Because of the hubbub in the stadium no one saw or heard the thumb of an insignificant elderly man’s left hand snap against his left forefinger, before sweeping both of his hands in front of him in an imperceptible way, close to his body. But, everyone there that day experienced the carnage that transpired.
As far as he was concerned the time to rid the nation of everyone who didn’t deserve to live had arrived! He sat at the back of the crowd in the stadium listening to Miserere mei, Deus (Agnus Dei) on his headphones, oblivious to the chaotic scene unfolding before him. Whenever circumstances appeared to be getting beyond his control, Allegri’s beautiful choral work always restored his inner peace. With his right hand he once more waved it from left to right in an almost dismissive gesture. Instantly peace returned to the stadium. Apart from a whimper here, a cry of pain there, silence soon descended among the thousands of dead and dying football fans.
What had brought him to commit this momentous act? From his perspective it was sheer desperation on his part at the indifference regarding the state of the world. Rather, how mankind had renounced its stewardship of the world in favour of wealth, greed, avarice – call it what you will. Unbeknown to him, he was the instrument of a higher power. Something or someone was controlling him. It had been grooming him since his birth seventy-two years earlier. Up until this point in time he had been surreptitiously guided. Ideas of absolute right and wrong were implanted in his mind by his guide as he grew to adulthood. That said, he hadn’t exactly led a blameless life. Far from it in fact! He still drank; endlessly smoked roll your own cigarettes. Malawi Leaf being his tobacco of choice. It had taken him over a month of searching online to find a tobacconist that stocked it in this country. His home positively reeks of it. Having said that it isn’t unpleasant since it’s smoke produces a perfumed odour.
Time for his next target?
The stress of getting a ticket to the Strangers Gallery above the floor of the House of Commons in the Palace of Westminster had taken its toll. If only they had known! It didn’t matter a damn, he was here! From where he sat in the shadows, none of his fellow observers of the Mother of all Parliaments in action noticed as he inserted his ear plugs and adjusted the volume of his Smartphone to suit. Soon he began to relax as Miserere mei, Deus soothed him once again. It would soon be time to act once more. A lesson had to be learnt by the servants of the rich and powerful in the United Kingdom. Thinking about it, servants is the wrong word! Enforcers summed up every politician sat below him to a tee, as he saw it. An example had to be made! He straightened his back and then stood briefly, cocked his left thumb as he pointed the first finger of his left hand at the head of one backbencher in the government, before sitting down. Somewhere a woman screamed. Panic ensued as the politicians fought each other to exit the House as quickly as they could. As he was being jostled towards the door by those behind him, he turned to glance at his handiwork. Blood still spurted from the neck of the decapitated body of a back-bencher. What remained of its head stuck to the wooden panel behind the body. Thanks to the daily live television coverage of parliament by the EU biased British Broadcasting Corporation, panic soon spread across the country. Newspapers and political pundits wanted to know who or what was responsible. A politician had been executed in the House; and yet no shot was heard. No weapon found!
What would be the third target?
Three weeks later he arrived on The Isle of Dogs which had long since vanished under tarmac and concrete like so many former landmarks of old London. He chose Canary Wharf simply because it was the latest Central Business District to be built there; an obscene monument to greed and corruption. It had to go! He walked the canyons of glass and steel looking for somewhere relatively safe while he carried out his plan. The idea of returning to the Underground Station from whence he had arrived suddenly dawned on him. Fifteen minutes later he had arrived back at the north entrance close to Canada Square.
Once again no one took the least bit of notice as he plugged his headphones into his Smartphone and pressed the classical music app. Anyone that had taken any notice would have seen nothing more than an elderly man, eyes closed, conducting a phantom orchestra as his hands began their deadly work once again. With each gesture of the rolled up newspaper in his left hand the skyscrapers housing the United Kingdom’s investment banks began to tear themselves apart. With his right he described rapid upward motions which sent buildings like The Shard, several thousand feet into the air, before plummeting to the ground. His symphony of death only stopped when every skyscraper had been reduced to nothing more than a pile of twisted steel, concrete, and shattered glass. What his next target would be would have to wait. He needed to go home to recuperate…
Getting this idea for my next novella or novel out of my head has been a cathartic process. For months now I have dreamt of having this terrible untraceable power at my fingertips. Often I would wake in the middle of the night completely terrified by it! In case you are wondering, the old man in the story is me. While I cannot change the way people mistreat our planet and each other, I can imagine a scenario that would put the fear of God into most of us. As for Allegri’s choral work, it always reduces me to tears of joy each time I listen to it with my eyes closed.
Click on the sound file at the top of the post to experience its beauty for yourself.
Havoing read this, should you think you are experiencing de ja vu, I wrote it back in November 2019, posting it here on my blog back then. It was when I first began seriously thinking about my current psychological WIP – The Power of The Mind. I inserted it into the manuscript as the fourth chapter a couple of days back…