Our hero sat disposed with grandeur twitching his fingers. Ill will was a reason to say that all was well. Richard was a man from the league of sincere reasoning and smiled like a mean person. The bad tastes of cigarettes and whisky in his mouth made him say, "I'll take your soul." The sentence slipped out of his mouth and traveled across the mind of his friend Bob as he searched for the words to follow. It was simple, so he asked, "Why do they hold men in chambers?"
Our hero continued to twitch his fingers and began to look at them as a measure of mortal men. "Reason and virtue would be best," he continued. He read the paper and it suggested that he would take their souls. He needed to find a connection to deal with it. Those statements made him shake his head. Richard had confidence. It was the path that gave him his high.
"Matters should be recorded," he suggested, realizing he was standing on the corner grinding his teeth.
Richard wanted a glass of water. He would sip the rim and calm his internal fires. This is a man trying hard to look wary of the street yet he did not. More than one person saw this young man in prep school garb and held no respect for him.
With this in mind he opened his wallet to check his situation. He lied to himself that it was okay to do this, that nobody here could hurt him and that he was the most feared man on the block. This was because he sent his psychic forces out to set such repute to this city block.
He was making progress in his plans. He pulled a folded piece of paper and made a comment that he was still young. Still nobody was listening and he appeared to be mentally ill, so he was not found out of place when he took another sniff of white powder. He did the rail in a perpetual search for a better word to describe the fear he struck in the hearts of common men. He nearly fell over but let himself think that this was the drug of the kings. It was the drug of the most powerful people.
He repeated the word "powerful" to himself. It was true. He was going to be king.
The moment trapped him so he stood still in some unfinished painting for a number of minutes. He was frozen in the instant like the world was his for the taking. He could do anything he wanted, and spoke softly to himself, "Those that are making the true gains in politics are snorting cocaine right now. I know this because I am. This is the drug that makes one smart and cool. Those that smoke the stuff are below me. They do not actually feel its effects."
He then walked to find the dealer that he last bought the drug from. Cocaine was expensive. Crack was for the poor. He was cool and he knew that his dealer saw this. He forgot the path that he was going to take. He knew that it would have been a good one, but Richard reasoned that this silence was very interesting as well.
He took a moment's glance at the man selling drugs on the corner and sighed. It was his friend and dealer, a man that Richard only knew as Paint. He bought more drugs in silence with a smile that was key for the man to know that he could be trusted. Richard left quickly and decided that he should go visit his friend. He could not stay here. He left and felt higher for it. He would be wiser in the future, knowing that his people existed on one side of the tracks and the disenfranchised lived on the other. Our hero knew that every day that he longed for supremacy over his peers was a day wasted, as he was simply longing for it and not truly superior.
He left thinking about a box of soap. The interest of his statements and that city block made him wonder if he would rather exist as one of those actual boxes of soap. He did not make sense of this connection. He just wondered why he thought such things.
The nuisance would be to carry such an object with him. Maybe he could hire help. One of those black men that worked for his family would be perfect. Or an Asian woman, he reasoned that they were used to being set in their place.
Our hero gazed into the distance and made his way back to the affluent section of town without remembering a thing that he said or did.
Our hero had the catchy song of the day in his head. It was a number one hit a few months back but had made its way down the charts back to relative obscurity and impulse purchases of the sorts of people Richard could not make sense of. It was a simple tune and our hero could not help but bob his head.
One day, Richard supposed, he would publish his autobiography. It would be insightful and about his meteoric rise to power and influence. He would have it ghost written, but only because other men were better writers than him. He would make sure it would be insightful and explain how he was right about everything. It would detail his beliefs and people would purchase it and learn about his wise teachings. They will keep good thoughts about him and keep him high on a pedestal above everyone else, especially those who made him an outsider. They would fear him the most, for he would have been their king.
And only those that Richard considered cool would survive. It would be a strange test, our hero thought in a lark. "Do you believe in Richard Channing?" the paper would remark. If they circled yes than they would become his class. If they circled no than they would become slaves until finally they were simply wiped out. Those who did not think our hero cool would be punished and this simple goal would be kept secret. He could not be caught discussing this with anyone.
It could be implied to those who held powerful positions and they would know. Richard knew how politics worked. They would agree with what he meant and it would be easy to become that man.
