A Manifesto

A Manifesto

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A fluent writer once told me that the truth behind any lifestyle, as any economy can be defined, is the sum of the effects one has on his (or her) environment. The effects of sociology on an environment are great and numerous, perhaps nearly immeasurable to the normal human being, demon, spirit, or any other type of individual who could inhabit a planet with sustainable life. For centuries, people have thought of ways to define who they are; as results of what they do, how they think, the impact they make on the world or society as a whole, or perhaps the legacy they leave behind in a child or a protégé. Organisms look to leave something behind, as a result of how they define themselves. The writer wishes to leave behind something he wrote, the potter something he created, the inventor a change in the way the world works, and an idealist, a way of life.

My name is Archie Castor Hughes, male. I stand at approximately five-foot-six, and weigh approximately one-hundred sixty-three pounds. My hair color is a shade of decay, my eye colors gray and blood red. I enjoy walks down the street, order, justice, excellent-tasting food, sugar, poetry, and good games of hide-and-seek.

My occupation is military Captain of Malevolence City forces. Yes, I am a soldier – most men in the service refer to me as Captain Hughes, when they do come across me. In the past decade, I had refused to continue one of my street gang loyalties; my commanding position as Leader of the Blue Blood gang in Malevolence. I have since left such authority to Charles.

Life in Malevolence City (or even the rest of the world) is something that reminds me of any kind of tragic story. At a young age, I was abandoned by my parents for a much better place, I would assume, and they were replaced by a demon of a man to take care of me. Such a man did not deserve the kinds of friends he did, and did not deserve much of anything else, if you were to ask my opinion. No, he was the kind of man who enjoyed the subjugation of anything that stood in his way. He would sooner benefit me than he would refuse to swallow two bottles of beer before falling on a sofa to watch any fist fight on television from Jerry Springer to WWF wrestling. The irony in his behavior was that the more he attempted to become manlier by doing such things, the more I merely saw him as a coward and a tyrant; a man so caught up in what he was doing in the moment that he failed to see both the past and the present, with all the factors that entered his life at the moment.

Most people do not understand why I am Sloth. Why that was the sin I so imposed upon myself. Let me tell you a single thing about me: I have lived one of my lives doing nothing, and resulted in the enjoyment of doing nothing. Whenever life was calm, I resolved to leave it that way. And whenever life became violent, I hoped that my involvement in the creation of something better would be largely overrated, and remained put. You see, my ability to analyze situations is something that comes from a long time of merely listening, not acting. Of watching, not moving. I enjoy the seamless nature of assassination. Of hanging upside down until some unsuspecting victim walks in the door and becomes unmade by someone as quiet and calculating as I, having put no effort in putting such an opponent away. Yes, I am a pushover. I usually refuse to argue, to fight unless I know it will be over soon, and permanently, to teach, to collect money, to wash, or to get involved even if I know it is a dire, critical moment. I have been accused of being little of a friend for my lack of actions; little of a brother, of a man, little of a specimen. And I cannot blame such individuals for thinking what they did of me, for they were correct. In that sense, they may still be, for I sometimes have problems resolving to save a life, even if that life is my own.

Society throws many people many simultaneous obstacles. For example, one may be walking down the street when he comes to a crossroads, both of which lead to the same place. Trivial as the situation may be, that is one obstacle, which will soon lead to another choice. Do I enter a liquor store? Do I buy liquor or a snack? Do I pay with gold coins or steal the items? Do I choose to run from the authority, turn myself in, or murder the authority with my unholy hands? For some, the choices become less and less obvious in scope. One may be putting another under intense subjugation due to prejudice and not even know how they are doing so.

In the scope of living a mere day in my shoes, one may find that I am unable to make many of the ‘trivial’ decisions, for fear of what kinds of difficult decisions they may lead to, or situations they may cause for me or others. In one instance, I would refuse to go outside for fear that someone may look upon my countenance, shriek, and run home in a fit of horror. Such responses do not bode well for my reputation, so I often exit my house through the back, where there is such a shade as to accompany my walking without so much as a second thought, for shades do not think. I have since learned to blend with shadow. But that has not been enough for others who also lurk in the shadows, who then feel the need to remove me forcefully from them. After all, these are not my shadows, and they make valid points. Which lead to my decision, therefore, to lay claim to such shadows, or to allow others to take them and reveal myself to the outside world. Such decisions, such decisions. I resolved thereafter to remain inside and leave insects to do most of my bidding, should such a decision come my way. I rarely left my home, if only a few times to instruct the unjust on what would happen to them if they continued to be unjust. Such school lessons ought to be taught to them at early ages, so that I would not have to appear to them on city streets and wish to dash out their brains with the swiftness of a horizontal flash of lightning. Often, I fail in the endeavor to smash their skulls that hard, but succeed in teaching them these kindergarten-level lessons, such as keep your hands to yourself.

Some women do not understand that lesson, either. Despite being as disgusting as I am, they are so curious as to walk up to me inside a bar, ask how I am feeling, if they would like to show me a good time or not is up to me, and they would not leave until I at least responded to one of their questions.

