If You Only Knew The Power of the Dark Side... (796 hits)
Category: Science & EnvironmentalRating: -0.58 on 28 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Maltese (View user info) at 2007-02-06 10:00:32 EST
Campo put his head into his hands and began to cry, only taking his hands of his eyes to pull his hair out or to punch a hole in the wall.
He was such a fragile person. They all said he was. His neighbors said he never spoke much.
In 1966, Campo Elias Delgado left his hometown in Bogota, Colombia's capital city, to work as a mechanic for the American army in the Vietnam War. He killed a Vietnamese woman while he was there. He strangled her in front of her three-year-old son. He didn't exactly know why he did such a terrible thing. Maybe he was just feeling a little angry, that's all.
Whatever reason it was, it haunted him for the rest of his life. It scared him. He felt there was some sort of dark side inside his body that was going to get out sooner or later, and that he would not be able to control it. And he hated himself for it.
Twenty years later, that dark side was pounding on his insides, trying to dart out of him whenever it could. He was becoming much more hostile to everyone - to his friends, to his family, to his fellow professors at the Colombian National University.
On December 4, 1986, Campo walked home after grading a few exams to relax and possibly take a nap. It was a stormy, windy day, and the streets of the city were soaked. The sky was gray and cloudy and his coat was horribly wet. He took his coat to the bathroom and began to ring it dry. It would make his bony hands stronger for twisting and squeezing.
He checked his answering machine, and sure enough, his mother called. He hated his mother. He hated her voice. Just hearing her wretched voice was enough to make Campo vomit. The message began to play, and sure enough, it was much like her previous messages:
"You're a worthless son. I hate you."
No, it wasn't any different than the messages she left on his answering machine everyday. She had abused him all the time, all the way back to his childhood. He was used to it now.
He remembered when he was raped by her. The day of his father's funeral. He was tied to his bed and couldn't move. One hour later, he was scarred for life. He was eleven years old.
Something about that particular call made him snap that day. He threw the phone against the wall with enough force to break it. He walked over to the bathroom and got out a black lacquer case from the cupboard underneath his sink. He pulled out a single pistol and a eight boxes of ammunition. He put them into two paper bags and walked outside.
Ah, the sweet smell of city rain, he thought. He would never smell it again.
He took the same route back to the old apartment he grew up in, the same apartment his mother had lived in for the fifty-two years since his birth. Knocking on the door and brandishing a painful smile and two paper bags, he awaited her to answer the door. She didn't. Campo kicked down the door and walked inside to see the old woman sitting on a chair, reading a newspaper.
"MOTHER!!!", he screamed.
"Why did you do this to me?", he cried out. He reached for his loaded gun, but hesitated and pulled his hand out of the bag. No. A simple shot to the head is too good for her.
"I thought I told you never to see me ag-" were the last words that came out of her mouth, which she said nonchalantly as Campo ran toward her at full speed. She didn't expect it. Neither did he. With all his brute strength, he delivered a powerful kick to her jaw. She fell over along with the wine she was drinking, which spilled out all over the rug, staining it. He kicked her in the head until he was sure she had passed out. Choking back tears, he started to strangle her. He squeezed her neck like the coat he had rung. He then grabbed the newspaper she had been reading and wrapped it over her face.
"Goodbye, Mother", he whispered. He picked up her cigarette lighter from the table and set fire to the newspaper. Soon, her face, clothes, and eventually the apartment were engulfed in flames. Campo liked his work. But there was no time to watch - if he stayed in the apartment any longer, he knew the flames would eat at him as well. He ran out of the room, clutching both paper bags.
"Fuego! Fuego!", he shouted, running through the hallways of the apartment complex. He rang the fire alarm. These were innocent people. They should be able to live, he thought. He waited for them to arrive at the door to escape. There, among the people trying to escape, was an elderly woman who looked very much like his mother. This made him change his mind. He took the gun out of the paper bag, with seven bullets loaded inside. One by one, he shot the clamoring people in the head. All six of them fell dead. He wanted the seventh bullet to go nowhere else but into his brain, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it.
He fired the shot into the air.
Anguish and guilt consumed him like a monster's mouth as he walked down the street of city again. He heard the fire department coming. He started to run.
He ran to the home of his best friends, one of his colleagues at the university. He couldn't kill him. He wasn't there to kill him, either. No, he just wanted one last visit with his friend.
They talked for an hour about theology and politics, unaware that he had just killed his mother and six other people. Campo looked down at the table during the entire conversation, but he seemed to enjoy himself. After bidding his friend farewell, he returned to the streets once more.
He felt hungry. What would he eat? He sat on a nearby bench and pondered this question for about ten minutes. He couldn't make up his mind. Eventually, he ran a quarter of a mile to an Italian restaurant.
