By Rosie Delaney
I was a remarkable man, a force to be reckoned with. A personality some may judge as egotistical and equally pompous but what I proudly deemed as incredible self belief. I was the revolutionary voice of a nation, a powerful tyrant in the eyes of the literary world. I was accomplished and world renowned in my work field, naturally processing a flair for language so profound it dazzled my associates. I obtained an engaging and inquisitive nature from birth which ignited my stupendous ability to rapidly uncover an emotionally stimulating story in any given situation, be it banal or extraordinary. I was a master in my art, I was a journalist.
Now you may have become somewhat concerned or alarmed by my avid use of the past tense in relation to my incredibility, you see my aspirations of global success did indeed reach beyond my wildest imaginings in many ways. I was on the momentous summit of the staggering success mountain. Unfortunately, the only destination left for me was a crumbling and painful fall, an everlasting downturn that with each passing day would lead me closer and closer to a demonic underworld of self-destruction.
I lived a life of gloriously exhilarating adventure and discovery, exploring the vast lands of backward civilizations in the most enriching regions of South America, indulging in the eccentric fabrics, food and sweltering heat of the Middle East and observing the materialistic and narcissistic character traits inherited in the citizens of elitist North America. This was my salvation, my sanctuary, my heaven, my job. The global correspondent for the most prestigious news network in Europe and they savagely stripped that away from me, like wild hyenas they tore at my flesh, ravaging my dreams and aspirations. I was left with nothing but a bloody aftermath of traumatic turmoil.
In truth I had begun to conduct my research in a manic fashion, perhaps exceeding the recommended limit of normality. My dismissal occurred during my fixation on the life of the homeless and hopeless. I believed the only way I could truly comprehend their troubled and downtrodden states of mind was to essentially ‘be’ them. I began to dress in ragged and gruesome apparel. Sporting a rugged and unshaven look as well as taking on their life threatening habits of alcoholism and drug addiction. I squandered my assets to fund my newfound ‘addictions’ and began turning up to work in a oblivious state of drunkenness or in narcotic induced trances of distortion. I stumbled along the city streets, impersonating the life of a tramp, festering among the venomous vermin and lying in the putrid stench of waste disposal sites.
I never did write that feature, I became too consumed in the puzzling yet fascinating life of the damned, I relished in the depravation, the isolation, the utter pity. I believed misery completed a person, why hadn’t I declared myself ‘homeless’ previous to this? The authorities above me cruelly labelled me as a preposterous attention-seeker, unable to meet deadlines, unfit for work and clinically insane.
I wanted to believe in a higher force, in something better, something revolutionary that would act as proof to those insolent network producers that I was stupendous, levels above them in the overall scheme of life. I sought a replenishing salvation and, alas, nothing came. I wallowed in a perpetual state of misery, I wanted to choke this utter discontent and dismay, I wanted to strangle it in a fanatical fashion never ceasing until I caused it everlastingly dire pain. But my consuming desires did little to improve my emotional strife, I would sit for days on end in my decaying attire, in my crumbling home counting each minute that passed by, demanding the almighty God’s to answer one frequent question. A question I would religiously proclaim in an uncontrollable fit of weeps. Why was I, the all talented, the all generous forsaken this fate? What beastly crime had I conducted? What purpose had life for the regal and majestic, for the distinguished and honourable such as I? Life did not want to be acquainted with those that exceeded its juvenile expectations, who reached beyond its limit, Life reacted ferociously to those people, shunning them in an envious manner and cursing them with a destiny of hardship.
One day, I had a glorious epiphany, an epiphany that would entitle me to outsmart my miserable destiny, my pathetic life. Thus, I created an ingenious plan, a sinister operation that would feed my thirst for revenge. My hellish plan involved the aid of a profound man.
Now it just so happens, that Mr. Santilo Dofermi shared the same twisted fate as me, ridiculed and cheated by society to the point of self-loathing and perishing gloom. He inhabited one of the most angelic and unspoiled locations in the world, living amongst the wild orang-utans and fluttering feathered creatures of an Indonesian forest. However, what Santilo did not comprehend was the fact that this forest was state protected, only freely available for official government workers, curious and equally hazardous tourists and the rapidly endangering animal species, of course.
In fact, he was determined in the fact that he was an ape himself, of the purest kind. He rapidly fled from his shanty town village at the tender age of 18 in search of his true identity, howling and screeching through the streets whilst the local police attempted to restrain him. This animalistic fit was a direct result of his rejected emancipation order, he claimed his rightful loyalty and familial bond lay within the enticing rainforest in some form of animal, he did not belong in this regulated and domestic human civilization. For obvious reasons the judicial system quickly dismissed his plea and so began Santilo’s life as a valid member of the animal chain.
