The Human Monstrosity

[Pranathi Siva]

The Human Monstrosity

They say I have committed a crime. I do not believe I did. Crime is but a belief, a doubt, self-same as justice. Merely the truth of an ignorant arbiter. How is she to know my truth? How am I to get my justice rotting away in this mouldy prison cell?

Was it wrong? Was it wrong to follow my desires? It is the same desire at the forefront of every man’s thought anyway. The desire that guides his every move, that determines his every decision. What have I done wrong but express it? All those ‘nobles’ but hide behind their mask; a mask of integrity, a mask of honesty, of trust. But every man is the same deep down. When the sun goes down, no devotee wants to know about the pursuits of their pastor. As long as he is back to preach the word of God the next Sunday morning, they have no care as to his bigotry. Because they too, are busy echoing his actions. I merely had the decency to surrender my deeds to the public eye.

I am a simple man: I want something, I will not stop at any cost to attain it. The hinting glances she threw my way as we crossed paths on our daily wanderings; the sweet smile dripping with honey, urging me to come find its source; the way her step morphed from the bounce of a child to the gracefulness of a swan on a crystalline lake, as if not wanting to create a single disturbance, a single ripple upon its flawless surface; they were not my doing. I merely yielded to her forthcoming commands, as a gentleman should, of course.

I made her tremble with a single touch. Sigh with a single embrace. Ignited her passion with a mere few words. I felt her reach enlightenment as my rough fingers traced her pale, white, frame; felt her touch all that was holy and turn back in shame as I removed her soul through her velvet soft lips. I rejoiced when I heard her cries for mercy, leapt with joy as her tears quenched my thirst. I watched in satisfaction as her soul closed in on itself, cut her off from everyone she believed she knew, everyone who believed they knew her. She was helpless and I was fearless.

Everything in this world is about sex, except sex itself. Sex is about power. Who could be more powerful than I, I, the beloved son of Lucifer? Did you believe, in your arrogant minds, that you could possibly imprison me? Did you suppose that a single prison cell could contain me? Did you really believe the son of the devil to be so powerless? My dear brothers and sisters, you forget, I live within each and every one of you. Did you believe my father poisoned you? Surely, a single apple cannot yield so much power. I regret to inform you, you were doomed from the very beginning. Fed lies and deceit from a silver spoon by Him you call your Father. You were never meant to be good, sinless. You were created to be monsters. And monsters you have become.

Days passed by in universal silence, only to be counted by the meals they fed through my cell gate. The first rays of sunlight flitted upon my closed eyes through the lone window as I drifted in and out of consciousness; slowly but incessantly urging me to open them and behold the dreary life that awaited me. As the day waned, the warmth turned into a crippling coldness that racked at my bones, created a constant rhythm of my chattering teeth; the only sound to keep me company. My olive skin had turned ashen as way of highlighting the hollows of my cheeks. My ebony hair turned a mane to protect the chance passer-by from an accidental glance into my piercing amber eyes. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. I know I have the most beautiful eyes. Ones that could capture you in seconds and enthral you for eternity in their thoughtful depth.

I had quite a lot of time to think. I wondered about the emptiness of thunder, the messiness of sunsets, the simplicity of an ant’s hard labour. I spent my waking hours trying to solve the human mind and my sleeping hours yearning to solve the human heart. Thinking, thinking, thinking… about meaningless nothings.
I believe the purpose of this exercise was for the prisoner to ponder his offense, to realise the wrong in his ways and eventually join his hell-mates after his regretful death. But it is quite pointless really. They overestimate the human capacity for righteousness and self-improvement. A true criminal never once believes he has done any wrong. That is what makes him the best of the human species: his ability to twist an awful crime into an innocent mishap. Lawyers are the best criminals of all.

In the midst of great anticipation, the fateful day arrived when I was to be hanged upon a mighty hill, in front of all the hypocritical eyes. Eyes that condemned me only as long as there was another within sight. The passageway that had once led to my confinement now lit the way to my freedom. The damp, confining atmosphere which had once smelt of rotting bodies and sewage unkempt, now seemed to freshen with the smells of dawn and petrichor. The walls which had once seemed to hunch in upon themselves, seemed to perk up with an air of liberation. The ground under my feet which had once been slave to gravity now floated upon its blanket of bliss. Death is not to be feared, it is but an escape from this world to another. Perhaps this world is another planet’s hell.

The initial shock as I opened my eyes to the faint rays of the sun playing hide and seek with the huddled clouds. No one ever thinks to thank the sun until it doesn’t rise anymore. The grass tickled at my ankles, presenting me with gifts of dewdrops to accompany me through to the afterlife. I felt the weight of stares unblinking, the burden of murmurs from people who had no other business to attend to but watch an innocent man die, the heat of reproach from all those who were true to their morals. A sudden shift seemed to take place within my mind, a breaking of engines, a railroad switch, the emergence of a new belief. I cannot die like this. I must not die like this. I will burn and salt the earth before my breath is stopped. I must tell them all, all these worthless, nobodies. I must prove to them that I am not the monster but they. Prove to them that I am not the only son of Satan but share a brotherhood with every one of them. Prove to them that I have only executed what they desire day in and day out. Show them that my mind and soul have been cleansed while theirs remain in the grimy hallows of desire. The only way to rid a desire is to give into it, after all. All these ignorant, illiterate, virtuous men must be exposed for the true devils that they are. I must not die in vain. I cannot return to my father without enlightening these morons who refuse to believe in their own evil.

I saw the lightning flash before my eyes. The wind howled her secrets, the thunder playing the loudspeaker to her sorrows. The fallen leaves danced and dashed before my eyes, in search of a new home, in search of a sense of belonging. The rain pelted in a bombshell attack, veiling everything before me in an undefined blur: mother earth crying for her forsaken tenants. I must educate them, I must warn them against themselves. They cannot go on as they are, I cannot die in vain…

Alas, I am but a twig caught in an unforgiving flood. The doom has already been set into play. My doom, their doom, are they not one and the same? What am I to do now? I but wished for the progression of the human race, but in return I receive their judgement and shame, like all great men before me. I heard the jeering of the gathered crowd acting as an orchestra for my funeral. I felt the noose, cold and rough against the flushed skin of my throat. As if a snake were wrapping itself around me, hissing, “Your father warned you. Your father warned you, they were beyond saving. He warned that they were no longer his children nor His. They had created a world of their own. A mundane, grey world, where every soul yearns to sin yet sin is not celebrated. They are beyond saving.” He was right, they are doomed. The noose tightened, my soul loosened its grip on my body. Goodbye.