A story with no real end (or) The man with no identity

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     A story with no real end (or) The man with no identity

I don’t belong. Not here. Not now. I have to get back there. But how? The bet was rigged, he made me believe. Now there’s darkness in my soul. I want to die… again. But I chose to come back. Why?

“Services were held today for Lt. Colonel John McLeod at Arlington cemetery in Virginia. McLeod is best known for his courageous involvement in saving the president from an assassination attempt. McLeod rose through the ranks of the Marine Corps following his service overseas. His memory was honoured by the President and vice president, as well as hundreds of officers from all the armed services. His wife, Catharine Blake, remained quiet for the duration of the funeral, but seemed to be in need of help near the end of the proceedings. Friends and family have all been supportive, and will start a new scholarship fund in his name that will benefit the united Negro college fund. Michelle Gail reporting for CNN.”

“Lt. Colonel McLeod, who disappeared from public view shortly after the Hinckley incident, was believed to have been involved with numerous government task forces. Informed sources say that his presence in Botswana at the same time as young blood agents was no coincidence. Frankly, this stinks of a government cover-up. So what else is new? Though I’m sure Lt. Colonel McLeod was a man of courage and great integrity. It’s the government’s boys’ club attitude that appals me. Information is given out in an almost Hollywood-type fashion, and we all know how moviemakers never stretch the truth. Al Simmons reporting for you on My View on two.”

“And the lovely Catharine Blake was absolutely divine in a simple jet-black Versace original. And say, who was that tall, dark and handsome prince on her arm at the ceremony? Well, a little bird tells me that Martin King was Catharine’s closest friend in high school. He introduced her to John McLeod at the much memorable republican convention of 1984.They were together three years and no little darling child. One must be wondering, was it him? Or was it her? Well, where this potential affair is leading remains to be seen. We’ll be keeping an eye out. As for you Mr. Martin King shame on you! Let the poor widow grieve. Besides, she’ll have a tough time replacing the husband voted one of the “The Ten Sexiest Men” two years ago. Even though the government tried to hide this sweet morsel from all of us, this charismatic gentleman couldn’t be kept out of sight. Charles Smith reporting for Entertainment Television.”

I remember there was someone. Someone to love. Someone to hate. And I was something. Something special. And proud of it for a time. Then they turned on me. He turned on me. I remember… dying. And her. Oh, God, she’s so beautiful. I needed. He gave me. I had to. All I could think of… was she. So I promised. And he accepted. All because of her. Damn his lies. He accepted the deal… on his terms. His rules. His way. And somewhere in time he busts a gut laughing. Yes, he gave me my power, but he robbed me of my memories. If I can just find her, then I’ll know what it’s all about. But… I can’t even remember who she is. None of this makes any sense. Just a handful of images darting through my mind. That’s it? That’s all I have of my life? I feel I can do anything… anything at all with my power. But why can’t I remember? She’ll know who I am… she has to. I’m going to find her. And when I have some answers… I’m going to find him. The one who framed me.  But whom do I turn to? Where do I go?

“Boys, looks like she’s got enough for all of us. Fortunately, I get first turn!”

“No! No! Please don’t!” She whimpers as if to beg for her own life, but they don’t have the intention to kill her, do they? “Shaddup whore! Spike gets what he wants, always!”

“I got me an idea. Back off guys. Let’s see how loud the whore can scream after I cut out her tongue.”

“Wait a sec. I want a closer look while the body’s still warm.” As he rips off what’s left the innocent’s shirt and stands back to admire a teenage female form.

“Get out. Now! Or you’re all dead!” A voice comes from behind the pack.

“What the hell?”

“Hey Spike, looks like one o’ them young bloods!”

“Who cares? Check this out guys. I’m gonna carve me a supper.” He assesses the intruder and steps back from his prey. “Hkkkhh!” as the masked hand grasps at a neck no friend of sanitary, it feels nothing but hatred not even the sense of touch. Why is this? He pauses in his actions as swelling eyes stare into his own projecting sorrow with a whisper of light as if there was some good in such a carnation of evil. “SMASH” as the limp body flies through the window, breaking into millions of water droplets throwing reflected light upon a darkness no friend of illumination. “Bad idea. Now, who’s next?” McLeod turns back to his new victims.

“You crazy M.F., nobody jerks with me” One steps forward to an unforeseen fait.

“Fat boy, you’re way out of your league”

“Thud” His heavy fist seems not to inflict any emotion, any reaction.

“Now it’s my turn” “BOOM” The impact of his clenched hand crushes the ribcage and the internal organs explode gracing the ground with a pool of guilty blood.

“They’re gone, you needn’t be afraid.”

“Please don’t, I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Uh! No. Not again. Nooooooo!” Once again his mind explodes with searing pain. A floodgate of memories bursts wide. Yet it is her face that keeps haunting him. Always her face. Who is she? Then things begin to crystallize. He remembers his funeral. Begging and pleading for someone to release him from the darkness. He’s not dead. He can’t be. Then he feels her presence. Warm, caring, soothing, but somewhere deep inside she feels empty now. She has no reason. No meaning. No soul. But his soul lives. While hers is dying.

“Hh-huhhh huhhh” the almighty man breaks down contradicting the very thing he is.

“Hey, come on. It’s okay. You’re all right. It’s all over now.”

“Police are investigating the fourth gangland homicide in two days. The murder of Carlo Giamotti makes the seventh gangland murder this year, but chief of Police Phil Banks denies any truth to the rumor of a possible ‘mob war’. Inside sources have also reported that the three most recent deaths were unlike any they had seen before. It was quoted, “even the bad guys don’t sink this low” The mystery of these deaths seems to have evaded all logic. Michelle Gail reporting for CNN.”

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“This might be just what this city needs. With people like Jake Morelli, disguised as a well-dressed businessman, its no wonder the police won’t make any arrests. Police Chief Banks says he’s sent out an investigation unit to flush out some answers. What’s to investigate? Just because something smells now doesn’t mean it wasn’t trash before. I for one hope the police don’t find any answers. Or worse yet, try and stop this latest rash of public executions. If it’s good guys killing bad or bad guys killing bad, who cares? Give me a call if you citizens need ...

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