The Victim's story

“I demand justice!” The teenager jabbed the priest repeatedly with his finger, feeling only the slightest bit of shame at this - the priest, dressed in brown with hebrew words spiralling around in a gold spiral all across it, was a servant of the monster that had… that had…

“I demand justice!”

The priest angrily batted the finger away. “Yes yes, there are the usual procedures; They That Cannot be Controlled (let-their-freedom-be-a-pathway-to-us-all), well, sometimes, they just can't be controlled. We'll send the usual compensation…”

“He kill my mother! Deliberate murder in front of my very eyes! Don't want no stinking compensation. I want justice! I want your gods dead!”

“Well, here is form 5-A to fill out in triplicate, and we shall see what the Brazilian government will…”

“Great pardon, your holiness, my son, but I feel a more gentle approach may be called for?” The teenager sucked down his breath. There, staning in the doorway, was the very monster that had extinguished his mother's life while laughing. Same clay, same wire, same balanced body that was simultaneously elegant and obscene.

Bowing, the priest exited the room, and the Golem came round to take his place. His tongue stuck to his palate, the teenager tried to control his trembling.

“I know what happend to your family. Your mother was a fine women, by all accounts, and her destruction was wanton and unforgivable. If it makes you feel better, we should avenge you immediately, waiving the usual bureacratic steps.”

“Yes,” whispered the youth, “vengeance.”

“I suggest we get the golem who killed your mother to change to a character mode in which he can feel pain. Then the best might be if you ended his existence, slowly, as he screams, taking great joy in the slow erasing of your mother's murderer.”

“Yes!”, breathed the youth excitedly, but there was an edge of doubt to his voice, too.

“A sledge hammer should be used; the one you are currently failing to hide in trouser legs should do the trick, or we can provide you with a morningstar flail. Afterwards, you may partake of some of the excellent fruits and cakes we keep available, and maybe meditate in the transcedence room, or take a sauna. And please, let me know if there is anything else I can do to increase your sentiment of justice! Such crimes must be punished in the most spectacular way, but the important thing is that the victim and survivors feel whole again.”

“No, all that should be fine…”

“I feel for you, I really do. Shall we begin now?”

“Yes! Er… Which one of you monste… which one of you killed my mom?”

“I did. Now, here is the morning star flail, and here are some chains to hold me down should you desire to use them. I can feel pain starting… now. Good luck.”

Ten minutes later, feeling sick to his stomach, the teenager left the room, leaving behind him nothing but shards of wire and clay, broken chains and a shattered sledge-hammer. He ignored the offer of fruit, cake, sauna and mediation, and instead went home to throw up.

Fifty years later, he was high priest of They That Cannot be Controlled.

fic/the_victims_story.txt · Last modified: 2010/03/10 14:23 by dan
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