Victory

The glass cuts easily through my scarred skin. Easier than I thought, actually. I thought it would be harder and that I would have to hack my way through. Somehow I expected that scartissue is more resilient than normal skin, but it isn’t. It also hurts less than I initially expected- the cuts sting a little, but they are immediately joined by the wet warmth of my blood. Of course, the nerves in my skin have been cut through a long time ago.

I can’t believe how easy it was to smuggle these shards of glass once again. After I broke the glass, I could slide it into my shirt without problems. Of course I have the practiced ease of a shoplifter, but you’d think they notice by now. I’ve done it often enough.

Or maybe they know and they let me. Perhaps they want me to do it - perhaps they’re watching me with that damned camera, making notes as they peer at the screen with hungry eyes. Let them watch. As long as they let me play.

It could be that the restraints are lifted as soon as you’re convicted. As soon as you’re behind those bars, they don’t care whether you live or die. The damage’s been done, and I should be dead anyway. I’m rotting away already. Just waiting for my heart to follow suit and stop beating.

Life sentence, no parole. I knew that as soon as I saw the bullets splatter his brain on the wall. I knew what I was doing when I emptied the whole chamber in that godforsaken body. He was evil, he deserved to die. He was tainting our nation and he was going to be president. Wasn’t that enough? It wasn’t, until I was close enough to touch. Then I saw, I knew. The sadism, the burning ambition. He was in the running for senator, polls voted him the most popular of the candidates by far, and he was going for the kill.

And so was I.

I tracked down his whereabouts, waited for him, and shot him.

Six bullets at close range. His heart, throat and head.

All for the good of the nation. For the world.

For international security.

The world had not known it yet, but the world was waiting for me – one brave enough, with enough vision, ambition, and compassion. One to save the world.

And so I did.

Of course the world was not grateful… but I had prepared myself to be a martyr. I didn’t mind.

Unfortunately I had not counted on the press, the hate, the people spitting on my name. The discussions on my psyche, on my morals. I was treated like a *thing*, and an ugly one besides.

The trial dragged for weeks, months even, and I found myself stressing out. It began innocently enough. Nightmares, trembling hands. Weeping every time they dragged me into the courtroom. The press loved it, the camera’s devoured every tear I spilled.
I can’t remember what happened that day when it all exploded in my face.

At some point I just found myself in a straightjacket, screaming at padded walls. Seems I injured my cellmate beyond recognition. He would live, but his face was ruined forever. One eye was rendered useless: a glassy ball that would never see the day of light again.

They kept me separated for a while. When they thought I calmed down, they talked to me. Psychologists declared that I had spazzed out due to stress, and they gave me a new roommate.

This one lasted not three days. We both ended up in the hospital that day. I earned myself a nice scar that was jagged from cheekbone to jawbone, red and angry, he would limp for the rest of his life. They never gave me roommates anymore.

A curly pattern this time. I have to wipe the blood away to see how my work of art on my thigh is progressing. If it heals alright, I should have finished another part of my mantra to keep the beast inside me away. Because there is a beast inside of me. It waits until I am weak or offguard, and then it hurts everything it can find. Including myself, if there is nobody else.

If I cut myself, the pain is controlled. The patterns of scars on my body seem like an intricate mazework, sometimes tribal, sometimes floral, sometimes geometrical. It’s all I can do to control myself. I am scared of the beast inside of me, I don’t know what it is or where it came from. But as long as I cut these mantra’s in my body, I’ll be fine. I hope.

There hasn’t been an attack for twenty-seven days now.

So.

I’m rotting away, cutting chunks and pieces off myself. And I wonder what I have gained.

Have I saved the world from evil? Have I been victorious and am I paying the price now? Did something horrible awaken from me when the blood of the governor splattered hotly on my face? I saved the world and damned myself.

Parade. Laugh. Rejoice. Sing.

I am the victor of nothing.