Dear ALL!
Is every and single dot the one which ends something up totally and irrevocably?
Listen to it, read through it, think about it and share your thought with me :)
AUDIO STORY:
https://youtu.be/ooGQknfR8Ho
WRITTEN FORM:
Copyright © 2017 Inersh Leybrad
Copyright © 2017 Inersh Leybrad
All rights reserved
MR. DOT
I
was leaning against old, leather chair. I totally sank into it. I
like its touch and I like its antique character. I was at the attic
of wretched, abandoned flat in a city with too many names to be named
properly. My nostrils were invaded by musty smell of that house but I
was wondering whether my smell was even mustier.
I
took off my favourite, worn-off bowler hat with two tiny holes in it
and began to do what I always did when I was tired of myself – I
started talking to myself. That is, to my image reflecting in a
dirty, covered with pigeon droppings window.
“Who
am I?” I asked myself. I know it is cliché. I know that all the
freaks talk to themselves. And all the freaks ask such a question.
Maybe that's the answer? Maybe no further search is needed? I am just
a freak and I always have been?"
I
undid four giant golden buttons of my long, black coat and withdrew
Springfield Model 1817 Flintlock. I rotated it slowly in my hands
looking at it from all possible angles.
“Yes,
that is definitely abnormal. It is also cruel and inhuman. Not to
distinguish in between blade of grass and five years old innocent
girl who walks upon it and a ray of sunshine invigorating both of
them as well as cold-blooded serial killer who is planning his next
attack 1.000.000 mile away from them all !!! ” I shouted and had to
stop for a while in order to take a deep breath in.
“What
are you looking at?” I said to my image. “You know it is all
true! Don't even pretend otherwise! You are freak, that's all! Only a
freak could be at all of those places and much more at the same time
lurking in the shadows, loading slowly one's anachronous weapon and
just waiting for a best moment to pull a trigger! Only a freak! Did
you hear that!?? “
“But
it's only my job. I had to just do something...”
“Don't
even think it exonerates your deeds!” I replied to myself
“I
do not. But if it is a job then there is a certain pattern involved,
right? If I were real freak then my actions would be rather random,”
I said.
“They
are random. You act without any plan! One cell organism, 100- years
old man, weather phenomena...”
“You
already made a similar list, OK?!! Everybody understood what you
mean, don't repeat yourself! If I fulfill orders then I have a pattern
and that's it. A pattern of order's fulfillment.”
“And
who is placing that orders?”
“Well,
I am self-employed.,” I stated.
“You
place orders for yourself? That's a pure nonsense!”
“Self-employment
is also employment...”
“Right,
right, right. I don't want to engage in such kind of conversation. If
you prefer to be called a hitman then here you are.”
“
Objection! I am not a...” I didn't manage to finish cause my image
interrupted
“...
a hitman. You are saying you are not a hitman?!! You who have so many
victims on your list! Who enlarges that list each day, each hour each
second, because you have this insane ability to be omnipresent... Even during this conversation you are at uncountable other
places just ready to put an end to something new. You,
unscrupulous... Everything breathes, spreads into new variations,
sets up new colours... How could you!“
“Easy.
I've already said something about repetition. Moreover I am not a
hitman cause a I can not be a hitman.”
“
I beg your pardon?!!”
“
That would be against the meaning of hitman. Hitman has to receive
financial reward for one's malicious deeds and I do not.”
“
Oh, come on! You can't transfer money from you to yourself?!!”
“Exactly.
As you see it is technically and legally excluded.”
“Even
if it were you would invent another excuse.”
“I
would not. It's just a fact. What's more I don't have money what is
another argument...” my image interfered and said:
“Right!!!!”
it screamed. “ But you can't deny the fact that you are a thief!
You take something which previously did not belong to you and after
your action was taken it ceased to be owned by a due, legitimate
owner of it... Why is it so complicated?!!
“I
wouldn't agree either.”
“What?!!
You are not serious.”
“I
am. If I were a thieve I would have to appropriate the goods
belonging to someone else. That means, as a result of my illicit
action, the goods of the legitimate owner would be in my possession
what does not happen. In my case what's lost is lost and I don't have
any benefits from that.”
