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skonen_bladesIn every movie there is a group of bad guys. In every group of bad guys, there is a freak.
An albino who’s good with knives. Some guy with a facial scar and a sour disposition who’s an excellent marksman. A red haired woman with a wicked smile who wields a mean whip. A six-fingered swordsman. A guy dressed in an immaculate white suit who has the chilling eyes of a snake and no morals. The giant with long hair.
If movies were video games, these aberrations would be the second-to-last boss.
Weird lieutenants who lack the ambition and charisma to lead the pack but love the power to be sadistic without punishment. Fears and tears are the only things that make these borderline people happy. They are extensions of shadows that carry out orders without question and wait in the meantime. They are unfocussed spirits of revenge. They wait eternally for the fires that rage within them to go out. They wait eternally for the ice within them to thaw.
They barely speak.
When not killing people, they’re killing time.
Inside, they’re begging for death. They long for a hero to come along and best them. They need someone to be better than them and beat them in a one on one fight.
I am that weird lieutenant.
I am standing over the body of a plucky young hero. His girlfriend is dying in the rain behind me. I am standing on the roof of a warehouse.
It’s Chicago. The year is 1938. I’m half Indian and blind in one eye. My jade-handled switchblade is being washed clean of their blood by the rain. They call me Jade because of my signature weapon. They also call me Jade because of the ignorant mistaken belief that I am half-Oriental because of the shape of my eyes. I don’t correct that assumption very often. Keeps my origin ‘shrouded in mystery’.
They also call me Jade because that’s a girl’s name and sexually, I prefer little boys.
They’d never admit that to my face but I hear it from my victims sometimes in their last desperate moments.
Machine guns are just starting to be used at street level but I still prefer to use the knife. People fear me. I know it won’t be long before someone shoots me. Before someone brings a gun to a knife-fight.
I’ve killed thousands and I don’t discriminate. I am a tool of fear for my boss as much as my blade is a tool for me.
The brassy young man lying dead at my feet had promise. I sigh and head back down the fire escape.
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An albino who’s good with knives. Some guy with a facial scar and a sour disposition who’s an excellent marksman. A red haired woman with a wicked smile who wields a mean whip. A six-fingered swordsman. A guy dressed in an immaculate white suit who has the chilling eyes of a snake and no morals. The giant with long hair.
If movies were video games, these aberrations would be the second-to-last boss.
Weird lieutenants who lack the ambition and charisma to lead the pack but love the power to be sadistic without punishment. Fears and tears are the only things that make these borderline people happy. They are extensions of shadows that carry out orders without question and wait in the meantime. They are unfocussed spirits of revenge. They wait eternally for the fires that rage within them to go out. They wait eternally for the ice within them to thaw.
They barely speak.
When not killing people, they’re killing time.
Inside, they’re begging for death. They long for a hero to come along and best them. They need someone to be better than them and beat them in a one on one fight.
I am that weird lieutenant.
I am standing over the body of a plucky young hero. His girlfriend is dying in the rain behind me. I am standing on the roof of a warehouse.
It’s Chicago. The year is 1938. I’m half Indian and blind in one eye. My jade-handled switchblade is being washed clean of their blood by the rain. They call me Jade because of my signature weapon. They also call me Jade because of the ignorant mistaken belief that I am half-Oriental because of the shape of my eyes. I don’t correct that assumption very often. Keeps my origin ‘shrouded in mystery’.
They also call me Jade because that’s a girl’s name and sexually, I prefer little boys.
They’d never admit that to my face but I hear it from my victims sometimes in their last desperate moments.
Machine guns are just starting to be used at street level but I still prefer to use the knife. People fear me. I know it won’t be long before someone shoots me. Before someone brings a gun to a knife-fight.
I’ve killed thousands and I don’t discriminate. I am a tool of fear for my boss as much as my blade is a tool for me.
The brassy young man lying dead at my feet had promise. I sigh and head back down the fire escape.
tags