| From: | Philippe Garneau phgarneau@******.ca |
|---|---|
| Subject: | Nomad |
| Date: | Sat, 22 May 1999 03:28:49 -0400 |
It's not as much as I wanted to, or even the immuable
necessity of causing this act. You see, it's the girl
shedding tears of blood over a blue rose. That picture
completely weaved my mind into a totally different state.
The ork there over at the bar rocking his head to the music
has something to do with it, yet I can't blame either of
them.
People could say it's the endless violence on the
screamsheets, the hums of the Humanis mantras, the gore of
the countless Neal the Ork Barbarian homeburned-BTLs I've
slotted, or even the thousand-watts smile of the fragging
NuYu anchor on the blimp. The hell with it, I say its my
fault, only my fault. Millions of people are exposed to
the same things as I am for decades, yet they don't do it.
There's got to be a reason, though I can't see one. I just
had to do it. The rush of it, the attraction of the
unexpected, or of taking control the shrinks would say.
Crazy buggers they all are, everyone of them.
I could have flung a spell, I still feel the power around
me; in me, you know. People think i'm just another old
burnout, and they're right. No way, I like to bask in mana
again. And again. It's the most comfy thing there is.
The rush of casting a long-prepared summon, to mold a new
being out of pure magicstuff, its simply incredible...
better than sex I'd say, even if the expression is so
overused, it remains true.
Yet I used the gun.
An old Beretta 110 ST. Fired only a dozen times before.
Only twice while actually aiming somebody. A rarity in
this part of town, you will say, I know...
The trigger you ask? Oh you mean what caused it? As I
was saying before, I dunno. I saw the elf, he had a
strange look, fazed... but that wasn't important. No, I
like elves, had a few nights with a couple of them joygals
that were elves, or at least good fakes. Yeah, I mean real
ones. In the flesh, like they say. I mostly do BTLs when I
need to, you know, but sometimes I like it real. Anyhow,
that's beside the point, I'm no policlubbie, and no Humanis
scum. Like they wouldn't hang me in the first place
anyway. Me mage, remember?
Perhaps you should bring one of your forensic specialists
you like. This part will really give the critter a hard
on. It's the way I felt when I shot the fragger.
Nothing.
I was in control, no question about it, yet I felt nothing,
I thought nothing. It scares the hell outta me, let me
tell you. I've killed before, I won't hide it to you. I
was a runner once. A kick-ass team, and people knew; hell
you knew, I saw it in your eyes. But you know we were the
quiet types. The pay and the respect is better that way.
Anyhow. I was usually scared to death at the times, right
to the edge of control. It took everything I had to
remember the formulas. Yeah, you dolt, the spells.
But this time, I felt nothing. And I had to touch him. I
knew as much. I had to touch him when I landed the killing
blow. No I don't know why.
Yeah, that's right, bring the shrinks, pump me full of
drugs, jack me to the fragging psychotropic horror chamber
you hide somewhere!!! It won't change a thing. Not a damn
thing. Do your worst, I don't give a damn.
You know what? I feel like, no, -I know- I might do it
again. Anytime.
And _that_ is scaring me.
