(( The scene slowly faded a dark, still, warm night. There was no wind blowing. The overhead sky was clear, allowing the moonlight to shine clearly down onto the earth. A part of earth which was upstanding, and shown signs of class. This town was obviously not Berkeley. The city in which cold, cutting winds were frequenting through at a rapid pace. The city where the local town had started back up on the gossip of the alley . . . the alley on Gilman Street. THAT alley.
(( The scene slowly shifted. It went through the town, showing the freshly painted window stores. The clean, trashless streets. Yes, a city much different from that of Berkeley, California. But, as all city's do, this city has a backside. The side which isn't glamourized in any city pamplets or advertisements. And, it is this area, that attracts certain individuals. Certain people, who know of no other way of life.
(( Slowly, the view rotates. Passing by the glamour, the pizazz. Going across the freshly painted street insignia, the wet concrete. And slowly, coming into view . . . the back alleys and garbage dispensers for the city.
(( It appears to be the backside of a warehouse. An alley ran inbetween the warehouse and a large department store. For how deep it ran, it couldn't be determined from the view, but the furtherest in that you could see, it ended in darkness.
(( Alongside the back walls of the warehouse, dumpsters sat, side-to-side. Trash that needed to be hauled off weeks ago, sat overflown on the concrete beside the dumpsters. The dumpsters themselves, five total, sat motionless, idle, void of outside contact. The presence of a human had probably not been around them since . . . since the last time a starving homeless man had made a raid on the availble scraps in the trash.
(( Slowly, the view came into more focus of the immediate area beside the dumpster fartherest to the left. A metal trash can laid turned over against the warehouse wall. Pallettes, forgotten by the crew who used them to haul large cratse from the warehouse to the department store, laid on the cracked concrete. They were moldy, split; showing the true signs of the test of winter.
(( Slowly, the view zoomed in closer. A figure sat amongst the pallettes. He sat up, the pallettes stacked high enough to form a sitting position for him. And the figure sat, idle, with a cigarette in his left hand, burning away ever so slowly.
(( The figure, the man, was recognizable. His hair was bleached a dull shade of white, spiratically spiked to and fro. His shirt was black, and that of the punk band No Use For A Name. His pants, barely able to fit the description, as they cut off at his calves, giving way to his socks that were shooved up almost to his knees.
(( His right arm, drawn out with tattoos, from just below the spider web tattoo at his elbow, all the way up the circling pattern at his shoulder. And his face . . . his ears, multiple piercings in each ear. His right eyebrow, housing a small black loop. The piercings came to an end as his lip, which housed a straight piercing on the right side as well.
(( The look, the atmosphere . . . the feeling. It was only one man. The one man who had been the one constant in HEW longer than any other man, past, present, or even future. It was Zero.
(( As he sat on the pallettes, pulling the cigarette to his mouth periodically for a long, deep drag, the view etched in closer. Closer it etched. Until, it formed a frame around Zero as he sat there. And waited . . . until Zero was ready to speak
(( Slowly, Zero's gave turned from a downward view, to almost looking straight foward into view. Almost. His view shifted somewhat, as in looking off past the focus of the discussion. But that didn't bother him. As he took one last drag, he flicked the cigarette off into the darkness, and slowly, his lips cracked as he began to speak . . . ))
" Murder. What is the meaning of the term? Is it an act? Or is it an object? And, does murder only affect the one that can no longer feel the pain after he had gone on?
Zero:
" To commit the act of murder, someone must willingly, selfishly, take the life of another. It is an action. The doing of something to someone, against their wishes. And, it is something that will stay with the do'er for the rest of his life.
" But, does murder only affect the one who is killed? No. It goes much deeper, in fact. In literal thinking, the murderer actually slowly kills himself by committing the crime. But, what happens when someone is wrongfully accused? While they do not actually take the life of someone, the after affects that affect the murderer, stay with the wrongfully accused, as well. For, once a bad rap is put on someone, he can never truly shake it off.
" Three years ago, murder was committed. In Berkeley, inside of the Gilman alley, three bodies were found, dead with aggrovated assault. Only, their killer was never found.
" And then, almost three years later, murder was again committed. Except, this time, no one died . . . yet. For, the murder charge was put on me. And, by doing so, by me being framed, a slow type of murder was bestowed upon me. A murder that I will never be able to shake. "
(( Zero's gaze shifted from his alof, distant gaze, back down to the ground in front of him. His eyes closed, concentrating hard. He tried to block out the words dashing through his head. He tried. But they came so quickly, so violently.
(( With an effort, he raised his head back up, slowly opening his eyes up into the sky. The moonlight shone back at him, as he brought his head down slowly, looking straight forward this time. ))
" For months, I have tried to shake it. I have tried to move on. But, the alley keeps drawing me back. Drawing me back, to that curse that was put upon me by LIES. Lies, and stories that I may never be able to escape from.
Zero:
" Murder is not a great thing. It is not something to be proud of. It is not something that one should gloat over. In actuality, it is a letter of consent. A notice, that you are ready to give up your own life. Once you have committed murder, after that, you no longer have an actual life. You are merely walking still in time.