The key to being cool, Richard figured, was to be just a little badass. He once used the term that he was "In the closet as a bad man," to explain that the common people should believe that he was a good man in a charade preformed for the mass media.
His colleagues were a little taken aback by his statement. They sat in silent shock when that series of words left his lips.
Richard laughed it off, as a man should do. He stated for the record, "I didn't mean like a faggot. It is just that people should believe in their leader because otherwise there will be to much uncertain air around the elections."
The fellows who sat with him agreed and quickly changed the topic. Dick was unsure whether he had uttered a faux pas or if he made an important point. Our hero knew that they had picked up his tone and suggestion. They knew what he meant.
"These aren't faggots," Richard thought, before he looked in the eyes of the people in the room hoping that they did not hear his last thought. It was a silent thought but he understood that his mind could influence people so he hoped these men did not know what was up.
These men were cool. They were a sort of cabal that men at midnight. The claim was that by becoming one of them he could start his quest to be the most powerful man in the world. It was as simple as coming to the meeting and discussing world events. Most of these men had fathers in politics. They were good connections and would serve him wisely in his plans.
But Richard's mind began to wander.
He could not mention his other wishes, the ones to join crime. If they knew that he wanted to sell drugs while making them illegal for everyone else he would seem too crooked, even for this shadowy group. He would stick to implications regarding ethnic cleansing and the immense superiority of his class and people. They did not realize that he meant only the few that Richard thought were cool would survive.
They would understand eventually but he would need to be further entrenched in this cabal to send this idea towards any of them.
He was in his comfy chair when his roommate arrived, although he had no roommate. The tone was a hushed whisper, "Before I think to leave and travel." His roommate said hello.
Richard glanced to his side mirror. He sold more money that day than he knew. He was no drug dealer. He was a world leader. Our hero loves and before the mightiest sword drawn would be his peoples. This was his true purpose.
Our hero began to ramble. "I am not the beginning of the old world. I have no remark that let them. Let the man have nothing. That is my counter remark. And let the old heathens be lit. If they never marked anything, they would soldier on as old sorts. They had nothing to lose. The marked men who felt they met the old reason they the marked suits," Richard heralded.
The invisible presence asked an awkward man to clarify.
Instead of replying he felt his old typewriter and wondered about its previous typist. It was a moment of reason but Richard mentioned, "Washed and marketed to a fool. The old nevermore that took the crows, sir." But Rick Channing smiled and moved his fingers to type.
The roommate had won.
He won because heaven was waiting for the traveling few. They may not need these people who run away from the room. But he knew it was not that. And the toad knew that too, even third party members out in the hallway played our dear hero the blues.
"I would call on him, my friend," The roommate said softly, but the remark fell on Dick Cheney's deaf ears and he replied, "This man belongs in a world for himself."
This was an odd moment for a man of Richard's caliber. He would one day be people's idol. He would be a man that people could look up to and trust. People would follow his will and dance with a traditional sin. And he liked these traits of this man. Richard was not typing and was once again entranced with the Toad's presence.
"Do you want a cigarette?" Rick asked.
"No I never have one first thing in the morning."
"A cry is the way to be here every morn, sir."
Richard laughed and clasped his hands.
The voice continued, "She has left an open wound that needs men of mind and words. You have none though, Richard. Where are your words?"
"Maybe his error was he quit telling lies. That poor woman, she knows nothing of men."
"Those are no words, Richard."
"But it is at your request. So please stand and back up. I am a man who has just finally won that thing and may I mention I've seen the ghost. You haven't seen the ghost, Toad."
"Your ghetto has been awakened in the wee hours. But I will only ask you this once, would you rather destroy Festin or the other worlds? He never acted as if this negative spirit scared him. You grabbed at this woman and fought with her arms. She struggled for a moment and he her for the last dance of the morning, Rick."
The coffee machine sputtered in the background and an androgynous roommate laughed at Richard's groan.
"They never had no ghost tour that knew the old and retro was a train," he said, "I have never done that before. Maybe if he struggled more with the smaller grounds. They would all become much smaller then. We could grow stronger. We could move a little further ahead and into this new technology."
"But I am not interested in new inventions."
"Well now you have smoked the cigarettes." Rick told a shocked roommate.
