|Tea lights danced playfully in each of the alcoves making the stark office vibrant and foreboding. A young man lay supine upon a bone white leather couch staring blankly at the two tone ceiling tiles. A voice, its progenitor an old man and the boys only company, wizened and solemn, spoke clearly to the youngster these words:
Old Man: I am.
Youngster: Life is like reading someone elses poetry.
Old Man: How do you mean?
Youngster: I dont know if I can quite explain, but it has to do with interest and zeal. Poetry is something that doesnt carry well to the literary medium. It lives in your heart and when you try to share it, something happens and it shrivels in the elements.
Old Man: I thought we were talking about your mother
Youngster: Lets move on. I was saying what is the difference between the joyful composition that passes from my mind to my pen and the message that reaches your heart?
Old Man: Perception. Experience.
Youngster: Yes, I believe that each man has a destiny and some are bred for poetry and some are born for slavery.
Old Man: Thats madness. The Nazis had such a belief system.
Youngster: No, I dont mean racial boundaries. I mean the difference between cattle and men. The difference between working your job so you can buy shit so you can repeat the process tomorrow and the other path.
Old Man: I understand this concept of capitalism you kids find so appalling, but what of this other path you mentioned.
Youngster: It just this, I go through most of my normal day without experiencing any conversation of note. Does this have anything to do with the life I lead or simply the quality of humans around me.
Old Man: Go on.
Youngster: People talk to me and it seems like they are speaking an alien language. I hate the average human and I fear for the future of the world.
Old Man: These are some of the issues we need to be talking about. You can be completely assured that anything you tell me will be kept strictly confidential.
Youngster: Well,.. Its just that I want to say I want to kill the president.
Old Man: Do you often think of killing?
Youngster: No, I dont want to kill anyone. I just want to be able to say I want to without the fucking goon squad breaking down the door and roughing my corpse up.
Old Man: The police are your friends. The president is a very important man and any threat to his life must be taken seriously. The civil authorities are not stepping beyond their boundaries to investigate possible assassination attempts.
Youngster: Not just that, I want to give Hawaii back to the Polynesian people and I want to give Texas back to Mexico.
Old Man: Thats not reasonable.
Youngster: Why not? Couldnt we come together as a country and say. Sorry we killed all of the native dwellers of this place and then spread out to the surrounding lands.
Old Man: People have been warring since the dawn of time. Besides, what would you do with the current residents?
Youngster: I would kill them all. I would clear the land of every human; man, woman, and child. I would stop the terminal cancer that is our skyrocketing population. I would save the ecosystem and prevent further atrocities. Never has the world been so polluted by an afflicted generation. Will they go on consuming? Will there ever be an end to the carnage and rape of ones fellow tribe? Do they see what they are doing?
Old Man: Calm down. You are using a lot of vague generalities and I think youve lost your intended point. This rage you feel is unhealthy. You should never act on it in the form of violence. I am going to prescribe you some psychotropic drugs and I want to see you in a week.
Youngster: Am I out of time?
Old Man You have a minute.
Youngster: I use the president as an example because he is the most obvious example of abuses of power, but I dont mean to pick on him. Have you read the Patriot Act?
Old Man: Lets stick with relevant topics.
Youngster: O.k. Well, this is my question. If you can answer this question I wont pull this revolver out of my backpack and kill us both.
Old Man. You cant be serious. I am going to call the police if you are serious.
Youngster: If you move toward that intercom I will kill you.
Old Man: Ask your question.
Youngster: Ive been alone so long I dont know how to relate to others. I dont think Ive ever understood the modern ape. I believe my life has been a series of lessons in disappointment and primal debauchery. The only way I can redeem mankind and to save my own soul in the sightless eyes of the abused is to kill. So I ask you this; where would you go and what would you do if your fear didnt hold you in place.
Old Man: Now son, I am not afraid, and I am happy, and you are in so much trouble. Thats not loaded is it?!
The tea lights have grown dim and time has completely expired. The old man looks at his pocket watch, to note the time and to look at the picture of his wife securely fastened and worn with age. The boy doesnt even stand as he raises the gun to the elderly doctors head, he squeezes the trigger slowly, hesitating as the old man lets a whimper. He slumps back into the bleach bone armoire stuffing the powder blue revolver awkwardly into his mouth. The old man leans forward slightly raising one arm in a futile gesture of protection as the gun discharges. Blood, bone, and idealism spray the office wall turning one young mans passion into a bloody mist.
© Copyright 2006 Kirque al Rivehn (UN: kirque at Writing.Com).
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