Kettle Poisoning
Kettle Poisoning
I tried to stand up straight, as high as I could. There was an awful weight on my shoulders though, metaphorically speaking, and the ongoing task of improving my posture moment by moment proved quite difficult, even more than usual. I shook out my shoulders and arms, loosening myself, only for the irksome downward pressure to fall upon me once again when I settled. I found myself frustrated, not because of the anxious tension I could feel physically, that did not bother me as such, but because of my inability to stand straight and right at such a moment. I concentrated.
While I did not know very much about the clear contents of the unmarked plastic bottle in my hand, I trusted Anthony, who knew about this sort of thing. He said that he had used it before for similar pursuits. I did not ask him any more questions as he gave me a look that told me not to. He is such a character like that.
So I poured it into the kettle, gazing out through the large bay window that lit the kitchen as I did so, out into the little garden behind the house. I was a little worried that I didn’t feel particularly bad about him. Should I not have naturally occurring human empathy? I did not know him, a good man maybe, but I did not know him nor wish to know him. I could only think that a face, or even a name, would dull my resolve.
Having done the deed, I walked out of the kitchen, down the hallway and out the front door, shutting it behind me. I left the key back under the mat, where I had found it earlier, careful to leave everything as everything should be left. I felt that I had finished him. He was not dead yet, but I had planted the poison, and it was only a matter of time. I still felt no guilt, and slowly strolled away assuming that I never would.
Linus Spacehead and Target
Linus Spacehead and Target
There was no movement on the street. Everything was bathed in the orange half-light radiated by the street lamps. Linus sat stationary behind the wheel of his unmarked car, which itself sat stationary about thirty yards from the junction that sees Cyprus Avenue cross Green Dolphin Street. His left hand was tense, stuck to the top of the steering wheel. Tucked inside his pants, his right hand was wrapped around his gun, the tips of his fingers tickling his testicles.
“Target exiting The Squatty Roo alone. Target walking slowly east on Green Dolphin Street. Over.”
The ear piece hummed incessantly when there were no transmissions coming through. The chatty kid that does the electronics told him that it was the last one he had left after the budget cuts that central had enforced.
“Aw dang Spacehead, they bleedin’ me. You know I ain’t got shit else. These fools down in Central, they tell me do this and do that, but do it all with no damn money. Gotta learn them some shit about what we doin’.”
“That really is terrible. I was wondering if you could please make it work so that it doesn’t ring like that? I would really appreciate it.”
“I’ll try man, but you ain’t know what they leavin’ me with up in here. I ain’t got no damn tools.”
“Thanks kid. I really hate noises. I get migraines, you know, like really bad headaches. I don’t think I’d be able to get the job done with a migraine.”
“Target approaching crossroads of Cyprus and Green Dolphin. Prepare to engage Target, Spacehead. Over.”
Linus had been sitting in the car for more than two hours, humming different tunes from radio and television advertisements to keep himself amused. It seemed so long ago now that he had been trying to remember the jingle from the toilet paper ad with all the little puppies. They run around a lovely house in a dreamy suburbia, dragging toilet paper everywhere. Needless to say, the family that lives there are very unimpressed when they arrive home. You can’t stay mad at little dogs though, so as soon as one of the young children cracks a smile at the paper’s softness on his face, the rest of the family all have a nice laugh about the situation. Linus expects that they bought quite a lot of this brand of toilet paper after the incident, but also a gate device to keep the dogs from going upstairs.
“Target turning south onto Green Dolphin. Spacehead, prepare to engage Target. Over.”
Officer Linus Spacehead locked his right hand on the handle of his gun, his index finger around the trigger. He focused his eyes in the poor light, fixing his gaze upon Target. He matches the description given to him by The Chief earlier in the day. Written on a beer mat, it was to the point.
“About three and a half feet tall. Tight blonde hair and blue eyes. Could be wearing an eye patch.”
“Target nearing your position, Spacehead. Engage Target. Over.”
The throbbing in his head was getting worse, but Linus knew that once he had killed the little fellow then he would not have to listen to the ear piece. He would drive home, picking up Chinese food on the way. His cat, Escargot, would curl up beside him. Escargot loved watching the blue comedies that played late on television. So did Linus. They were made for each other.
“BANG!”
