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I Cast No Shadow
Eingestellt am 25. 04. 2005 17:26

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I Cast No Shadow

Well, all those folks who favor a humane way to execute a man should experience an execution, especially in person. When the hangman pulled the white hood over my head, I started to feel nauseated and when he tightened the noose, the feeling was indescribably creepy. First, the judge read an abridged version of my death sentence, as if I would not know what had brought me to this point. Then, a priest started his sermon, but I would not listen. I knew better. Then, the inevitable: the trapdoor was released and the short but fast trip down began. I fell about eight feet, to be stopped abruptly by the strong hemp rope. Hell, that sound when my spine broke! I would never have believed that you could live long enough to hear that sound. My vision blacked out, as far as I could judge it by my hooded eyes. But still I could hear the screech of the rope, caused by my swinging. It took almost half an hour till I started to feel numb and deaf.
Something had gone awry wrong, so much I could tell right now.
The hanging crew had taken their sweet time until they remembered their duty. Later, I learned that there was a mandatory waiting period of half an hour in order to avoid the embarrassing job to cut a man down who was still more or less alive.
I could hear the men talk, but what flabbergasted me was the fact that they were very explicit in their talking. They hated this part of their job with their whole heart, but once you open the can of worms, working for the government, you have to swallow them all, like it or not.
Just a moment, did they talk at all? They seemed to talk all at the same time, but not one seemed to listen to what the others were saying. All of a sudden I realized that I could now ‘hear’ their thoughts. All the weeks of waiting for the execution would not scare me like this conclusion. I realized as well that I was standing on solid ground, leaned against the wall facing the only door. I was no longer part of my body. I could watch through the eyes of the hanging crew how they cut my dead body down, stuffed it into a body bag and hauled it off to a graveyard where they would bury it without a marked grave or any ceremony.
I walked out of the door, which the hanging crew had left open, in plain view, but nobody seemed to notice me. Their thoughts were still slightly confused by the aftermath of my execution, but they did not realize that I was still among them. No door was an obstacle any longer. I could leave Maze Prison and take to the fresh air at the Irish coast. Marching would not exhaust me, nor would I feel hungry or thirsty. I passed by a few pubs, all of them inviting and cozy, but I was heading for the shore.
Never before had I been to Northern Ireland. I liked the place and regretted to have made the acquaintance under these circumstances. Tough luck, Erin-go-bragh.
Whatever drew me towards the seaside I know not, but as soon as I found myself sitting on a rock close to the floodline, I found a sort of peaceful feeling I would have never dreamt of a few moments before. I met no-one during my travel, I must admit, I did not miss anyone, either.
Sitting on my rock, I mused about how I got here. I must admit, to carry a gun in Britain is no good idea, guns having been outlawed for a long time, leaving them to police and gangsters. What happened to old England, where policemen and gangsters as well have been so proud of carrying no guns under any circumstances...
Now guns were hotter than drugs and the art of self-defence was prohibited by law.
To carry a gun in London of all places was even more dangerous, but to be a few feet off the scene where the Prime Minister was to be shot was just tough luck squared. Bobbies were running around in one frenzy! Scotland yard and lots of Special Forces started to freak around and the entire scene was turned into pandemonium on steroids in no time. Rumors had been spread for a while that some resurrected Irish Resistance intended to have some sports, but I had not considered this a serious factor to reckon with. Either Scotland Yard and MI5 and MI6 as well had been thinking the same, or they had been caught trousers down in spite of all preparations. Or, maybe, for me it was just a bad day at work. The morons in uniform had not bothered to interrogate me, not even my gun had been examined. Else, they would have discovered that it was in pristine condition, utterly unfired.
To carry a gun in a no-gun zone close to the scene of an assassination was reason enough to sentence me to the drop. Forget about habeas corpus, forget due process, forget anything they tried to teach you at law school.
Musing about the decline of British justice, I would not notice the passing of the day until it was dark. I felt no cold, no wind, not even hunger.
