Wednesday, March 19, 2014
The silent killer.
(begun Wednesday 19th March at 3.55am.)
When you come to think of it, each FB update could be my last from now on, so I should make the most of it? Any ideas on how I should go about that? What could I possibly say that I've not already said, over and over again?
Simply cease my lunatic attempts to get the truth out there, and this sudden concentrated reign of terror will be stopped in it's tracks? Like I said, I'm a realist, and I honestly don't see myself being offered any options for escape right now..
Even little Cola appears to have had a premonition of what's to come, and ninety percent of the time he's in a state of fear and anxiety, and can't seem to settle.
My relief at finally having written to my Station Head was short-lived to say the least, and whether that mail was allowed to reach it's destination or not, it's certainly not going to prevent us from becoming just another messy statistic.
Try as he may, my Cotroller cannot hide his presence here at my shoulder, and the deep ache at the base of my spine, accompanied by the as yet mild simmering to my cancer is all the confirmation I need.
Will you miss me, Agent Balliram? The ever-obliging Fool who's danced to your tune for a decade or more? Probably not.
Like some foolish faithful dog, I'd been torn between pleasure and consternation when I'd seen the Beemer on his driveway at 2.40pm yesterday afternoon. Old habits is all it is. Pleasure from some wierd idea that although he himself and his proxies, will abuse me ferociously, he won't allow for any outside harm to befall us, and consternation at the drastic change to his timetable..
I'd gone up to see the GameWrecker off to the shops just before 3pm, and had discovered a large chunk of the builder's rubble from No. 11's property was lying tucked in under our thorny hedge by the postbox, along with half a brick. I'd hefted it up and staggered over the road to drop it at the foot of the Moth Cottage wall. How and why it had gotten out of their locked gates and onto our verge is something only our ever-watchful Controller can be guaranteed to know.
By 5.45pm the GW was safely home, and the Director of Theatrics next door had raised the curtain on Act 1. Was he employing that clever frequency that has my dogs burst into a frenzy of anxious excitement, and to shriek hysterically down by our boundary wall like that?
May I guess? That as useful as they are in manipulating our animal's behaviour, those controlling airwaves have been dropped in favour of the more physical approach, and that whatever it was that was upsetting the dogs, a hireling was again involved...
When summer had arrived, and all those trees and shrubs had been allowed to flourish just outside of our bottom wall, and Balliram hadn't gotten his droog to hack them down as he had in the past, did I not smell mischief?
Hell no. I'm the quintessential Village Idiot, remember? As a result, the corner down between our property and Agent Balliram's, is now the perfect place for mischief to be created..
I'd actually asked young Vincent on his last visit, to chop away all the grenadilla creeper that had grown into the trees, and while he'd cleared it from out of the mulberry tree, he'd declined to remove it from the coral tree, saying it made a fine shown of greenery... Who was I to argue?
I simply accepted that our Controller had changed the laser route down there, and that they were now using the line of fully-grown and protected bugweed trees, running parallel to the walls in the valley.
Eejit. Did I not wonder why the most recent Park's crew hadn't chopped down all the undergrowth next to our walls, and why even my Controller had allowed a mulberry tree to grow up right next to his deck? Eks mos so toe soos 'n klei os, as they say... Writing on the wall be damned! I believe what I want to believe at the time, and I hadn't seen it coming, and our dogs continued shrieking down in that now ever-so-green corner until twilight, when the hireling had packed it in and gone on his way...
Wrapped up in the misery of being metaphorically abandoned by my own PuppetMaster, and the few left who I'd felt still clung to the shreds of decency, I was horrified to hear late yesterday that the Mast Fighter, Tracey-Lee Dorny had been hospitalised recently due to the severity of attacks in her home up at Craigavon, via the quantum laser/wireless technology.
I guess between us, we're doing some powerful PR work for your lot, Mistuh van Zyl? *waves to the vodacom Strategist.. Text-book examples of how easily dissenters may be dealt with? Sure we are, and no two ways about it...
It looks like I'll never get to know whether the thick gold dust particles (created by Roux's ultra-short laser beams) that fill the air over Sherwood and Sydenham, are in fact detrimental to either the citizens or to the environment... Our Professor Roux insists they're not, although I doubt any long-term studies have been carried out in such a saturated area...
Go outside and stand in the dark before activating your camera's flash.. Study the air closely around that brief burst of light and chances are, that if you live in this area, you will see that faerie dust for yourselves...
Being recruited to form a vital link in the quantum chain set up in the suburbs means that you will be able to protect your neighbours from harm? Really? Exactly when was this noble aspect of your enrolment about to begin? Meanwhile, you're being encouraged to dumb down your morals and values and to become a Peeping Tom like the rest of them? By the time they've finished manipulating you, you'll have forgotten why you joined in the first place...
An Open Society? Au contraire... While every last aspect of your private lives will be available to those like our Agent Balliram, your presence in their homes will cause your neighbours more harm than good, and the air of secrecy will prevail..
For all their heavy participation, has this near-alien technology saved the Good Man up at No. 16 from repeated mischief taking place on his property? Did it stop those hirelings from breaking our Freddie's gates at No.12, and stealing his assets? Did it stop that intruder from casually strolling about No. 17's yard to terrorise them? The answer is of course, no.
The means to now monitor anything and everything that moves, both indoors and out, here in Harris Crescent, is in fact being employed to create crime, and has been, since the technology's installation back in 2004/5.
Would Agent Michael Frost poke me visibly on my FB wall as he's done in the past, once I've disappeared for any length of time?
For appearance' sake, despite that he has a direct line to my dear Controller, and would be among the first to hear if an 'accident' befell us?
Ahh Frosty - I'm betting you started off with the very best intentions over there in Romford? WTF happened to you? A version of the omnipotence disease perhaps, that invariably overtakes nearly all of those who learn to employ the invasive quantum laser technology?
As the glorious moon still hangs over the Western horizon, I would ask you this, Investigator247 - If it were up to you, would you advocate amnesty for one who has served the Project's Entertainment division so diligently all these years, or have you yourself come to find me so stomach-churningly awful that your own thumb is pointing firmly to the ground in anticipation of what's to come? You have nothing to say? A wise and well-learned lesson for a quantum warrior such as yourself.
Endless whines aside - Have you checked out of the windows this morning? It's sunshine and clear skies down our way, and as always I hope for miracles..
(It would be a miracle were my verdompte old hands to stop their trembling, for starters. Courage? Bah! Humbug!)
Wednesday 19th March 2014 at 8.42am. I've not yet even finished editing, and our dogs are down in that corner again, insisting we have company... *sigh...