Sunday, April 1, 2012

That Last Night

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 26; the 26th Edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The topic for this month is 'That Last Night'.
Oedipus Complex by Iustinian Ghita


He awoke with a start. Staying in bed, he looked up at the ceiling. He looked at the shadows of the world outside reflected inside his room. He had been having a rather strange dream for a long time now. His girlfriend had recently broken up with him. There was a lot of yelling. She seemed to think he was mad. He didn’t care. Her going away couldn’t bother him any less. The truth is, he didn’t know what he was. He didn’t know what he wanted. Or maybe he did, but couldn’t ask for it. He just couldn’t sleep. Every morning, he woke up feeling lost and delirious nagging himself for not doing it already. He felt the deprivations of the carnal type. Patrick thought of the previous days flying through and the nights that he passed day-dreaming as he looked at the shadows.

The moon had an unusual quality that night. The pale waxy glow could mean anything. Beauty, immortality, death. Patrick couldn’t quite steer himself away from the edge of the window as he sat holding the bars like a prisoner in a cage. The moon seemed to call out to him. The shadows seemed to ask him to stop dreaming. It’s like a desperate man needed to do what he longed to. As his hunger grew beyond measure, he stood up, balancing his tired legs. He walked to the bathroom in the dark, washed his face and stared awhile at the reddenning eyes that looked back at him. They were devoid of every emotion but hunger.

Patrick changed his clothes into something clean and wore the rubber-soled boots that he so liked. The door to his room creaked open as he pushed it wide open. He walked into the kitchen and opened the drawer where they kept their knives. He had always liked the knife they used to carve the meat. Taking it in his hands, he smiled slightly and admired at the beauty of his own little reflection in the blade glimmering in the moonlight. The pale waxy glow seemed to have transcended into his skin. He looked far beyond his years. He looked almost like a corpse. But not yet, he thought. 

Gripping the hilt of the great knife firmly in his hands, he walked to his sister’s room. He opened the door quietly and crept into the shadows, lurking like a predator. He walked to her bed where she lay curled up, inside a blanket, lost in some dream in a faraway land, thinking of a man who would someday rescue her from the world. She was fifteen. She would never grow older after Patrick held her smiling mouth in his firm hands and, with the steady unswaying hand of a surgeon’s brought it down into her chest. The pain opened her eyes but she spare no thought or voice a scream. The knife came slowly as she gasped and heaved and went down again inside her mouth. The blood didn’t spurt everywhere. It just flowed. Just like a great red river, it washed the sheets and Patrick’s hands. He never did like when she talked so much. With a calm face like that of a mask, he carried himself steadily outside the room and stood outside the room where his parents’ slept. He put his ears to the door to make sure they were not indulging in sex. It seemed that they were indeed asleep. He grasped the doorknob and pushed it open. He stepped inside their cave and walked to the side of the bed where his father lay, fast asleep. Standing beside the father he so hated, he looked down at him with the tormented calm in his twisted face. He didn’t waste time. With the bloody knife, he slit his father’s throat and sooner than the body could start thrashing, he plunged it deep inside the cavernous heart that beat furiously for only a few more moments. His mother faced the other side and remained asleep. He pulled his father’s body and let it fall quietly onto the floor with a light thud.

He climbed onto the bed, staring at his mother, as she shifted in her sleep. Still wearing the mask, he touched her neck with the blade in his hands. Feeling the warm wet blood on the cold sharp edge, his mother woke with a start and stared into his eyes. She could see nothing.

“Don’t move.”, said Patrick. He then knelt down beside the bed and opened the cabinet where his parents kept their handcuffs. He immobilised her, cuffing her to the bedposts.

“Patrick, why? What’s wrong with you, honey? What do you want?”, asked his mother in horror her eyes moving from her son’s face to the blood on the other side of the bed.

Patrick gently moved her nightgown up with his knife, letting her feel the blunt edge as he moved it, to reveal her breasts. With sudden force he grabbed them and with his other hand, tore off her drawers.

With the calm gone and replaced by rabid madness, he said, “Mother, my life is fucked too bad and far too long. You deserve this. You asked me what I want. I want to fuck you all night long, woman.” With a huge grin on his face and his red eyes open in fury, he pushed himself inside her scared, quivering body in the bright moonlight that shone through the window.

