Dark

--- Note: The title is just a fill-in. I'm holding off until the story is further along. I'd like it to properly marinate. ---


Dark sat in his Father’s plush suede reading chair. In his hand, he idly swirled a shot glass of Jack. Light refracted through the amber drink, and crystal of the glass, stirring titillating sensations. His senses were already heightened and that was the problem. Most people go out of their way to live a fantasy, and most live in a fantasy without recognizing it.

Black eyes, for which he was named, snapped to the television. A cupid, a heart, and cheap indiscriminate propaganda were used to lull victims into a sense of dependence. Yes, women, look at what you can have. Yes, men, look at what we’re forcing unto you – we have the power, we dominate, and you beg for more. That, that right there, that’s cunning. People are stupid.

Shifting, perhaps struggle. Grating sounds were budging against the edges of his perception, how rude; it isn't nice to interrupt someone’s train of thought. Dark took an ample drink and studied the light playing on his trench coat. The amber-hued rainbows were fascinating. A myriad of outcomes were possible by modifying the color of the liquid.

Dark’s neck twitched. The need to express himself compelled his actions. That same feeling pressed him to speak: “Take your fancy relationships and silk roses adorning your fake lives and personalities; indeed, perhaps we should all go to the cookie-cutter and see what best fits the sexual market. If you wish to be objectified, allow the markets to make it so and glorify the mentality that exaggerates your radiance as a crumpled newspaper on the side of the road. It but ratifies the reason you deserve no respect because you don’t understand it. You must first learn to respect yourself before you may respect another.”

He grinned, that monologue was nice. He liked it. The undertone delivered an argument, but the Sheeple would never understand. They would only become upset or make jokes about bitter, single men. It was they who first uttered such grievances and he who listened. They dissemble when inconvenience converges with the subject matter. This implies they make points without meaning or haven’t a clue the meaning of the things they say. What a riddle. Well, perhaps not. What is insanity but the sane mind creating fictions to cope with reality? We are, all of us, insane.

The sound of struggle pulled his attention; this wasn’t supposed to be annoying. Well, admittedly, Dark was distracting himself. It was time to answer the question.

“Becoming fatigued, are we?”

His Father hastened to a new spot on the floor where the laser was pointing. Dark smiled. It was a simple design: a camera, a laser, a set of ear buds, a shock-collar, three networking devices, a detonator, and explosives. Mother was tied to the bed with small explosives and wires webbing her form. Three independent circuits: one that shocked Mother’s intimates if Father proved too sluggish, which also shocked Father, one that killed Mother, and one that destroyed the whole house should the front door or window be breached. It seemed like an impossible puzzle, but Mother always said the best lessons were the hard lessons. ‘Naivety, even feigned, does not endure in a world of pain.’

How will a compromiser choose? Will he pay in the short-term to achieve long-term goals, or has society decayed to such a failed notion that the world skips forward through small snippets of time? Prudence, Father, prudence. Be the Two-Eyed King. It was an easy task: every time Father shocked Mother - she moaned from under that gag, for sure - the laptop screen ticked up a number. Father was told that if the number reaches zero, she dies. Dark thought the answer obvious.

“Father, listen carefully: ‘This drives us to succeed, to mate, to live, to fight or flee.’ It is through this lens you must see, to grow, adapt, and dream. Face it and you’re good to go. I’m not being facetious – this isn’t difficult.”

The laser moved and Father jumped to reach it. The number ticked down. Every three tries it’d do that. Father must fear pain more than death. What about love and devotion? Or doesn’t he love Mother? Sweat dripped from Father’s thick brow. His dark hair greasily gummed to his skull. What a pathetic sight. Stop using your emotions, fool, and think about the problem.

“Dark, I don’t – ahh!” Father about collapsed.

Dark’s dismantled cellphone bestowed a quality microphone, in addition to the camera. It activated the shock-collar. Really, he hadn’t intended to silence his Father completely. Dark simply desired to avoid any unnecessary pleas for mercy. Doesn’t Father realize that stupidity is the only force acting against him? Can a mediator construct no true assessment? Must they regurgitate a collage without original input?

Dark pulled another long drink, and unfortunately, the amber was finished. The visual sensations were really adding an air to the moment. It was a moment that long outlived its usefulness. He hadn’t considered Father’s aversion to pain. The fear could be arrogance or compassion. Humanity had really come to disgrace itself. This was only a case-study but clearly things were not all about survival. Somewhere along the way Humanity had gone astray. That was very unfortunate for his parents.

“Only through pains are we defined in this world – I have given you both a gift. I offer a clear lens where others choose to blind you.”

Uh-oh, the numbers were too low. He must’ve let time slip pondering over the devices of this world. His Father started crying while frantically hopping around. The maximum time variable must’ve been reached. It would count down no matter what at this point. Dark looked at his Mother. He loved her and that’s why this was so enraging! How could anyone be so stupid!

“The only way you could’ve saved her was by torturing her – did you not comprehend the riddle, you fool!? ‘We must fight through pain and adversity if we are to succeed!’ You said that to Mother last night when you hit her! You said it yourself!”

“Please, Dark – ahh – don’t do...”

Dark marched toward the front door and grabbed the bag he’d placed just-in-case. What foolery that it was even necessary. His Father was mewling like an injured animal over the red dot. What – an – idiot. He could hear his Mother crying uncontrollably. She began testing the bonds holding her down. This had become a failed test, two failed lives, and would lead to a failed future if he didn’t cut his losses.

Dark turned toward Father, who was trying to untie Mother, “I’ll give you a second chance: The more you have, the less you see – the natural state of everything. What is it?”

The detonator started beeping.

“I don’t – know, Dark. I don’t p- please,” Father screamed when an electric current discharged through his ear buds.

Dark whispered, “You were almost right, Dad,” as he opened the portal to a thunderstorm beyond. Down the street, as he turned the corner in a rather pricey suburban neighborhood, an earth-shattering BOOM shattered windows nearby. Even expecting it, Dark was knocked to the ground. What a sad turn of events. It was infuriating.

Dark reviewed the event. The front door was the only circuit that mattered. The explosives on Mother were not even real! A few shocks and reason was abandoned. Humanity had truly fallen a long way. He wiped the tears away. He didn't understand why Father was incapable of facing it. He told Father the answer! Suffer through pain now to achieve your goal. Is that not prudence? It was commonsense to set aside savings for the future: to receive fewer rewards short-term for more rewards long-term.

Dark’s gothic demeanor darkened as he observed the storm from the wood line. He now knew his purpose in life. It wouldn’t be easy or enjoyable, but someone had to do it.

He must set things straight.