Linus shouted as he shot his gun, firing a bullet into the side of the little man’s head. It was very quick. He reached out the window, aimed, and then pulled the trigger. The little man toppled over with the force of the shot and was dead.
Fig 23.1: Escargot, Linus' cat.
Mass ruined, “renegade” priest arrested, Brady silent
The following is a fully fictional news report. It has no basis on any reality whatsoever. Any correlation with reality or real people, past or present, is completely coincidental.
MASS RUINED, “RENEGADE” PRIEST ARRESTED, BRADY SILENT
- April 2010
It has emerged that yet another Catholic Priest had been arrested in the child abuse controversy that continues to rock the Irish Catholic Church. According to reports close to the story, Fr. Brendan Smyth of Castleblarney in Kerry is being held on suspicion of not abusing young children.
Gardaí apprehended Fr. Smyth in the middle of 10 o’clock mass at Castleblarney’s Church of the Holy Carpenter yesterday morning. They can hold him for questioning for up to 72 hours before pressing charges, in line with Section X-62π9-5D of the Criminal Justice Act.
While there has been no official confirmation as of yet from Gardaí, it has been suggested that Fr. Smyth was the subject of numerous complaints from his parishioners over the past number of years. One member of that congregation who wishes to remain anonymous told lolquietly of how Fr. Smyth had made him feel “ugly.”
“I’d go away to see my cousins in Meath or Dublin and it seemed to me that every child I spoke to was talking about their experiences at school or after mass. Fr. Smyth never showed an interest in any of us, leaving hundreds unmolested. He made us feel like ugly little children as we grew up. That’s why we informed the Gardaí. The bastard.”
If convicted, Fr. Smyth could face up to seven years in prison, the maximum punishment for not methodically beating, molesting and raping little boys and girls. That lengthy sentence would not be unprecedented but depends on the extent of Fr. Smyth’s refusal to look at the youth of his parish as sexual release from holy abstinence.
Figure 2.1 : Quite the predicament. Very crude.
This latest stain on the reputation of the Catholic Church in Ireland comes at a very difficult time as numerous priests are being revealed to have “let the side down,” in the words of Papal representative Giuseppe Leanza. The Most Reverend Leanza expressed his outrage in an unusually candid radio interview with George Hook on Hook’s syndicated Newstalk show yesterday evening.
“I really can’t believe it,” said Leanza when asked by Hook of how the continuing revelations were affecting the church. “In these times of crisis we are trying to present a united front but this kind of renegade behaviour is undermining that effort. Many have, em, indulged, and for a small minority to be publicly exposed as having never, em, indulged, really does show the whole lot of us in a poor light. I am extremely disappointed in Fr. Smyth’s behaviour.”
It is widely alleged that Cardinal Seán Brady, the Primate of All Ireland, was fully aware of Fr. Smyth’s behaviour over the course of his priesthood. Indeed, Fr. Smyth’s refusal to abuse children was, according to most media outlets, actively covered up by His Eminence as part of an internal Church legal process in 1975. The process saw victims of Fr. Smyth’s restraint implored to remain silent about their troubles and forced to sign oaths not to discuss the lack of penetrative, paedophilic sex they were subjected to.
When contacted by lolquietly, Cardinal Brady was unable to comment due to his head being firmly buried in his anal cavity. His secretary said that she was unsure when her employer planned to extricate his head from his posterior, but speculated that it wouldn’t be any time soon due to his unwillingness to face the reality of his wrong doing in aiding Fr. Smyth’s systematic refusal to destroy the lives of children.
After the publication of the Murphy Report late last year, Cardinal Brady speculated on the position of former Limerick Bishop, Donal Murray: “If I found myself in a situation where I was aware that my failure to act had allowed or meant that children were not abused, well then, I think I would resign.” The report had asserted that Bishop Murray had mishandled allegations of a lack of systematic institutional abuse of children within his diocese.
Cardinal Brady is yet to fully admit that his active participation in covering up the abstinence of Fr. Smyth led to numerous further cases of children going unmolested. To any individual with a reasonable grasp of logic, it would seem that his actions are inexcusable. He helped a priest to get away with refusing to abuse young children. These children were damaged by their not being the sexual targets of a sick and twisted man, and many of them were scarred for life. Fr. Smyth is obviously a terrible man – he is the one who consistently refused to have sex with children – but Cardinal Brady’s guilty position as an accomplice cannot be overlooked.
lolquietly