"I guess not," The voice replied.
Richard continued, "And when I brushed her bangs back with a strong hand, in a gesture that was synonymous with music. I played her out of her hat. The big band put me in the mood for hard Jack Daniels. I felt that I looked like a middleman for somebody. It was a feeling I never had before. That was the time I stroked my first good looking woman, Toad."
"Did you kiss her goodnight?"
"She decided not to kiss me that night when I left. Her breath was gross or something, I dunno."
"And your life would go on forever in this specific series of events. So we suppose you have channeled energy from somewhere. Sometimes it's a young girl forced to make breakfast for you, sometimes not. You will one day see it. He was a man from our persuasion. He was a man like you who had these ladies held tightly."
Richard followed his instincts to where his ghostly roommate would be, but instead he met a Czech man outside a local bar. The place was a simple summer patio. It was usually filled with college students on breaks from study. They rarely wore their school logos in the place.
These were the type that were good at math and those that felt like leaving college would be a massive treat. Some Chinese girls were sitting on the patio looking elegant. Richard could not enter legally so he stood triumphantly with a tourist and explained why there was nobody with him.
Our hero left explaining he had to escape the hip dance club. But the Czech man knew that he was not invited to a dance club at most times.
Our hero was of little dynasty in these parts but his plan was to invite girls to his coffee shop gatherings on the other end of town. It was not going well. These girls were older than him, he did not look as cool as he would have wanted. He felt old and lacking of civility, it was what brought him here. Now it was something that he could not describe.
These girls knew that he was a youngster. The kid outside was in his proper place to them. It was the quarrel of modern man. These people learned much through the issues that Richard acted out.
He appeared strung out, tired and lacking the drinks to keep him sane on such drugs. He looked far too cocky for his position. They knew that he lied through his teeth. When he did say something they were of such offensive jokes that even those that were keen on such humor were turned off. Richard was failing and he knew it.
Our hero had never been hurt in a fight. This was obvious as he sat outside trying to find friends and influence people. This charade went on until Bob came around the corner and spotted his old friend. He knew he needed to help him.
Bob approached and Richard shook his hand remarking that he believed that each of the college kids that had passed was the same.
Bob replied, "Each man is every man, and the men who walked on the moon were modest.
Richards drugged mind choked a response, "They matched evaluation but we never knew the magnet. It is as if we sought a seeker. I need one more line."
Bob laughed and Rick told him to fuck off. It was a moment of silence until Richard asked if his friend had some cocaine. Bob was a man who had his own stash most times, but used less and more covertly than Richard. If Bob had wanted a break from this non-stop party he did not show it.
Neither believed they did. Bob snorted his own sample and was silent as he each rode out his wave. He looked on the petty differences that lay between them. Rick felt like a lame District of Columbia sheriff. He told this suspicion to Bob who explained it might be a good thought, one day they would be those people. They both wanted to find this equation.
Rick Channing hoped that he was not really a cop, calm and poised as he said something that confused his friend, "I hope that man is actually from Russia or something."
Bob replied, "Hopefully he will find his way back and this can all be taken as a cultural misunderstanding. We will all laugh when we look back at tonight."
But Richard could not find the humor in this scenario and spoke loudly, "Those fool are heavy. It is a reason not to let them out. They do not know of the being that I hold in the palm of my hand."
They wandered towards their dorms and Bob wondered why he stayed standing strong beside a friend that never made sense. Richard coughing and trying to catch his breath broke the silence.
He then said, "Man, that is taking the wind. Baby, give me your girls."
Bob walked faster and Richard continued speaking until he was left standing alone in the commons with pink and white flowers branching beside him. He felt silly with all the passersby looking at him as a weird and lonely man. His friend had not said goodbye.
So he lit a cigarette.
"Poor man," Rick said to nobody, "He knew nothing of the situation. It was simply one symbol that he did not see. But if he wanted a mind, I am the one that led him back. This is his entire fault; the matters we are made from, the patterns that color our populous, the life we were living."
This scene held importance in Richards's later life. When Richard had money he was limited to what he could spend on himself. So Rick Channing laughed at these even as his instinct fell behind his self preserved lead. He was still in charge, and it was mostly because of his karma.
