On whose chessboard do you now play?


Cradled in a false sense of security…

Think about the calm before the storm. Think about how a tiny boat will cradle you in its womb and lull gently to and froe while traversing the waves that wander beneath its keel towards the shore… feel the gentle rocking that soothes your soul and brings composure to your thoughts.

Memorize its emotional echo, for that is only for today and not tomorrow. For tomorrow the winds will begin to pick at the leaves and tug at distant clouds- teasing them both to leave this pleasant sanctuary and dramatically alter their course. Can you feel it in the air all around you? The stench of imminent decay? The brittle crispness of truth as it settles like feathery strands of fog, low in the crevices and craters of your soul? Do you even recognize its warning?

It is coming Grim. The hour of reckoning… before the first blush of snowfall… before the first real nip of winter, the fear will begin to settle in your bones like a damp and unrelenting malady. An ache that radiates pain deep within your very marrow. The need to suppress your bulimic instinct–to purge yourself of unwanted mediocrity… to teach your ego to evade and not give you further away.

You will not go free Grim. Neither you, nor your minions. They know who you are now… what you have done. They know what you know… they see how it all was. The lure, the bait, the gun, the lights… The set of the tires and the foolish attempt to present as suicide. All part of the trap you set- all for the ultimate prize. The man who had to take a bath with blood on his hands, betrays you from the grave. His legacy points the way to the shooter who chased his fears across state lines. The red headed man who counseled- then codified. The MOT knew too. He and Charley both had to pay… knowledge is power. Power was concealed in vinyl… but how many were there? Can you count that high? Two… three… four… five… six?

Did you really think that 44 years would erase the memory of Charley’s blood imprinted upon the asphalt? Did you really believe that all were so naive or so corruptible that your secret would remain securely buried along with their bodies? That greed and sexual perks would forever seal their lips or satiate their appetites for further compensation? Or even better… pay for their eternal loyalty? You were a foolish boy who tried to wear the pants of a man and now the fabric woven by your lies- gathers quickly around your ankles, stained with blood that refuses to wash free in the night’s rain.

Did you think they would not tell? Not whisper of your deeds to save their own skins?

Everyone has a price Grim and you no longer hold the currency to mollify.

Great truths inspire great loyalty… great brutality inspires only dismal fear. Who will wield your shovel now? Or press their fingers to another’s throat for you? Who will carry across their brow the enormous mantle of grief and regret? Who will trade their golden years for your sullied name? Who will honor the dead and their sacrifice, as they watch you dance upon the fires of your mentor? But even more… who will not remain silent from beyond the grave? What bones will share their tale of woe and point in your direction? Leading the way for all to come and gaze at the great failure that you now present…

Who will protect you now from those you can no longer reach? If they were alive, you could fight or discredit… dead you can do neither and they shall consume you.

This was the fatal flaw in your execution plan.
Think Grim.
What move do you make now and on whose chessboard do you now play?

One Response to “On whose chessboard do you now play?”

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