I've always wanted to have a
lair, a secret bolt hole a few miles away, on the outskirts of town.
What is it's purpose? Well,
in my wandering mind, there are two stories that tell of “The Lair”
- one is the dissident escaping the fascist torturing secret police,
the Okrana of the future oppressors. For some reason, this internal
story always involves jumping into a river, and finding my secret
entrance under the surface, in the river bank. They chase me, dogs
close behind, but after I've jumped in the weed and lily clad water
by night, they lose my trail.
I enter the airlock behind a
door disguised as shale and mud, and within I have a supply of food
to last three years in a storeroom beneath a livving accomodation
about the size of a tent, well equipped with sensors, and means of
communication with my fellow dissidents.
The dogs and torturers clump
about the surfae lit by a quarter moon. But they cannot find me, and
when things quieten down the modern day junta defying Scarlet
Pimpernel can escape from his hideout, and resume tweaking the tail
of the neo-nazis and leading the popular rebellion.
A real life fantasy tale
from the riverbank.
The other daydream is
darker. I am a killer, a mass spree killer, who has carried out a
brutally bloody crime for reaons beyond his understanding. I am
cornered, like Peter Lorre in M, a cornered rat, fear in my eyes. I
escape by bicycle, unlit, in dark country lanes, and race for a
bridge out towards some local woodland. I am like an American black
helicopter, a mutilator of cattle and people, of uncertain but
perhaps celestial background. In the wall of the bridge on the cycle
path, is a false brick that acts as the key to my lair and
laboratory...the wall opens up, and the bicycle disappears.
I take the sack of organs
from my shoulder, and place it in the medical fridge, as I turn of
the Inrfa Red monitors and laugh at the police helicopter. They can't
see me, this place gives off no heat trace as I burn the remains and
transmit messages back to my handlers off world.
Every day, the modern day
devil rides out, and patrols plebeian streets for victims.
Copyright Bloody Mulberry 18.02.14
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