Justice

The cold night breeze swept past he city, leaving a shiver to every warm-blooded creature. There is nothing to expect from this stereotype of a city. Nothing new to see-- only dilapidated buildings, overflowing dumpsters, abandoned children and old people here and there, and the occasional dead petty criminal. Not the kind of environment you want for the kids.

Police officer Gomez thought the same, so he didn't bother to raise a family. However, he'd occasionally and unwittingly make a child with a hooker he'd hire during his off-duty hours(sometimes even on duty), but he'd just ignore them. His life is good, he often thought. He wouldn't need to dish out money for meals, he'll just come inside an eatery and flash his pistol at the manager, and he'd get anything he wanted, except that young waitress who works during Thursday afternoons. How he wanted to taste young Thursday flesh on a dark alley, but he was scared of the burly father who works at the kitchen. He looks so big that it seems that a bullet won't mean a thing to him.

Anyways, after meals he'd stroll out of the eatery and ride his motorcycle which he had christened as "Moses", because like Moses did with the Red Sea, the vehicles along the motorway would part and make way for him. Those who didn't would drown like the Egyptians, but not in water, but in ghost fees. His life was good, and so was his other friends at the force. Without them, the city would be in chaos and disorder.

There were men far greater than Gomez in the force-- his deeds were merely child's play in comparison to the others. Some were involved in narcotics trade, some were employed as hired guns and some rape children. How Gomez wished he could be like them, but he hated to admit that he was too much of a pussy to commit their acts of greatness.

On nights that he would be left alone, he'd look up and wonder whether he would be worthy to ascend there when the time comes. He had been such a dick, but he had no choice-- his body wants it, his soul craves for it. However, he is a good crimefighter-- he took so much delight in busting petty thieves and other little urchins unaffiliated with big criminal groups. He didn't meddle with the boys from the big ones, because he himself isn't with them. He didn't mess with them, neither did he help them.

A few days ago, he noticed a few persons who seemed to have been following him. He'd feel their stare burning his back. From the city park to the red light district, he could feel them. He'd look for the faces, but they just melted into the crowd; so concealed; so insignificant. For a few moments, they'd be gone, but once in a while, he could feel he's being put under surveillance. He could feel them when he stopped to smoke. He could feel them as he entered the eatery for a free lunch. He could even feel them as he entered the brothel. They're everywhere, he thought.

For days and days, that same feeling followed him. Wherever he went, whatever he did, he could feel a pair of eyes or a pair of ears trained on him. Slowly, he thought he was like a rabbit being stalked by silent yet deadly wolves. He shook that thought off. I'm the wolf 'round these parts, he thought to himself, and his anxieties would vanish.

He kept that mentality, and he wasn't disturbed by the stalkers anymore. They were still there, but he just didn't mind them. As a matter of fact, the thought of having someone watch him made him even bolder-- the cigarette vendor whom he used to give a coin for a smoke would now see a gun and would lose a pack of cigarettes from her wares. Gomez even took a hooker and didn't bother to do the deed in the brothel, instead, he took his pleasure of the woman in a damp and dark alleyway. "You like that? WOO!" he'd ask out loud after he did these things, much to the confusion of his victim.

One day, the stalkers thought they wanted to be noticed by Gomez, so they stepped up the act. Gomez was on his motorcycle and when the traffic light turned red, a dark sedan with tinted windows pulled to his right. He was strangely drawn to this vehicle, and when he turned to look, the driver lowered his window and looked at the cop through dark sunglasses. Gomez tried to approach the driver, but the light turned green and the sedan sped, leaving the gutsy cop dumbfounded. However, Gomez saw the plate number and made sure he remembered it. No one looks at me like that, he murmured.

There was another day when he was walking on the city's crowded and sweaty streets, and he walked past a man wearing a t-shirt, jeans and sunglasses. He was not the sedan driver, but they had the same concealed stare. He felt the sedan driver's aura in this man. Gomez tried to get the guy, but he seemed to have vanished into the crowd. Everyday, he saw men wearing sunglasses looking at him and most of the time, they's pass by him. Everytime he tried to apprehend one of them, they'd simply vanish. It was strange and irritating for Gomez. Everyday he saw one of them, it slowly drove him mad.