" And then, to have it THROWN upon you. A burden that you never asked for, instantly given to you without consent. Without notice. And . . . without desire. That, is the purest form of torture availible. "
(( Zero paused, the distressed look in his face slowly dying away. His gaze quickly shifted back to alof, staring up at nothing just out of view. And, from there, regained his train of thought. ))
" What happens when "murder" is no longer an action, a verb? What happens when it is personified, turned into a vessel? What can it truly be then?
Zero:
" In the HEW, there is such a thing. Murder Inc. Men who take pride in the fact of their outright gloating of their "murderous" ways. And yet, men so blind, that they cannot see what is beyond the horizon.
" They might gloat. They might think they know what their path is. But, they are blind. And, none is more blind, than the treacherous one . . . Johnny Treacherous.
" A man who willingly, almost exuberently, acknowledges that he is a "killer". He gloats over that fact that he is apart of Murder, Incorporated. And yet, this is the man who offers me his hand? This is the man who has offered me a spot in Murder Inc.? So I can be known as a murderer? Well, surprise, but I was acknowledged as a murderer long before he ever came around. I just didn't care to make it apart of my daily life. It was my mission to seperate it, and hopefully one day, de-shed it. "
(( Slowly, Zero reached into his pocket. He grabbed the lighter laying on the pallette, and pulled a cigarette from his pocket. Lighting it, in inhaled quickly, blowing a thing layer of smoke up into the clear, bright night sky.
(( But, things weren't so clear inside of his head. No, far from. He sat there, thinking of his words. How would he say exactly what he was about to say. How could he say it? There are only so many ways to express what could be said. And, half of those were ruled out simply because of the emotions that were interlinked with each passing word that he would say.
(( He took another drag, this time, inhaling slower, deeper, letting the nicotine rest in his lungues, before he finally decided to blow it out slowly, right into the path of view. ))
" Treacherous wants to know what really happened in the alley? How would I know? I only know what I have read. But, I do know what people would want to believe.
Zero:
" My association with the Gilman alley is not a secret. As an orphaned child, it was a home for me. It provided that escape that I needed, the place to get away to. It was something that Simon's house, or anyone else's house, couldn't provide for me. That was, because I was ALONE. Free to do and think as I chose. No outside restrictions. No rules. No clean up. Simply, a young boy in his favorite place to be. But that was before what would happen almost ten years later. Something that would "make" the Gilman alley what it is today.
" For, when I was twenty-one, the triple murder happened there. Or, so it was thought. The original origin of where it happened is still unknown. But, we know that that was where the final destination of the tragic happenings ended at.
" For almost three years, I still made my frequent stops in at the alley. There would be no other place that I could truly call "My Home." And, it was because of this, that I was accused of the murders. My known association with the alley. It was an obvious link, or so the police assumed. And, it was because of this, that I had to make my original, abrupt departure from the HEW, right in the middle of the greatest title reign the fed has ever seen, and right in the middle of the greatest relationship that I have ever known.
" It was because of this that I had to evade the police. I HAD to evade them. By the way the city was acting, thinking that the mystery had finally been solved with my accusation, there was no chance that I would be found innocent, which I was. So, I evaded the police. Not the best plan in some people's eyes, but then again, I wonder if they have even had murder handed to them without a request?
" And again, Murder has been handed to me, without my request. Only, this time, it is the personifiaction of it, in Murder Incorporated.
" Treacherous thinks that saying the right things will entice me? Well, he should of watched what has happened recently. None of that works on me. He can extend a hand of trust, but I see it as a hand of knives, quick to cut as soon as you give in to the temptation of agreement with a handshake.
" No, I have watched Murder Inc. from the distance. I have seen the way they approach things. And, it is in a fashion that takes pride in what I am trying to disrobe of. And that, is murder itself. "
(( Zero pulled his cigarette up to his mouth, taking a quick drag as his heart was starting to pump faster. His mind was going. His movements, contained, but wanting to break free. And, in the back of his head, the lingering problem . . . a problem that couldn't be resolved in just a simple promo. ))
" If Treacherous wants to know my side of the story, he will get it tomorrow at Mayhem. But, he will not like what he hears. And, we will not accept the truth for which I will give him. But, it will be . . . the truth "
Zero:
(( And quickly, Zero sat up from his sitting position at the pallettes unexpectedly. Unexpectedly, that the camera man wasn't sure what was going on. Zero was just walking off, leaving a promo cut short. ))
" You can't stop now! What is it that you will tell him? At least finish that! "
Camera Man:
(( But Zero flicked his cigarette off to the side, and inserted his hands into his pockets. Turning to the camera man, he replied . . . ))
" What I have needed to say, has been said. Now, what will be needed to be said tomorrow, will be said when the time is right. But now, there's something else on my mind, something that I need time to myself for. "
Zero:
(( In dismay and frustration, the camera man looked at the recording film. Only five minutes of it used, when he had enough space to record for thirty minutes. Well, he had heard Zero was a tough interview. Now, the camera man had finally understood why. But, what was the something else that Zero needed time alone for? The camera man wasn't sure.
(( The screen slowly faded away, as you saw Zero walking slowly, his head down in thinking, with his hands in his pockets . . . . walking off into the direction of the alley located just past the dumpsters. ))
midi: "Infected" by Bad Religion
