The Majority

Photo: John Paul Bichard Models: Hampus Ahlbom, Henrik Lillier

A WoD interlude. Unpublished.

I don’t belong here. I’m cursed with this outsider’s clarity. The inherent vice of my “condition” reminds me constantly of the hidden machinery guiding civilization towards its inevitable end. We are the secret councils that rule your Kings and Presidents. We are the back room deals and brutally enforced conformity that keeps the system afloat.

By night I see the polite facade dipping beneath the surface for a moment, showing me a vast sea of cold, dark truth. Where others see budget-cuts and privatization, I see the unbroken night-reign of monstrous kings. An endless history of immortal oppression.

By day, the minutia of modern life turns your gaze to the pavement. Bowed and broken by arbitrary professional and personal duties you’re unable to spot the patterns in the cracked asphalt of your life. But here, in the absolute absence of normalcy, I dare you to strain your eyes and look straight into the night. You see it? Patterns coalesce, break apart and give way to wordless understanding.

In the light of the you-tube riot-fires you catch a glimpse of brutal, old men commanding knightly orders of riot-police to ride bloodied through the raging human mass. The flickering embers of a hundred bushfire-wars light up skies pregnant with rain and streaked with charcoal-smoke rising from the last burning patches of rainforest. Blind prophets point to instant communications, ecological awareness, drone armies, rising population-curves and extended lifespans and declare this an age of wonders. I’m not impressed. Knowing that such progress means nothing but more slave-blood for the hungry gods of night is sobering, to say the least.

It’s past midnight and we can’t turn back the clock. The oceans rise. The last elephants and tigers will be dead within a decade. The rich piss on the poor. Millions throw their lives away in violent slavery to a long-dead God. Hate and fear and intolerance are everywhere. Moralism, fascism and racism disguised as social protectionism will soon be the order of the day. We will make sure it will. It’s all a part of the Blood’s plan.

You shrug and chalk it all up to human nature. You really believe you are masters of your own fate? Victims of nothing more sinister that your own insatiable greed?

I told an old hobo a little bit about my own perspective on things the other night. She smoked all my Camel Activates while I talked. The bag-lady hobbled away before I was finished, her gait measurably slower and more intent than when I found her. Yesterday, on my way to the club, I found her bloated body curled up behind the loading-bay of ICA Högdalen. Her throat was torn open. Glass bottle. Suicide. I could see the hesitation-marks.

I laughed and called Sabina before the cops. Got her voicemail. Relic of the nineties that I am I left an actual message.

“Just wanted to tell you the bet fell my way this time. She couldn’t handle it. No breach. Not even a note. Not a fucking word actually. She just crawled away and died when I told her how things are. No, I didn’t have time to… No. The juice is crap anyway Sabine. Double next time, ok?”

So yeah, so much for full disclosure.

You still wanna know what I am? Who you are? Who rules the world? Seriously. Ok, get a little closer and I’ll whisper it to you. Yes. Just like that handsome. Now just hold still now and shut your fucking mouth.

You feel it? The rising dark? That’s the truth right there.

Let me tell you the only truth that matters.

You are the minority.

The boy spoke for the first time since sunset. Voice hoarse as he was being drained.


The living.

So who are the majority?

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