Old Writing: Jack - Part 2

The letters were not my idea, but rather that of one of my co-conspirators.  They were an inspired detail, to be sure.  Without them, those who run the newspapers would quickly lose interest in the murders, regardless of how gruesome or enigmatic.  With them, I perpetuate the scandal which seems the only real purpose of modern newsprint.  With them, I become something more than I am, and idea, a shadow of possibility that lingers in the mind long after the paper has been put aside, and that is the purpose of the letters.  If I am forgotten, then my work, our work, their sacrifice, will be for naught.

            I admit to taking a perverse pleasure in crafting the maniacal ranting of a madman.  It appeals to something dark and sinister inside me, something which, I have come to realize, reflects the world in which we dwell all too closely.  We create a stained veneer of civility, of culture, with customs and traditions that have become almost hallowed.  We do so out of fear.  We are afraid that, if we don’t hold tightly to what we believe, erroneous as it may be, the façade may slip and we may be faced with what lies beneath, squirming and writhing and rotted.  Above all, that is what, more than shifting shadow or my name spoken in hushed tones among friends safely indoors, drives the unsettling terror in our souls.

            You may ask yourself if I question all of this, if I wonder at the lengths to which we’ve gone in the name of salvation.  I do.  The burden of it weighs heavily upon my shoulders, more so each time I watch the life flee from the eyes of someone who, willingly or not, I have sent to what I hope is a better world.  It must be a better world. 

            They give their lives, true, but I have given my soul.  I have a keen empathy for the figure of Death, who must pass into lives so briefly, only to know that, within hours, sometimes less, that life will cease to be more than a collection of memories or whispers in the night.  When they sleep, their suffering ends.  I have not that luxury.  I must wait.  I must hope.  This much change.  It must be a better world.