-------------------X---------------------X-------------------X---------------------

Several weeks later, in a psychiatric ward, the Dr Newman looked at Patrick’s case file and thought at the horror the boy must be going through now. He had killed his sister and his father. Then he had proceeded to rape and stab his mother until every inch of his own face was covered in blood. He kept the file down on his desk and saw the boy in front of him looking out the window at the trees swaying in the wind.

“Patrick, do you remember anything at all about that night?”

“No, sir. I keep telling them that I was asleep. I found my parents like that and I called it in. Nobody believes me.”

“You maintained a diary where you wrote and drew many things people would generally consider, well, rather scary, to put it simply.”

“I wrote about my dreams. I used to have these dreams where I killed my parents and my sister and I could never sleep properly. I always woke up tired. So I thought I’d write about it all. It was always the same, though.”

“Do you sleep well now?”

“Better than ever.” Patrick said, faintly smiling, with a shadow of the mask that he had now fully embraced. 


PS. This story is a re-enactment of Greek mythology (The Oedipus Complex) and inspired from The Doors' legendary song, "The End". Turning thoughts into action takes courage. And even people who are unstable or even pure evil need to be understood. That may be used to catch them, prosecute them or at the very least, understand that at the very core, every healthy human being is born with a sound mind. Circumstances change people and the way they think. But that doesn't make them any less human. I have not shown the reasons for Patrick's madness for this very reason; that as an intelligent being, we need to understand him before we become judgmental. He may not have had a reason at all. Every abuse, every torture or murder that one inflicts on another has a reason. Some may be worthy of execution, some of life-long imprisonment, and some may need some fresh air in a psychiatric facility. A small number may even be justified. It's knowing the difference that matters.


The End by The Doors





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35 comments:

Enchanta said...

I have no words to describe how much I admire what you have written in the post-script. To me, that is the highlight of this story and once it is read, your story appears to have the most tasteful flavour in spite of all the gore and madness that you have described.

Excellent job with the addition of that little paragraph that is almost life-altering for a reader.

Ruhani said...

Again, really really dark but exceptionally well written. :)
PS. "He walked into the kitchen and opened the drawer where they *kept their knives"? :)

Shilpa Nair said...

Funnily enough, personally, I would never agree with the psychiatric approach Or allowance for a justification argument, Yet, the last paragraph is the highlight here. Maybe people like me really need to wonder the 'whys' before baying for blood. Also the image was a clincher too.

Enchanta said...

@Shilpa Nair: Didn't I mention you and I are soul-sisters of some sort?! :D

Shilpa Nair said...

@Enchanta - I am freaking out. I was just about to inbox u on FB about how we can just combine our names for the comments we leave on other posts :( Because we think so alike. And I am 'googling' for some possible scientific explanation on this 'thing' ;p

D2 said...

@Enchanta : Thanks a lot for your honest opinion. :)
I did my best. There is life in every instance of madness.

D2 said...

@Ruhani : haha I guess I have a thing for the darker sides of the brain. :D
Thanks a lot. And yeah, what's wrong with that? Different knives have different uses. Some for vegetables, some for fruits, some for meat and some for people. :)

D2 said...

@Shilpa : Prejudice comes easy. Accepting reality is sometimes tougher than can be thought. Thanks a lot. :)
And yeah, the painting's perfect. :)

Maun Vision said...

very eloquent penning. gripping from the start. Talent in play of words of a great calibre, worth *envy*
cheers

D2 said...

@Maun Vision : Thank you so much. :)

jojofeelings said...

A very different read on the blogosphere. Enchanting and beautiful.. to take it up.

Amity said...

Well done D2!

Your post script gave justice to your story line...

That's true, we dunno why a person becomes evil. But being humans, we have an intelligent brain to sort out things and know what is good and evil, though the underlying reason maybe, 'we are just humans" vulnerable to all kinds of emotions, and that's what we are created of...:)

Good luck D2!

D2 said...

@jojofeelings : Thanks a lot. :)

D2 said...

@Amity : Evil is a very relative word easily thrown around by most hypocrites who consider themselves pure. There is little purity. It's only children who are still innocent that are really pure.
Thank you so much. :)

Antara said...

It's that extreme pain that makes desire (for revenge of sorts), imagination and reality merge into one. So very dangerous, especially if they lead to Multiple Personality Disorders (Remember Sheldon's Tell Me Your Dreams?).

A riveting story, loved it!

lIl hIgH said...

Well narrated, if inciting the feel of horror, disgust and gore in the readers was the intent, you have succeeded well. The thought you shared in PS is a nice one.. Empathy is the key !!!