“
I can't believe it happens. Right, then you are a destroyer. Ha, here
we are. The destroyer!” said triumphantly mirror image and I
couldn't have found a good answer to that. Thankfully we were joined
by a serious guest.
Who
are you referring to?” I turned back and saw a tall, handsome man
in a black business suit who was holding a silver metal suitcase in
his right hand.
“
Who's asking?”
“Right,
it is not so obvious as it previously was... in the old, good
times... Here you are.” He gave me a white business card with a big
name on it- Mr. Death. He knelled down and opened his suitcase
displaying large collection of modern weapons: pistols, grenades,
machine guns, knives and scythe. He saw my confusion due to the
presence of the last one and said:
“
What? I am a little bit sentimental.” I became more and more pale.
He noticed it and stated:
“Don't
worry. I just have a lunch break and overheard an interesting
conversation, cousin. I just want to talk.” He put away his scythe
and took a sandwich which was hidden beneath the layer of weaponry.
“
We are not cousins! We are totally different!”
“Yes,
really? I am more than curious to hear why?” said Mr Death munching
his sandwich.
“It
was you who protested when my image.. That is when I said that I am a
destroyer!”
“Of
course. That's my sphere of monopoly. I am a little bit touchy about
it. But we are partners, cousin,” he smirked wearily.
“No,
we are not. I am Mr. Dot. Mr. Dot, can you hear that? Not Mr. Death!!
I just mark the completion of certain process.”
“And
I finish with what you mark.”
“No!
That is, I label as completed also wrong things. The end of
earthquake, the end of war, the end of marriage argument, the end of
dog's barking...”
“Yes,
but previously you mark the end of normal relationships in between
states, couples, the end of dog's peacefulness....”
“
I protest...”
“You
might protest but things are as they are. We are both self-employed
individuals who do what has to be done. And we do almost the same
thing. Sorry about that.” Mr Death came closer to my chair and
patted me on the shoulder.
“No,
you are wrong! Not each completion means death! I can mark the
completion of house building, song, theater performance or a treaty
signature what doesn't render it dead. On the contrary they live and
are reusable! They can be enjoyed as completed!”
“Oh,
dear cousin, sooner or later, sooner or later happens what has to
happen...”
“No,
not necessarily! The end of something might mean just the end of
certain step to something else... bigger and better. Frequently I
shot in the air not at somebody! And without your presence!” I shed
off his hand and stood up.
“I
beg your pardon, but I, Mr. Dot have an important message to convey
to people” I ran off the staircase, opened a heavy door and got
into the street. I blended well with surroundings. All those
gentleman were wearing similar to my outfit, ladies had small but
nice-looking umbrellas and there were as well a few antique coaches
with white horses. But I was on lookout for someone who would like to
listen to me. Here he was - a paperboy! I got the opposite side of
the street.
“Only
with daily news : Death of the president of Paraguay. Unknown
assassin takes lives of three innocent young girls in London! The
storm on Atlantic Ocean caused biggest catastrophe in human history
with 160 people dead!”
“Boy,
Boy look at me! My name is Mr. Dot and my job is to mark the end of
each process. I have to put a dot at the end of each sentence. But
it's up to you to decide whether you write a new sentence or not!!!
Do you hear me! You have to write more and more. You can't stop!
Please!!! Don't make any dot the final dot! Always make a new one,
always expand on it ! “ I heard the whistle of a policeman who was
running towards me. I didn't even notice that I kept shaking the poor
boy. He must have been frightened to death. I took a quick look at
the attic's window of the house which I left just a few minutes ago.
Mr. Death was in the window observing everything from above and
holding a cup of tea or coffee. He smiled. The policeman used force
to take me away from a boy and handcuffed me. The crowd of passers-by
gathered around me.
“
Always write a new sentence and never let a dot to be a final one! “
“
Keep moving,” commanded a policeman. I did as he said being
accompanied by a whisper from the crowd:
“
He is a freak. Just another freak.”
No comments:
Post a Comment