Under the Skin (Excerpt)

“You can fool some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you cannot fool all of the people all of the time.” 

― Abraham Lincoln

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THERE IS BLOOD on the walls.

Not human blood, unfortunately, but cow blood. While the texture is similar, it still does not meet your needs as it does not reciprocate the deep red color you had originally wanted. Alas, the town was rather crowded and breaking into the hospital again seemed such like a hassle so you grabbed the first cow you could find, slaughtered it, stored its meat, and took three buckets of its blood. It was quite savagery (you even admit) but at the same time, it was dreadfully necessary. For a cause like the one you were fighting for, some innocent deaths were inevitable. Save for in the end, it would be the guilty that would pay the most.

A sly smile danced on your lips at the thought. You had waited too long for this. Countless nights spent plotting, planning, making certain that every ploy was not to fail and now, it was all going to pay off. You let your eyelids fall as you played out scenarios in your head that would most likely happen. You knew that they – the people you planned to trap – would immediately assume it was a game they were playing. Much like chess, they would think that they would make one move and you would make yours.

Albeit a good assumption, there was one little thing wrong: it wasn’t a game at all.

It was an illusion.

For what is a game if the opponent is the architect that designed the board, assigned the players, created the obstacles, and already decided the ending? What is a game if the opponent has already won? No, it wasn’t a game. Not for you, at least. Instead, for you, it was a movie. You had spent countless nights planning each scene, writing out the conflict, the setting, the rising action, the climax, the falling action, the resolution and now, at last, you would be able to see it all acted out. You would be able to see your designated actors run across the stage, trying to make sense of the plot, taking decisive steps thinking it would lead them out of their situation only to later discover that no, it was never their plan after all. It was all yours. You were the initiator, the mastermind, the puppet master.

And they were just puppeteers.

Starring in your movie, playing your game, working to your planned finale.

You opened your eyes. The devious smile on your lips broadened as the thought settled around you. A feeling of omniscience rushed through your body as your grip on the paintbrush dipped in cow blood tightened. With agility, you continued writing out the message on the walls. The strokes were harsh and callous and by the end of it, the belly of your paint brush was in disarray. Not that it mattered, though—you wouldn’t use the brush anymore anyways. A tired sigh left your lips as you stepped back to admire your handiwork. You were done. At last, you were done and at last, you could lie down and watch the movie.

Correction: your movie.

And it had just begun.