He was hungrier than he thought - he wolfed down three plates of spaghetti - they were very large plates. The average person usually couldn't finish the whole thing. He wanted to go home now. Just go home and wait until he was arrested. As he stood up with the two paper bags, something inside of him clicked. His dark side seemed to poke at him from the inside. After all, he had nothing to lose.
He stuck each of his hands in a bag, and stuck a new cartridge into the gun under the table. He wouldn't want anyone to get suspicious. The first seven shots were with perfect accuracy - the seven rounds killed seven people, including a mother and one of her teenaged sons. He reloaded his relatively weak handgun and fired a further seven rounds. Again, each round embedded itself into the head of a restaurant patron, ending their entire lives as a warm coppery trail of red washed into their eyes.
He had reloaded five times already before the police arrived. By this time, he wasn't as accurate, but every shot had hit someone. He ran for cover and killed three more people and crippled one more as he hid under a table, avoiding police. As he aimed his gun for head of a six-year-old girl nearby, something brushed up against his nose. He moved his eyes to see that his face was right in front of a policeman's shotgun. There was nothing he could do now. He had been anticipating this moment, in fact. He opened his mouth as the policeman pulled back on the trigger. His head broke into pieces and his brains had fragmented over the large decorative wall he was laying up against. It took a while to identify him.
After killing twenty-three people in the restaurant and giving a further fifteen people critical injuries, as well as burning down an apartment housing and killing seven people there as well, I guess you could say that was the only peace he ever found in his life. I'm not even sure if counts, because he was dead, after all. Then again, there was no way someone such as him could have found peace except through death. I'm pretty sure that it doesn't matter anymore.
User Reviews
Submitted by sicosemen (user info) at 2007-02-07 07:29:59 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
No Comment
Submitted by Flack (user info) at 2007-02-07 04:55:49 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
Shut the fuck up, Maltese.
Submitted by rob_berg (user info) at 2007-02-07 02:50:07 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Dude, this was really good.
A little raw - but nice.
No fucking way this should be a negative rating, but then again you sort of invite that with your antics.
Well done.
Submitted by particle_man58 (user info) at 2007-02-07 01:58:04 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
That was fuckin awesome
Submitted by lungfish (user info) at 2007-02-06 23:50:21 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Groovy
Submitted by Dolson (user info) at 2007-02-06 20:14:13 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
Shut the fuck up, Maltese.
Submitted by Harbinger (user info) at 2007-02-06 18:31:02 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
Don't listen to that pre-pubescent teenager Axolotl, I am a free thinking, sentient being.
And you're a fucking faggot
Submitted by Unabonger (user info) at 2007-02-06 18:18:41 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
Shut the fuck up, Maltese.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2007-02-06 17:34:48 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
Confirmation that the below user is me.
Submitted by Harbinger (user info) at 2007-02-06 17:34:12 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
Submitted by cera (user info) at 2007-02-06 15:19:01 (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
---------
=)
love,
Axolotl
Submitted by Caulaincourt (user info) at 2007-02-06 17:10:31 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
boring
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2007-02-06 17:07:16 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I'll +2 this time, but if I see you using this again
Submitted by cera (user info) at 2007-02-06 15:19:01 (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
you'll get an auto -2 no matter what, mmkay?
Submitted by 8track (user info) at 2007-02-06 17:02:32 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
Submitted by cera (user info) at 2007-02-06 15:19:01 (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
_______
you two malteses please fuck right off
Submitted by cera (user info) at 2007-02-06 15:19:01 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2007-02-06 14:47:02 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2007-02-06 11:32:28 (#)
Ranking: -2
Where'd you lift this from?
-----
this is actually okay writing, which makes me question it.
Submitted by hot_pocket (user info) at 2007-02-06 14:05:34 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
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Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2007-02-06 13:59:21 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
strange
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2007-02-06 13:24:08 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
No Comment
Submitted by SkullBiter (user info) at 2007-02-06 13:11:00 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
+2 jaw kick.
Submitted by icarus1987 (user info) at 2007-02-06 13:00:18 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
This post sucked. Try mixing it up a little. Try using complex sentences. Like the kind with commas. Or semicolons. That way your posts won't read like a boring chemistry professor. Droning on and on. About borophyll or something.
Submitted by BLITZKREIG_BOB (user info) at 2007-02-06 11:42:16 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
But whom killed him and why?
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2007-02-06 11:32:28 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
Where'd you lift this from?
Submitted by polyamorousaj (user info) at 2007-02-06 11:25:28 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
Meh.
Submitted by Beano312003 (user info) at 2007-02-06 11:18:00 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
there are too many words in this story.
less words.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2007-02-06 11:15:29 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
More shallow than the deep end of your gene pool, Billy Joe Rusty
Submitted by Snark (user info) at 2007-02-06 11:06:49 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
Not bad mang
Submitted by Method (user info) at 2007-02-06 10:05:53 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
SHUT THE FUCK UP MALTESE
Submitted by DeathJester (user info) at 2007-02-06 10:03:51 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Needs more ra... Oh.