness. All of them were being “guided” by a single Truth. If his Truth matches the others’, I’ll know that we’re dealing with something a lot bigger than a few homicidal maniacs.
“Hello Mr. Trapper. My name is Dr. Kingston. I was wondering if I could ask you a question.” Trapper looked up at me and I could see that he was trying to find out what I was doing here.
“Have you come to mock me as the others did,” he said. Quick to respond, I simply restated that I wanted to ask him a question. He looked away again then said, “Sure, but let me ask you one first.” I found it appropriate that he wanted to get to know the stranger in the room so I agreed. He simply asked, “How much do you know?” Taken aback I replied, “I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t. You don’t have the slightest idea of what’s going on, do ya boy.” Trapper started laughing. “You think you know but you can’t make a decision without hard evidence which you expect to get from someone who is branded clinically insane? You’re more of a fool than I made you out to be. I have no desire to continue our conversation and feel no need to answer your question about the Truth.”
He knew what I was going to ask him before I said anything. Either I let on too much what I was interested in or something else is at work here. I looked down at my clipboard and noticed that I had furiously scribbled on my copy of Trapper’s homicidal notes. I looked back up to find him staring at me. Startled, I tried to keep my composure but he noticed what had transpired inside my head and he grinned.
“You want to know about the Truth? I’ll tell you all you need to know.” Trapper looked all around. “Here’s what I know is going to happen. You are going to get up and walk out of this room. After that you will go back to your family in Brooklyn. Yes, I know where you live, even what you had for breakfast this morning. There’s no hiding from me, Kingston. All of you fancy doctors call me Trapper. That was my name once, a long time ago. Now, to my disciples and soon the rest of the known universe, I AM THE ARCHITECT!”
Part 3
I stood there, mouth agape, as The Architect started laughing maniacally. I glanced back at the door and slowly inched my way across the room. When I was close, I decided to make a break for it. I spun around and was standing face to face with The Architect.
“Going somewhere, Kingston?” The Architect glared at me with an insane lust.
“Please don’t hurt me,” I cried out.
“Hurt you?” he exclaimed. “Why would I ever want to hurt you? Don’t you see, Kingston? What could I ever possibly be without you? You complete me. If I killed you, there would be nobody left to play with.” So he thought this was all a game. How disturbing! He reminded me of a horror movie where the villain played “games” with the victims.
I couldn’t take the insanity any longer. I ran out of the room, making my way through the winding corridors as I tried to remember the way out. Every patient, every guard, every soul in this god forsaken place looked like The Architect. I couldn’t escape. I felt trapped, drowning in the dark corridors. As I turned a corner, I saw a light behind a door at the end of the hall. I took a deep breath and started sprinting towards the door. I burst through the door and into the warm sunlight and was blinded momentarily.
When my vision returned, I made it to my car and started the engine. I started towards home and turned onto a bridge, where I slowed for traffic. Suddenly I was flying through the air. Time seemed to slow as I turned to see the truck that had thrown me over the edge. As I fell I heard The Architect’s voice whispering to me, “I am everywhere.” All I saw was darkness as the car hit the water.