Heat was curling up his spine. Something deep inside cast doubt on his power so he did what every man would do. He found a small dog and killed it. The dog was a bitch, at least three years old and he did not know the owner though he had seen the man walk him. Richard thought he was one of the teachers' aides at the school. He hated that bitch.
When she wasn't being walked by a boring old loser trying to remain hip with Rick's generation, she was tied to a post or leaning out an office window yapping at everyone that walked past. He had wanted to kill this dog every day since he was sixteen until now, when he was eighteen. The teacher's aide fought Richard tooth and nail at every corner of intellect and challenged the student's ideas without any clearance to do so.
This hurt Richard's mind, his insight was worth more than that. So, Rick paced around the commons where this dog was tied up for nearly an hour debating whether he should create this repercussion for the teacher's insolence. After the second rush of students that signified a class break, Richard took the dog by the leash.
The stupid thing just bounced along with him as he made his way towards the edges of the school and beyond. Richard was going to do this because his friend had left him talking to himself. He had become embarrassingly famous for doing so. This thought scared an older Richard, the one that was in charge. It was as if this was the moment that every-thing had gone wrong. The leader of the free world should not have these issues, but this man had his ghosts. One of them was the day he killed this dog.
At the time he felt rather strong and good for being a murderer. This was the second killing he had committed, though the first was a little more meaningful and he had to commit this one to leave that one behind. Richard debated the insanity of this all. Maybe the animal had done more than being annoying. Perhaps it had hurt someone he cared for. He lied to himself that he did not know better.
Momentary lapses in memory was all our hero had now. He became barely able to tell what the last moment was. While walking the dog away from the school Richard resorted to his manic way of narrating his adventures.
"Might a soldier in the rough feel none. At the next meeting I will be the realist. The most blessed bad man that there is or will ever be is me. A man that has done such things will never be just a chef. He will be that lone gunman that changes things. The man with murders is the winner of some mega-damnation contest. It is the whatever was you wish which could go sideways contest with knives that took your soul… Jabberwocky."
He spoke this to himself under his breath but anyone who passed him could hear a word or so, they never learned what he was truly trying to say. He just looked like a man with something important on his mind.
And because of his mistakes our hero was blessed with a corporate decision. He had an urge to write his memoirs. It would be published in Festin soon after the death of this leader. He was, in the end, unable to do so. This book is the closest thing we have to the truth.
He was not talented with the pen. He had a history of talking over the minds of other people. But he wished to be the worst mass-murderer in the history of this land. And it began with this second murder, one that he never got any credit. He strode out of range of the school and towards the turnpike, as the Toad of his hall had suggested.
With thoughts that sounded like the previous passages, our hero was glad that he still had some cocaine. He was upset with his lack of composure in this situation so he took a big sniff of white powder from his palm and drug the bitch towards her impending doom.
He felt the need to embrace the power of taking a life from something that was utterly innocent. The cars whizzed past our young hero and he smiled his crooked half a smile. Richard took this dog's soul. He brought it towards the road and bribed the mutt with the smell of fish. The dog sat near the side of the highway and was about to begin to eat a can of tuna that our hero had opened.
Richard grabbed the beast while it was near and kicked the can across the ground with his foot. He followed it and kicked the half-full can again and squished the fish in the dirt with his shoe, turning a full circle in a dramatic motion that was watched curiously by an attractive woman driving very fast on the turnpike.
He moved closer with the struggling animal tight in his arms and waited two cars. They passed him by side by side. When the third came Dick Channing threw the dog in front of it. The truck collided with the animal with a thud and the beast struck the ground dead. The truck drove off in to the feigning light, changing lanes fifteen seconds later, but apparently unaware that anything had happened, or afraid to stop as the driver was doing something illegal. Richard did not know. That was the thought that tormented him as the leader of the free world.
Richard was revealed at this moment. It haunted his days long after the cocaine that he did that night had worn off. These were his actual actions. I was something that our hero really did. Were these the actions of the glorious leader that he became? These were things our president thought that, thank God, would never come to light. Nobody knew he had done this, he never had told a soul.
Maybe his love of committing genocide and torturing people was some blip on his mind map that he thought would get rid of the pain of his own actions.
This thought called for his knowledge of his actions. This is what made this memory scary.