1. Gannon

    Gannon Contributor Contributor

    Jan 15, 2007
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    Manchester, England

    Winner Silque Short Stort Contest 26: Theme - Antagonist's POV

    Discussion in 'Monthly Short Story Contest Archives' started by Gannon, Aug 15, 2008.

    Silque - The Human Cull (1,155)

    You probably have some kind of idea about me; a kind of reverie. But you will never really see me, not really. I am substantive, yet illusory. I sense you view me as an evil spector, gnawing persistently at the flesh of life that presents itself to me, down to the very marrow of the bone; through ignorance, through neglect and through sheer bad luck.

    You try to defeat me; yet you cannot. I am the thorn in the side of the lives of many. The scratch in the roof of the mouth, that just won't heal. A plague in the cities of middle England, dark, forboding, invisible.

    I'm talked about often, yet the tone is bleak. I am a conundrum; I am the grand sudoku of the world that even the finest minds have yet to solve. Some say they already have, those people are kept quiet by your governments, for money prevails, in this stinking, ghastly, putrid, malodorous, greed filled land. You people repulse me; am I really the bad one? Am I really the villain? Am I really the one you should be focussing your anger on?


    Let me take you back to the year of 1968; a laboratory in Northern Virginia. A laboratory that you will not have heard of, and nor will you ever. His name was Malcolm Rogers, a man with very little in the way of social skills, a man confined to the white walls of an institute, hidden deep in the woods of a place far from prying eyes, and a man sentenced by compassion and love, not by money, or greed, or governments, to find out the why's, the what's and the how's of a sinister mystery. Namely, me.

    Malcolm had worked for the institute for nigh on 26 years. He had devoted his life, to the research. A research that would mean a life without love, without solid friendship and without compassion. Those three things would need to be invested, deeply, into his work.

    Now, what I'm telling you, is a revelation. Only a select few people know about the institute, and what goes on in there - and up until 1972, the government didn't have a clue it existed. I suppose this is why I'm enlightening you, because the sheer macabre of your gluttonous government excites me to my inner core. To be blunt, it arouses me.

    Malcolm worked hard. Harder than anyone else at the institute would even think about, but his peers constantly overlooked his work and his dedication. This frustrated him, but he didn't let it show; he simply took his anger out on the test subjects that he called his companions.

    It took time, it took sweat, it took tears; but eventually, Malcolm got what he was looking for. The serum he needed, the serum he craved, the serum that would make him a hero, a legend, a saviour.

    Malcolm was a man of good heart, but in this world, in your world - a good heart is often crushed into the ground without thought. It is not deemed satisfactory, by the hard nosed world, run by the cantankerous, greed mad fat cats that sit behind the scenes, handling each and everyone of you like oblivious marionettes.

    He had done it. In the Spring of 1972, Malcolm Rogers had done it.

    After days, weeks, months and years of trials and tribulations. After research, testing, cogitation, mind numbing dissertations presented to pug faced representatives, from institutes much higher than his and the determination of a fire ant. Malcolm, had done it.

    He had cured cancer.


    Now, I think you probably know who I am. Don't you? Although you will never see me, not really - I exist, here, now in the year 2008. Thanks to your planet, and the greed that encapsulates it.

    You see, Malcolm had found the cure. He had found the excalibur in which to destroy me. To rid me from existence. But there was a problem. A stumbling block, not seen by him, and never thought of by any...

    You didn't want a cure.

    Your government wanted me to stick around.

    You see, there are approximately 6,602,224,175 people in this world today. In 2005, approximately seven point six million people died of cancer, and approximately eighty four million more will die by 2015.

    Where would you people be without me? You need me. You hate me, you despise me, you focus all evil intentions and attention upon me, but deep, deep down - you need me around. To keep things in check.

    Your government. The greedy, choleric pigs that you pay your hard earned money to each and every year, call it 'The Human Cull'. Your planet is in a terrible way as it is, I mean, please - take a look around, there are people starving to death, all over the world. Do you really think, that nothing can be done about that? Get real. Your government is sitting on billions upon billions of your hard earned cash. Did you really think they were telling the truth?

    You idiots, spend millions each year on tobacco. Even with the 'SMOKING KILLS' slogan, splattered across the box, you still throw your cash over the counters. And yet, you turn around and pour scorn all over me? Is that not the everest of hypocrisy?

    Malcolm Rogers cured cancer in 1972, yet, he was told to forget he'd ever done it. The governments all over the world, couldn't afford to take the risk, that millions upon millions of people would be cured, thus further overpopulating this already mediocre blob of a planet. Their greed prevailed. They stomped the idea, the heart and the cure of Dr Malcolm Rogers into the ground, and let the suffering continue.

    Do you still hate me for what I am? I'm sure you do. But who am I to complain. I am thriving here amongst you imbeciles, you moronic tribe of pond worms - this is heaven for me. An all you can eat buffet amongst the gods.

    I'll leave it at that, I'm sure you wish to ponder my mutterings. I don't blame you.

    You probably have some kind of idea about me now; a different kind of reverie. But you will never really see me, not really. I am substantive, yet illusory. I sense you view me as an evil spector, gnawing persistently at the flesh of life that presents itself to me, down to the very marrow of the bone; through ignorance, through neglect and through sheer bad luck.

    I hope you view the people around you in the same vain. At least, most of them.

    Everyone starts dying from the moment they are born, they just go about it in different ways and they never really think about it until it's sitting at their bedside, cackling in their faces.

    I am just another way. I am the Human Cull.

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