He saw them enough for one day that he had some beer and let the alcohol take over the thought of the sunglassed men in his mind. He went to his favorite eatery for dinner, drunk and stressed. To his surprise, the young and pretty waitress was there, even though it was not a Thursday afternoon. Due to drunken wanton, he grabbed the young lady and tried to kiss and touch her in the parts a father would be angry to see.

The girl started to scream, and her huge father came bursting out of the kitchen with a knife, red with rage. The angry father's raging eyes and the policeman's drunken eyes met. Gomez shoved the girl and bared his fists to the huge man, issuing a challenge. The man dropped his knife and took a stance. Gomez rushed to the man with a fist, but the huge man was surprisingly fast and Gomez was drunk. Gomez swung and missed, but the man hit with strong and fast blows. Gomez thought he had the man with a straight, but the angry father parried the strike and hit Gomez with a straight of his own to the face, which sent Gomez to the floor. As Gomez hit the floor, all the alcohol left his system and he was now able to think clearly. The man stooped to Gomez and grabbed his collar and was about to hit him again, but the policeman was able to draw his pistol and shot the burly man in the chest.

From the corner of his eye, he saw three sunglass-wearing men observing him. When he turned around, he saw that the street had a lot of sunglassed men scattered throughout the crowd. By this, he was driven mad and pursued the two nearest him, leaving the father dying and the daughter crying for help while cursing Gomez at the top of her lungs.

The sunglassed men fled as they realized they were being chased by Gomez. Gomez, in his fleeting frustration, ran after the two fleeing strangers, determined to get them this time. It all seemed to be part of some elaborate plan. Even Gomez felt that, but he just let it unfold before him. The two men hastily entered an old apartment building. Gomez charged inside the doors and he saw the two men flying up the stairs.

As Gomez reached the second floor landing, he found out that he had lost track of the two strangers. Just as he was about to go berserk out of frustration, he heard a door close, revealing where his targets are. He raced up the corridor, towards the door.

He kicked the door open, and he saw the two men lying on the floor with their eyes wide open (sunglasses removed, of course) and their mouths foaming. They've poisoned themselves, as if they've served their purpose already. On a corner of the room, Gomez saw something which confirmed his conspiracy theory-- there were pictures of the whole police force pinned up on the wall. On a nearby table, there were thick folders each labeled with names of the police officers, including him.

He read all the folders carefully, and for every first page except the one labeled for him, it was stamped with the word "execution". He looked for details on how the "execution" would be carried out, but there are none, just the extensive profiles of the policemen. In his sober days, Gomez thought that this was coming-- judgment to all their evils. He knew that they deserved it, but why not him also? Was he not evil enough?

He read the folder for their chief, Colonel Marco Marquez, and he saw the date for the intended execution, and to his surprise, it was that day. He quickly made his way back to the headquarters to look for the chief and warn him of his impending doom. Like a madman, he hastily made his way to the headquarters on foot.

He passed by the eatery, where moments ago, he had just murdered an innocent man. However, the eatery is now crowded with people, along with a medical team and their ambulance, and a newsteam with a reporter interviewing Chief Marquez-- just the person Gomez was looking for.

"We shall not tolerate the misbehaviors of our men in the force and we shall give them the appropriate punishment," he heard the chief say to the reporter.

"Chief! You are in danger!" Gomez called to his superior, drawing all the attention to him.

"There! This demon must be put to the hand of justice at once!" the chief then ordered two of the rookies in the force (who knew nothing of the misdeeds of their seniors), to seize Gomez.

The chief saw to it that Gomez would be seen before the camera and the chief preached about what loyalty and integrity is, as opposed to what Gomez had done. Gomez, on the other hand, continued to voice his warnings, but was unnoticed by the chief, who was busy being a hypocrite. Then, as nobody expected, a huge explosion caught everybody's attention.

Somebody from the headquarters called the chief, saying that the headquarters was blown up, with all the other policemen inside. He was about to tell who did it, but he was interrupted by a loud gunshot and his voice vanished. An unfamiliar voice took over and spoke.

"Greetings, Colonel Marquez!" said the voice in a mock greeting. "The time has come for all of you evil ones to be punished!"

And his voice vanished in a crackle of static.

