Sunday, March 4, 2012

Hurt and Betrayal

So this was interesting.

After much time spent waiting around, reading, and commenting I was finally approached by my would-be executioner. I figured they would try to cheat me out of the kind of death I would have wanted but for some reason I didn’t think they would go this far. They sent something they knew very well I would not personally kill. I would not be sharing this now were more of you following me so here’s a special treat for you seven remaining readers. They sent a child.
And I do mean a child. The poor thing couldn’t have been older than eight. The mask they gave him didn’t quite fit right. He must have adjusted it four times in the minute I sat there staring at him. The knife they gave him must have been too heavy for him because he was holding it in both hands. Perhaps the most disappointing thing was how he was shaking like a scared cat. I figure I must have been intended to be his first kill.

I suppose there could have been some beauty in that death. I must have looked like he did then when I made my first kill. It certainly had a full circle kind of feel to it and while I wasn’t really satisfied with it, who is when they die? At least that’s what I told myself to reassure myself of my desire to see out my sentencing. So I stood up ready to let the kid have at me. I might have even instructed him on how to do it properly if it had came up but we were interrupted.
When I stood the kid panicked. He must have thought I was going to try to hurt him. He stumbled back into a second masked figure as it came through the door. This one was a man. He grabbed the kid and in one swift calculated motion slit the poor things throat. The poor little shit made a bunch of desperate gargled noises and crumpled to the ground. When he hit the ground his mask finally came off. He had this haunting look of pain and betrayal in his eyes. A part of me wanted to try to catch the kid and cradle him off into the darkness… and the rest of me had stiffened in an effort not to vomit.

 I stared at this second person for a few seconds trying to understand.
Was he actually to be my executioner?
Was this an effort to fire me up for the death I had requested in a way I would not have wanted?
And then I recognized that soulless stare in his eyes. I knew this man. This was yet another person I could not kill. This one was not a secret though. I actually liked this man. At one point in time, he was my handler.
He’s a cold man who nearly never speaks but that’s what made him so appealing. I never had to talk to him, argue with him, or deal with his shit. There was only ever silence. There was only ever silence and the mission.

“So what is this?” I asked him. “Come to see me off?”
He just stared at me. So I stared back. We did this for a good little while before he pulled out a knife and a mask. They looked like my old ones. They had all the same curves and markings. The mask even had the same crack in it. And then I understood. Or so I thought I did. I thought he was disobeying orders to try to help me.

“But the-” I started. I started but was made to stop. He put a finger up in a shushing gesture. Then he pointed to my waist. I looked down and saw two long stretched arms around me, the 'arms' of the master. I turned as fast as I could but in the moment he was out of my sight he disappeared on me. Not that it mattered really. His brief appearance made handlers point. He was here on behalf of the master, not for me. But that suited me just fine.
I turned back to handler. I still had questions. I had so many things I wanted to know about these last few days.
“Why am I still alive?” I asked.
“Why was I not allowed to kill that runner?” I demanded.
 “During what cold day in hell did the master start forgiving anyone for anything?”  I yelled getting more and more desperate with each question I asked.
And then I remembered who I was trying to talk to, a fucking mute.

And I fell silent again. There were no answers or explanations… only silence. For the first time in a long time, that just wasn’t enough.
He must have grown impatient with me while I was muddling around in my thoughts because he forced the knife and the mask in my hands. And then he spoke. He spoke and for that moment that’s all there was. The world went black and his one word drowned my mind putting all my concerns to rest. When I finally came back to earth I knew his word and it was the only answer I needed.
He said, “Proxy.”
I am a proxy and that’s all I need to know. I serve the master and there is only the mission.
Then he nodded at me and I nodded back to assure him that I understood. And then he left.

My mind was racing. Flying at 100 miles an hour at all the terrible things I was going to do for the master. I started for the door. I was too eager to wait and wanted to start practicing on the people outside.
I tripped and all my thoughts came crashing back to earth. I had tripped over the kid and I was reminded of the gravity of those terrible things. His haunting eyes… they reminded me of what it really meant to be a proxy. He reminded me that proxies are monsters only capable of hurt and betrayal. He reminded me that people in general were monsters like that. He reminded me that I was a monster like that.

He reminded me of so many things that would have been better off forgotten. That cowardly little shit took away my peace and left me with my confusion and my rage.
… But the more I thought about it the more I realized that was something I needed to thank him for. Things just would have been so much easier the other way.

So I buried him out in the woods. I made his mask his tombstone and I came back and wrote this. I wrote this in his memory as a thank you. It feels wordy but there really aren’t enough words you can put to an honest thank you so these will just have to be enough.
Here’s a little summary for those struggling with the underlying message: Thanks you little shit head.
I’ll keep in touch but I have a life of hurt and betrayal to readjust to.
Not that most of you seven care.


  1. Swan, I am only beginning to read your blog.

    But I need to tell you that I've met proxies who are capable of more than just the killing and torture that they call their job.

    I hate to harm you through an overly friendly gesture, but. Such is. I'm going to keep reading.

    1. Edit: I managed to accidently delete your comment. It went something like this:

      A. Lucia Cat

      The positive commenting.
      Seriously. Being a proxy doesn't mean you have to be miserable all the time.

      Being a proxy means you can't have anything you want or like. You can hold nothing dear.
      That is what they threaten you with to control you.
      It is what they take from you in order to test you.
      Those are the things you can never have back when they want to hurt you.

      But you be positive. A negative attitude would be bad for the baby.
      I won't have that guilt on my conscience.

    2. I....I know I don't have much room to speak, since I'm not a proxy myself. And what you say-- is true. Holding things dear does give you a weakness.

      That makes me myself a liability to Ryan, though-- and I refuse to be a liability, damnit. And if I have a single drop of blood left in me, I'm not about to be used as leverage against him.

      I'm going to stay positive, because that's the only way to stay happy when you live life day to day.

      You don't mind if I continue reading this blog, do you?

    3. Hmm... sure. If you promise to stay positive.

    4. Deal.

      I might comment here and there too, heh.

  2. You know, to me, the kid represented a simple truth: That every proxy I've ever met winds up being a victim in the end. His shelf life was simply shorter, and more tragic, than most. But hey. At least you said thank you.