Sneaking One Past The Authority

[kulla]

The great revolution introduced a new calendar. The initial day of a calendar serves as a historical time-lapse camera. And, basically, it is the same day that keeps recurring in the guise of holidays, which are days of remembrance.
Walter Benjamin




The killer always returns to the crime scene, and that is why I am keeping a close look at it. A close look from afar. The forensics team has sealed it and the last guard has gone home. All is quiet and there is only me left to keep an eye on things, incognito, going around the crime scene in circles, looking for suspicious faces and suspicious activities, pretending to be doing something else, reading a ragged book, window shopping, begging, smoking a cigarette.

Ah, the life of an underground rat. I know that the killer always returns and he could be anybody. They teach all this in the police academy. They teach you that you have to be very careful… spot, approach and catch. But what if you only get a quick glimpse, a fleeting reflection on a window of a shop and then you lose sight of him again?

In the academy, they teach you that, although he lost his humanity only for a moment and in that moment he commited the most terrible crime, it is difficult for him to gain his humanity back. He has no conscience. He still doesn’t want to lose his freedom. The killer always returns because he wants to know that the cops are not on his case, and there is no other way of knowing but to return to the crime scene. He wants to see if he’s left any evidence behind, and if he has, he is wishing that the forensics team hasn’t picked up on it, so he can go and erase it.

His conscience, or whatever it can be called, tells him that nothing could have been avoided, that the only thing to do now is not being caught. The universe is sealed and complete, he thinks, everything happens once and forever. The death he caused is destiny, like the last kiss of a movie is in a DVD; whether you play it at all, or pause it a million times over a million details postponing it forever, it will always be there. And after this comes the most terrible thought in the killer’s mind: if everything happens once and forever, then he is forever killing her, and she is forever being killed by him.

Another train of thoughts starts working opposite this one. There are too many doubts in his mind. There is too much guilt in his heart, too much pain in his soul. He has a powerful conscience now, gnawing away in his soul like worms in rotting flesh. He is human, but there is this one act of inhumanity, this one moment in his life, which he wishes to erase from his memory, and even from the universe if he could…

And you know what? Sometimes, poor soul, for a tiny moment, he achieves this. He forgets that he is a killer and he thinks the killer is someone else. But that lasts only for a tiny moment. Death cannot be undone and the worms are already at work.

That’s why when he returns to the crime scene he plays the moment of murder over and over in his mind, pausing at every detail of his memory as if it was the movie on the DVD, reproaching himself that this could have been avoided, and that could have been avoided, and this and that. And yet, it couldn’t have been avoided.

The mind of the killer is full of tensions like these. All of these thoughts don’t pass through his mind one by one like words in a story or sequences in a movie, but they come in a flash, all at once. Even though the words in a book, or the events in a movie are all packed together at once in the book or in the DVD, to understand the story you’d have to go through words and sequences one by one. But if you could read a story like a picture, then all the words would come rushing at you in the same time like the colors of that picture. And that’s how a killer’s mind works.

But away with these thoughts, he thinks. The killer has other purposes. What’s done is done. What’s the use of wasting energy over that? The killer always returns to the crime scene. If he doesn’t return because he has a conscience, he returns because he doesn’t have one. So he goes around in circles, looking for faces he might suspect are cops, pretending to be doing something else, reading a ragged book, window shopping, begging, smoking a cigarette. And no matter what they teach you in the academy, you will not be able to catch him.

But wait a minute… what is that? Is that a cigarette butt behind the yellow police tape? Could it be that the forensics team hasn’t noticed it, or is it more recent? My God, I should pick it up and get rid of it. What if it’s mine? What if it’s the cigarette I smoked before kissing her for the last time? What if it has my DNA on it, spelling my crime out in capital letters?

Nobody is looking. Go on. Pick it up. Pick it up.

[Fiori]

Interesant tregimi, me pelqeu fundi, ndoshta mund ta kishe zhvilluar pak me shume idene, megjithese dhe keshtu me pelqen...(nuk e di perse me ka rene rastesia keto kohe te lexoj vetem libra apo historira te tilla, me dedektive e vrasje, e komplote).

Do e rrishikoja menyren e te shprehurit ne disa vende. Mund te them qe vihet re rrjedhshmeria e fjaleve dhe ndryshimi midis citimit dhe tregimit. Po, vertet 'gomari nuk calon nga veshet', megjithate nje redaktim i shpejte nga dikush qe e ka anglishten si gjuhe te pare, nuk do te kushtonte shume as ty as atij/asaj. Vetem nje ide kjo...