He was a warrior who fought silent wars within the realms of peace.
Dark nights with razor blades and slow poisons had created a disdain for humanity within him.
He felt like a demon as he prowled the populace with a smile, tracking the victims to be of some high profile demagogues.
His task was to keep certain hands clean, to be the tool of hidden agendas and the fate of the unwitting.
Fools who had crossed swords with the unspoken rules of engagement.
“Take a stroll through the park if you want to catch a shadow. Nature will become a six sense that pin points the watcher so be at ease with the fauna and you will find the man.”
Dax Kando
A magician and his mistress
A mistress and her maids
Turn mystery to knowledge
So that nature may be saved
First came the divide. A split of one unique cell containing all the information required to build a being of flesh and blood. A divide that would set in motion a chain reaction of divisions all held within the wet warmth of the host and provider of that first unique cell.
The divide was set in motion by the intertwining of flesh. The push of sinew, gorging on blood, thrusting and interlacing until bodily fluids merged with the will to perpetrate the species. A species united to divide and divided to exist.
From flesh we become flesh through the division of the cell. Floating in the waters of the mother’s womb we are programmed to tear ourselves apart in order to evolve. We must break without falling to pieces. Let the ever dividing cells mutate until we have features, fingers and eyes born unto darkness. It is the cycle of life and the root of our perception.
Just another morning in front of the mirror. A buzz of blades applied to the skull, a running tap and a razor to the cheek. A 5 minute shower lays ahead before getting dressed and fixing up some breakfast for the old woman in the living room. Black cargo pants sit neatly folded on the toilet seat lid with a pair of assault boots positioned on the floor in front of them. A black hooded top hangs at the back of the bathroom door with a large white cross on the breast and a white vest draped over one of the shoulders.
The first hour of every day dedicated to getting ready for the other 17 hours awake. Hours spent between the local library, a small shop with internet access, the local supermarket and looking after the old woman in the living room. A mechanical procedure rather than a way of life. A cycle destined to continue until death puts the inevitable full stop to it and yet during this time there was one winter’s night that was different.
Those northern winters make cold hard air and veil most of the day in darkness. So our man in black wrapped a blood red scarf around his neck, covered his shaved head with a black beanie and pulled his hood up before venturing out.
He had broken routine and was heading to the library hours later than he usually did. He walked in to town and headed down the main street instead of cutting through the side streets which shortened the distance. As he approached an old church that had somehow imposed itself on the pagan culture of the area he noticed an Asian woman walking towards him. She was dressed in grey from head to toe in a very office like manner. She was slender and attractive. Her hair loosely pulled back to frame a serious face that hadn’t noticed the cold. They stared at each other with a touch off nonchalance as a single white downy feather floated down from the church belfry and in to the path of their inevitable collision. Their steady walks lost pace as they turned slightly to avoid the feather and then, without a second look, they walked past each other.
Finger tips stroking my shoulder. That’s what woke me up. I rolled my head and opened my eyes to see the face of a young stranger. She smiled as I said hello then presented me with a hot mug of coffee.
She tells me that the men will be here in an hour and that her dad sent her to wake me. I clumsily prop myself up, take the coffee and reach for my cigarettes on the bedside table.
I look at the girl, she doesn’t look a day over nine. Her braided hair frames remnants of baby fat on her pretty face and I can’t help but feel guilty about letting her father get involved in this deal.
I tell her that she best go get something for lunch but as she heads out of the room she stops, points and asks me why I have that with me. She’s looking at my knife and my head’s too hazy to give a quick reply.
Through woods I wandered between pine and oak. The greens, the browns, the shades of grey, smoke screened the lost blue sky and to the hills I headed. Far from the great white asylum and the village of flames.
The day was mine. Saturn would be filling the sky come nightfall but I had a few hours left until then. So I ventured deeper in to the wilderness with a small tabby cat for company…
For Dax Kando loneliness was a feeling rather than a physical situation. People were always in his surroundings but his life of secrecy prevented him from any form of openness. Every word that passed his lips had to be thought out and mentally cross referenced before being voiced. It was his predicament for making money from Death and being under the cloak of the rich and powerful. When you are doing all the dirty work for puppet masters there is no margin of error allowed. The killing business, like all business, is hard on those who execute the job at hand. While remaining somewhat lenient on those who drip feed down the orders. It is just the way things are. It is always easier to silence the little man and let him take the fall. However if you have hard cash and friends in high places then you can play it safe. Every life has it’s price and there aren’t many souls that can’t be bought and sold. Taking a life isn’t easy if you are afraid of being caught or if you actually care about your fellow human being. Remove those two factors and it’s as easy as slicing up a cake at a child’s birthday party. Easier still if you get someone to slice that cake for you.
Now we all know about mass murderers or serial killers. Some of us even voted them in to power. The system of hand me down orders and media manipulation adds sweetener to this reality. Get the general public to focus on the actor rather than the action. Have the actor’s script scrutinised to avoid any faux pas and the whole show ticks like clockwork. Meanwhile a small section of society that has less notoriety and more strings to pull sits out of sight and makes it all happen. These are the people who hide behind logos and corporations. Hang out at embassies and buy politicians the odd drink. These are the untouchables. People without limits or a strand of moral fibre and these were the kind of people that Dax Kando worked for.
The Magician
Hiding the real
Creating an illusion
The impossible feels so real
Opiate dreams
Pipe dreams
Made real before your eyes
And to your surprise
You love those lies
Digging deep
In to your pocket
You buy in to another
Trick
The GeoSolus Web Log 