In the blink of an eye, the chief's head suddenly blew up due to a well-placed shot to the head from a concealed sniper. Everybody near him was splattered with blood and brain. The three remaining policemen (which included Gomez), went mad and ran in different directions, seeking for cover. But among the three, Gomez was driven mad the worst.

"WHO ARE YOU?!" he repeatedly asked out loud, then he was knocked out unconscious.

When he woke up, he found that he was in a glass chamber filled with unfamiliar fluid and he was held in place by tubes which ran through his body. He could see a congregation of sunglass-wearing men standing before him and before the whole city. He then realized that he was on a stage, like a freakshow. Beside him were the two rookie cops, and they were spared. However, he could hear what the leader of the sunglassed men was saying:

"Your police force are but a nuisance to you and to all the country," he began in a matter-of-factly manner. "They were supposed to serve and protect, but instead, they punished and enslaved you. We come here today, The Brotherhood of the Just, to bring down the mighty hand of justice upon these evil hearts and lead you, the people, to a peaceful new era. The just from the unjust were selected, and there they are, standing beside the epitome of evil in the force, which in a few moments, would be immortalized, so that nobody else would wreak havoc like these men once did."

Upon these words, a strange fluid was pumped to the tubes connected to Gomez's veins and he was poisoned from the inside. However, the leader of the Brotherhood explained that the fluid would preserve his body perfectly so as to serve as a concrete example to what the Brotherhood, the New Order, would do for the good of the people.

"And that, my beloved masses," the leader announced, "is the beginning of a new era of peace and justice."

A Frenzy of Blood

And I am finally awakened.
To the world I say hello,
But to the mighty sun I am frightened.


And I rise to meet my body's demand.
In the darkness I wait for thy neck,
To taste of your blood drives me mad!


And so there you come a-strolling,
Oblivious to the malign in the air.
So do I inch closer to you, beautiful thing.


And like the fluid air I wriggle to you,
Yet you do not feel my evil.
Proceed to your neck I should and must do.


And to me you turn your head,
I was halted in my tracks.
Your beauteous scream as rich as your blood so red.


For an eternity of sleep, never have I felt this--
This palpitation against the sternum.
Oh, pretty thing, you put me in unease!


You tell me to let you go,
But no, I shall not.
Yet I would not drink from you, oh no.


Please, look me not with those crystal eyes!
THEY DRIVE ME AWRY!
My attraction to you dwarfs my size.


But I won't let this build up inside of me;
So, as much as I hated to do,
Your neck I shall bite, and doom you shall see.


Pray hard, pray always,
That I may not see another you.
You, who hindered my evil ways.

Revelations

What a jest I have been,
Believed I was the master of my universe
Yet I was but a prey of my own fool.
Day by day I turned
A blind eye towards which I don't know
But again,
A patchwork of an idiot I am
Now, as these cryptic message are laid
Before me,
I decipher a word-
"FOOL".
The great tomb was fine
Until Carter opened it in 1922.
Fool was he to dig inside
The remains of a past long gone,
For it brought him a curse
He'd never forget.
Betrayal is an ugly monster
That seeks to devour
Every beautiful thing.
I beg thee, Master of the Skies;
Command thine gray clouds hanging above me;
Cruel fate, set me free.
I am paralyzed by the force
Of knowing. Be it a beauty
Or an abomination, Pray tell,
What should have been done
In the days of the kings.

The Face I Yearn To Forget

Strange being of my acid past
Pray, let me through
And let me live another
Black day with traces of ecstasy.


Cruel mistress from yesterday,
Why did you not
Emancipate me? How come
Thou linger still in my cold, cold heart?


Day by day I seek for justice,
Yet you give none
Of the power you possess.
Am I forever a slave of me?


Yet yours was but a grim visage
Which for a time
Entombed me in cold, hard stone.
Thank heavens, I am resurrected.

Path

To my old self
I shall return.
To my dead memories
I shall come back.

To them I return;
But on what medium?
I yearn to backtrack,
Yet I am confused.

From the future I turn away.
The present I long to banish.
Still I am confounded--
HOW?

Vague thoughts; bizarre memories.
Was I once part of something?
Might be; might not be.
Lead me to the true direction.