They feel the need to ask me if their bodies are worth my while, to which I would ask why I would compare my while to a body, since the two values do not have an exchange rate. In the instance of asking me such a question, they fail to understand, plenty of ideas go through my mind, some of which I am not proud to admit. Do they think that I am infallible? These flirtatious women would stop at nothing to see something they have not seen before, and I accuse them of not sticking with the devil they know, or so the saying goes. They would ask and ask more questions, to find out more. What do you do for a living – I kill people. Oh, they might say, that is intriguing. Are you strong? Quite, I may say, or not at all. My, my, they might say, you’ve got muscles on that arm. How old are you? Twenty-three. How about you and me go in the back so I can teach you some wrestling moves, dirty boy? To which I would tell them I already know how to grapple, and perhaps they should watch what they do before they get into a fist fight with someone who cannot tell the difference between foreplay and a challenge. As keen as usual, they may continue with the flirting, at which point I would go with my most favorite response: my avenue of oblivion. I should not hear them, see them, speak to them, nor account for their existence at all.

There are other times when women have the exact opposite idea in mind, and they must constantly point out the shrewd ugliness that I must be. The monstrosity that I must represent in their minds. Ew, they may say, why don’t you take a shower? Because it wouldn’t change my insides. How disgusting, they tell me, don’t you brush your teeth, wash your hair? Why don’t you at least wear some nice clothes? None of them are becoming of a soldier, ladies and gentlemen. A soldier is a murderer who is paid; nothing more than a respected hit man.

Men are equally unintelligent when it comes to the realization that women like or do not like them. I reference Charles Trylven for the latter – this is he who believes he cannot surpass any barrier upon speaking of or talking to women. He thinks he knows everything there is to know; that women are nothing more than things to stare at, speak to, or possibly violate if he gets the chance. Trust in that I know how you demons work, fools. Don’t assume that Hughes is nothing more than an ignoramus who spends his time at home, sulking around, cutting himself, and eating potato chips. I understand how you can secrete your semen through your tongues, nearly the same way as those Lumisonians do from their northern cavities. Fortunate are we that these demon women are few and must accept such vulgarity before your bastard children come into this world in wonder of how their fathers were killed and mothers widowed. Yes, I would sooner allow myself to die than allow Charles to truly violate one of these demon women of this earth, just as I would sooner let one of my friends fall off a cliff than allow a demon woman to entice a man into raping her.

The bastard children is an avenue I have yet to reach. One may wonder or ask, Archie, to which I would respond yes, what is it? Why are there no children in Hells?

Does it appear as though this is a place for children? The closest thing to children would be Krefja Horund, Luther Torren, William White, and Peter Darkly, the last of which is not a child but a supreme being who looks like one.

Children are not evil enough to have died and then entered this world, for most of them are adults who have performed evil deeds, of which they would then be adults, or psychologically challenged, in which case, they do not have any place in an after-life society. Case closed.

Children of demon lords are few and rare, for any one demon lord would need multiple wives in order to produce several offspring. That is why you see so few of Flint Pyrosso’s children running around, not that they would ever leave their God-forsaken castles. Leonardo Pyrosso became as much of a tyrant as twice his grandfather could have hoped to achieve, having reveled in the prejudice of Heliosso people as being subordinate and few. Tell me, does it rather sound like United States racism when I speak of the fire men in their campaign of whittling the gusts down to nothingness? Heliossos were subject to killings until there was but one left, and all of it happened before I appeared on the scene, and therefore unable to help. In truth, I doubt my ability to help even at this time, as the magicians of Hells are much too powerful to oppose on one’s own. Travis Vertex would need to assist me, and go against the monarchy of the time in order to do so. Much better an avenue it is to wait for the chance to form a resistance force, and to strike in a coup, despite my willingness to allow the monarchy to pass, to sit back, to flee, and to relax until my life comes to its end.

If my life were summed up, one could say I committed a deadly murder of my father, died at the hands of police, revived as a deadly sin, survived several suicide attempts, made a slew of new friends, relatives, and resolved to affect some lives positively, others negatively, survive an onslaught of imprisonment and torture, clean up myself for a good once, champion a medical company, and survive long enough to take back the planet that would call itself led by Leonardo Pyrosso, the tyrant of fire and idiocy.

Therefore, I ask you this, the people who read this declaration and wish to understand how I feel about life: are you fully prepared to accept the reality of our dire situation and fight to change it?

My life was summarized in a paragraph, but many others’ lives could be summarized in but a statement.

Imprisonment and torture.

I’ll have all of you know that the single statement you see is no fabrication or lack of reality. If people cannot socialize with others, they are imprisoned. If they cannot eat, sleep, or speak, they are imprisoned. If they are put behind bars, shouted at, slapped with spiked chains, or stretched beyond determination of identity, they are imprisoned.

If they are knocked unconscious or dead by a stronger hand, they are…

Do you understand? This is a war between reason and unreason; between freedom and imprisonment. A war the likes of which you have not seen or heard, read of or imagined; between demons and demons. The more I write, the more I know it is imperative that you fight this war for us. If you can breathe and feel righteousness inside of you when you do. If you have the strength to impose death upon those who would call themselves righteous behind the mask of evil, then you have a place next to me on our lines; the lines of our coup.

Trust that I will see every option, every opportunity, political, social, economic, enigmatic, and that you are behind a Captain who would put himself before you to take several bullets and fight on.

Should rage, pacifism, idiocy, or madness take me, still will I fight for this freedom; this ideology.

Write this statement ten times. Believe in yourself, and believe in our cause, and I will believe you have earned yourself a place in my military.

The planet I lived on may have been corrupt, difficult, ripped open by the stigmas of everyday life, but it was better than needing to live every day in fear of being killed, imprisoned, tortured, or isolated.

Make your life more than a statement.

-- Archie Castor Hughes, General of the Demonic Alliance

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