Milamber
29th July 2002, 09:01
Hey everyone.
In my attempts to escape writing a "real story" I wrote a soliloquy.
The setting is such:
The speaker is a Catholic Greek , 'bout 30, named Alexander. While in university he met this guy Bagio and together they decided that God needed them to be his hands, as opposed to voices (i.e. priests). They got to the point (Bagio leading all the way) where they resolved that God needed them to kill the scum of the Earth.
Seeing himself as 'God's exterminator' Alexander learns all he ccan from Bagio - who, it turns out, has been an assassin doing the work of God for 20 years.
Now it is 2002, Bagio has been dead for 12 years and our friend has strayed from the ways God...
(I sit, tied to a chair and blindfolded – a metaphor for my dilemma. Slowly, I look up and begin to speak)
Look at me, trapped in my own mind, held, unmoving by my conflicting desires.
Bagio, forgive me. I have strayed so far…
But the money, my friend, the money is a temptation worthy of Lucifer.
But is it enough? Will it sustain me, and fill the emptiness within? Will it be there to comfort me when I am in need of forgiveness? I wonder…
Once I would not even have considered this, but so much has changed, the world has been twisted, turning it into a pool of swirling greys, indiscernible.
Or maybe it is I who has changed, I who have been distorted into a shadow of my former self. I find I do not know.
The world is a vampire; it sucks the soul from you, leaving only a feeling of sweetest ecstasy… Money.
The world no longer has meaning beyond it; it fills everything, destroying lives, relationships and trust.
I have become like a crack-addict, a slave to Mammon.
And that slavery has extended itself; Vin¸enzo Luigee, one of our oldest adversaries, has become my main employer. I have become like a dog, and he is my master.
I go back, task after task to get even more of that ecstasy inducing drug.
Ha! The fool! He is old now, almost 90, and he yearns for absolution. Or did.
He went to the PapĂ to beg forgiveness, but was scorned. The PapĂ is no spring chicken either and he has grown stubborn in his redundancy.
The Mafia Lord took offence, of course, and began to spread the word that an assassin was required. To kill the Pope!
I am the best, you know, so why wouldn’t he choose me? And why shouldn’t I take the job? All men must benefit, even those who do the work of God.
But do I? Can I still consider myself God’s exterminator? I think not.
Not when I am considering killing his Earthly icon.
The material life has gone to my head and corrupted me. It isn’t my fault! I cannot stop, not now!
But to kill the Pope? What am I thinking? How can I, who was once so virtuous, consider such evil?
I am trapped by my own lust for money and power. Each day my self –loathing grows until I cannot even look myself in the face every morning. I hate what I am becoming, yet am powerless to resist it.
The rock that was my faith has crumbled before the tide of greed and now I am trapped.
Catholicism, my Catholicism, was a pillar for me to lean on. When life became too much and I needed support; it was there. But if I take this job, any remnant of it will disappear, and what will I have to lean on then? Money? I wonder…
And each day, as my self-disgust grows, so does my dilemma. I will surely die if this is not resolved soon, as the anguish is already more than I can bear. But I see no way out! How can I reconcile myself with such a task?
I don’t know. And I truly do not know what I will do.
(Lowers his head and goes silent – monologue ends)
In my attempts to escape writing a "real story" I wrote a soliloquy.
The setting is such:
The speaker is a Catholic Greek , 'bout 30, named Alexander. While in university he met this guy Bagio and together they decided that God needed them to be his hands, as opposed to voices (i.e. priests). They got to the point (Bagio leading all the way) where they resolved that God needed them to kill the scum of the Earth.
Seeing himself as 'God's exterminator' Alexander learns all he ccan from Bagio - who, it turns out, has been an assassin doing the work of God for 20 years.
Now it is 2002, Bagio has been dead for 12 years and our friend has strayed from the ways God...
(I sit, tied to a chair and blindfolded – a metaphor for my dilemma. Slowly, I look up and begin to speak)
Look at me, trapped in my own mind, held, unmoving by my conflicting desires.
Bagio, forgive me. I have strayed so far…
But the money, my friend, the money is a temptation worthy of Lucifer.
But is it enough? Will it sustain me, and fill the emptiness within? Will it be there to comfort me when I am in need of forgiveness? I wonder…
Once I would not even have considered this, but so much has changed, the world has been twisted, turning it into a pool of swirling greys, indiscernible.
Or maybe it is I who has changed, I who have been distorted into a shadow of my former self. I find I do not know.
The world is a vampire; it sucks the soul from you, leaving only a feeling of sweetest ecstasy… Money.
The world no longer has meaning beyond it; it fills everything, destroying lives, relationships and trust.
I have become like a crack-addict, a slave to Mammon.
And that slavery has extended itself; Vin¸enzo Luigee, one of our oldest adversaries, has become my main employer. I have become like a dog, and he is my master.
I go back, task after task to get even more of that ecstasy inducing drug.
Ha! The fool! He is old now, almost 90, and he yearns for absolution. Or did.
He went to the PapĂ to beg forgiveness, but was scorned. The PapĂ is no spring chicken either and he has grown stubborn in his redundancy.
The Mafia Lord took offence, of course, and began to spread the word that an assassin was required. To kill the Pope!
I am the best, you know, so why wouldn’t he choose me? And why shouldn’t I take the job? All men must benefit, even those who do the work of God.
But do I? Can I still consider myself God’s exterminator? I think not.
Not when I am considering killing his Earthly icon.
The material life has gone to my head and corrupted me. It isn’t my fault! I cannot stop, not now!
But to kill the Pope? What am I thinking? How can I, who was once so virtuous, consider such evil?
I am trapped by my own lust for money and power. Each day my self –loathing grows until I cannot even look myself in the face every morning. I hate what I am becoming, yet am powerless to resist it.
The rock that was my faith has crumbled before the tide of greed and now I am trapped.
Catholicism, my Catholicism, was a pillar for me to lean on. When life became too much and I needed support; it was there. But if I take this job, any remnant of it will disappear, and what will I have to lean on then? Money? I wonder…
And each day, as my self-disgust grows, so does my dilemma. I will surely die if this is not resolved soon, as the anguish is already more than I can bear. But I see no way out! How can I reconcile myself with such a task?
I don’t know. And I truly do not know what I will do.
(Lowers his head and goes silent – monologue ends)