D2 said...

@Ruhani : I only just noticed my typo. I'm usually high-strung when I write something and I rarely read it again, even to proof-read it. Thanks a lot. :)

D2 said...

@Antara : Incidents and circumstances go a long way in shaping the way people think and decide to act.
Thanks a lot. :)

D2 said...

@lil high : I don't want to go into what I intended. Every story is personal to me on rather strange and vague levels, even if they have absolutely no connection with my life. And I was not really talking about empathy. I was really talking about keeping an open mind.
Thanks a lot. :)

lIl hIgH said...

In my personal opinion, empathy is required for anyone to keep an open mind. If people recognize or to some extent understand others feelings, then they are able to feel compassionate towards the fellow being. That was the reason for me saying empathy is the key. Anyways opinion might always differ !!!

D2 said...

@lil higH : I know what you mean. I'm just saying I never thought about empathy when writing or even thinking about this. I guess I think of it as a dry and rather emotionless thought. Purely academic. Possibly mechanical. But you're right. Empathy matters.

Chicky a.k.a. Kaddu said...

A bit too graphic for my reading tastes, but from a writing point of view, it was a piece of excellent penmanship! All the best D2 :)

aativas said...

You are master of words.
However, it is hard to justify any such killing and rape on mother!! By this justification, one day I need to sympathize with Ajmal Kasab too!!

There is a darkness in life, in the world around - true. But better to use the power of words to highlight the case of those who get exploited!! I did not understand the intention of your story at all.

Cherry Blossom said...

Your writings are really powerful and thats the reason why its interesting in itself. You always give a professional touch to your creative intellect, which brings forth your talent and caliber. While reading the story, the incident of the mother is something very difficult to digest, though such incidents are not impossible and we do hear of them, but it really hurts. Murder can be acceptable, for whatever reason may be, but rape? That too by her own son? Unimaginable, yet true, perhaps. The aptness of your words gave it the realistic touch. All the best.

The Fool said...

Very interesting attempt. Kind of reminded me of Crime and Punishment & in some way Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde. You have really managed to write vividly with a smooth flow. But difficult to do justice to a complex psychological piece in such a short post.

Sankar Shaji said...

this has gone way above me , the first para made me think of myself ,
everyone has a reason :)
none can judge :) well pretty true there :)

and awesomely written :)

all the best :)

Kshitij said...

Ahem! You write very well.

The subject you chose is out of my bounds, so I won't comment there.

But your 'PS' part in the end made sense - about identifying the reason and punishment.

Good luck buddy.

D2 said...

@Kaddu : It would be a little too graphic for most people! Thanks a lot. :-)

D2 said...

@aativas : I never tried to justify what Patrick did. But understanding every event gives a greater insight to how their minds work. It's because most people (especially the Indians and Arabs) are so prejudiced and quick to draw judgement to anything they might deem wrong, that they can never come to a proper and meaningful decisions.

I am a writer. My job is not to show that there is good in the world. My job is to show the truth. If you don't like it, that's alright. The truth is hard to accept. But if you choose to brush it away merely because of your distaste in matters, because you can't get your hands dirty, you're in denial and can never be a true artist.
Leonardo da Vinci, Socrates, Plato, James Joyce and even Cristopher Nolan and many others were and are artists. I would say that even Jack the Ripper was an artist in his own right. It's about removing constraints from the way you think.

D2 said...

@Cherry Blossom : Thank you so very much. It's always good to have you read what I write. :)
There are many incidents which occur which may be unacceptable to some or to most. It's very hard to understand why the perpetrator may have gone about them but the fact remains that such incidents do occur and understanding them is the first step in the psychological process of apprehending and the punishing such people and later trying to understand why humans are like the way they are. Thanks a lot. :)

D2 said...

@The Fool : Of course, subjects like these are the substance that make novels. You could say that it's Crime and Punishment in reverse and the same about Dr Jekyl and Mr Hyde. Thanks a lot. :)

D2 said...

@Sankar Shaji : It's not that none can or should judge. I just think people should think and understand before they judge. I wouldn't want the rest to be anything like you. haha
Thanks a lot. :)

D2 said...

@Kshitij : Thank you very much. :)
I doubt most people would be able to stomach what I have written here. I wrote the PS section later to show why I wrote what I did. I do think it makes more sense in having done so in retrospect. Thanks a lot. :)

Shreya Rasania said...

wow.. so well writen.. awesome..

D2 said...

@Shreya : Thank you. :)

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