I felt, as if I still was within a body, though something strange must have happened. I could walk, sit, stretch, and, most of all, perceive. I could see the few stray hikers on an almost empty beach, smell the scent of the Irish Sea, but still I sensed a strange alienation as though it was not me who did all this.
Some things were different though. The night was much darker than I used to feel it and I could feel the warm light of the moon. The world was still the same, I assumed, but I had changed drastically. I spent quite a time, sitting on a rock at the floodline. I watched the tide recede and rise again. Sometimes I could see tiny sparks, just glimpses of feeble light, in the water, floating with the waves, some even moving on their own. I could no more make any sense of it than of my existence in general, but at least I could confirm some philosopher’s axiom that existence exists. The sun rose in the east, a sight as welcome as could be. I did not feel tired at all. I rose up and walked back into the city and then towards the border. I simply wanted to try my limits. It had been quite a while since I had had my last meal and I wondered when I might feel hungry again. Or if. I could see the first paper boys walking through the streets, but not one to yell the headlines at. One carried an issue with my picture on the front page. The headline yelled: “Assassin Caught Alive – Interrogation Continues” Heck, when have the media ever told the truth!
A black taxi passed me by, the radio playing the ballad of Desperate Dan Cosgrove, a nice tune with bitter humor.
I came to a police station, locked into a cage of barbed wire, as usual. A good idea, but why did they let the coppers out? Must be some strange parole regulation...
Weird. I must have been walking for more than two hours and I failed to realize that time had elapsed at all. Nor did I feel tired or hungry. People passed me by without taking notice of me. Slowly but surely I got used to my perceiving the thoughts of strangers. By and by I found out how to tune to one person at a time instead of being flooded with a surfeit of motley thoughts, which would confuse me. Most thoughts were about simple issues, work, how to make ends meet when you’re on the dole, sex. The feelings were more coherent. There was an air of fatigue and despair permeating the entire city.
I left heading south to the border. I waved at the republican flag at Crossmaglen, still flying strong, though the colors have faded and the wind has torn it to rags. I was wandering with no particular pace to go, just heading south. Apparently, something was wrong with my time sense, I could see the sun move, but still time would not pass. Maybe my senses were just much sharper than while I was alive.
Am I dead? My body is. But what am I without my body, why do I still think? All this was preoccupying me to a measure that I would no longer realize that I was moving through Dublin towards Dun Laoghaire, driven by an urge that was not exactly conscious, but still strong.
It is not that I had no emotions. I enjoyed the warm sunlight, a mild breeze, I could listen to the singing birds, and I was filled with a warm sensation of calmness and peace.
Sure, I have changed. I could still feel something I considered my body, though living people seemed to be unable to see it. I still could use senses, partially better than before. I could still feel and think. And I have no explanation, why. I boarded the ferry to Holyhead, not bothering to pay the fare, I did not even bother to look if I was still clad or naked. Not one was looking at me, nobody bugged me when I climbed the gangway to the ferry’s pedestrian entrance. I guess, I was feeling creepier than you, who is reading this. Another creepy thing came to my mind: though in full sunshine, I cast no shadow.

To be continued...
Lieber ein verführter Verbraucher als ein verbrauchter Verführer...

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Ghost - Nachricht von Rick?

Also mir gefällt das ganz gut. Der Kollege wird aufgeknüpft und wandelt als "Geist" durch Irland, eine leicht futuristische Thematik umgibt das ganze, wenn ich es richtig verstanden habe.
Besonders der Satz < I could no more make any sense of it than of my existence in general, but at least I could confirm some philosopher's axiom that existence exists > ist wahrlich ein besonderes Goldstück.
Gleichzeitig stellt sich aber auch die Frage: Wann wird der Typ merken, dass er tatsächlich ein transzendentales Dasein fristet? Vielleicht im Folgeteil? Oder wird man vom "Geist"- sein so "stoned", dass man nur noch planlos durch Dublin streift und nicht weiß, wie einem geschieht?

Mir gefällt aber die verrückte Mischung aus Zukunftsmusik, einer klassischen Galgenexekution und einem "Jemand", der sich über den Zustand seiner Selbst nicht so ganz im Klaren ist...
Schön, dass wir einmal darüber sprechen konnten...


Registriert: Not Yet

I like it. Very British. Very eerie.
Come on, where's the sequel? I'm waiting!



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