He lived in his heavenly animal realm for many years without disturbance, when park officials or tourists would saunter by or inspect their surroundings, he would manically leap into the nearest form of camouflage ,be it a bush adorned with thorns or a deep pool of mud, he paid no heed, his appearance was not a top priority in his primitive life. By day, he stalked the forest’s many dangerous paths, swaying along the branches of colossal emerald trees in search of fruit or to avoid preying beasts below. By night he slept amongst a dysfunctional family of spider monkeys who yelped, screeched and clawed at one another endlessly.
However these primitive beasts cherished his presence deeply. Remarkably they had come to look upon Santilo in a loving and admiring manner, despite their vicious character traits filled with malice and conceit, they embraced Santilo with revitalizing adoration and respect. Each night, they would all lie on their backs gazing at the glowering stars together, fascinated by the shimmering and illuminating constellations. It was a life of bare necessity, of simplicity in its purest form, unspoiled and untarnished by the evils of the man and their barbaric systems. However, this bountiful bliss came to an almighty halt for this innocent animal-lover, when the ferocious beast otherwise known as the media invaded his sanctuary.
An over-achieving and unsympathetic reporter discovered him one night whilst on a daily trek for visitors in the forest park. He spotted Santilo with his scrutinizing close-set eyes, sneering with greed, calculating the success he would gain for this cover feature, the phenomenal recognition. He abandoned all sense of empathy and morality upon the very sight of Santilo, dressed in animal skin, crouching by the shores of the gushing river with several tucans and macaws resting peacefully on his muscular arms. He zoomed up on his high tech binoculars which contained miniscule cameras hidden in the lenses, the images taken of Santilo is his state of serenity being automatically sent to every newspaper and television network headquarters worldwide. The title ‘Illegal barbarian ravaging protected rainforest land’ encircled the headlines. Some hours later, Santilo was brashly handcuffed and escorted to the nearest penitentiary, cruelly thrown into the psychotic wing of the institution. Imprisoned with the thieves, the rapists,the serial murderers. Injustice and impurity invaded the world, my world, Santilo’s world. Santilo gave me his honourable word that once released from prison; he would joyfully conduct a scheme that would ensure the downfall of the entire global media.
*
The day came for Santilo’s long awaited release. To say it was a moment of sheer celebration and utter content on both my part and Santilo’s, would be a tremendous understatement. For many months Santilo had slaved away in his dingy prison cell, formulating a precise plan that would guarantee our vindictive revenge. I was eager to hear his enlightening revelations. When he briskly sauntered out of the iron-clad prison gates, his stance radiated utter joy. He wore a striking grin on his ape-like face, a sinister smile which portrayed the clear message that he was an accomplished man, a man who had completed his duty.
Santilo began to talk in a husky, dignified voice surprising for a man of his wildly unkempt exterior. He retold the tale of his distinguished friendship with a fellow inmate, an Egyptian sheikh. Now this sheikh by the name of Bilal had stumbled upon many troubles in his long-winded life, with the law, with society even with his family. His life was one of never ending strife and grief, yet he had paid little heed to his present circumstances, he was certain he would be excessively rewarded in the afterlife. Whilst the sheikh may not have been overly street wise in many regards, he was blessed with a vast knowledge and connection to the world of the spirits, known as ‘Jinnah’s’ in his religious practice. He
attained an almighty gift, a momentous ability to communicate with these creatures from the underworld. With this communication came the power to reward his companions and curse his enemies. For example he could brutally instruct a spirit to enforce everlasting doom on his targeted party, this would involve the dark spirit tormenting the victim/victim’s in their dreams, controlling their destinies, in short, plaguing their life with atrocities. Conversely, he could inflict eternal prosperity and felicity on to a loved one, through the power of a guardian ‘Jinnah’ , spirits who radiated joy and basked in content. This incredible man performed the solution to our somewhat impossible plan within the confinements of his prison cell.
*
Some weeks later, Santilo and I were lazily lounging on my settee. I was rapidly flicking through the channels; nothing appeared to be even mildly intriguing. Suddenly, I stumbled upon a news channel with flashing headlines and reporters shouting in a frenzied fashion. Within one hour of that what I thought to be miraculous day, CNN headquarters in New York had set been set aflame by teenage pyromaniacs, claiming that they targeted the wrong building, it was an accident. Suspiciously, Euro news headquarters had also been demolished by a team of crazed suicide bomber’s which could not be identified. In addition to this, and by far the most bizarre ,the main team of writers, editors and designers from ‘The evening herald’ had been gunned down by a team of specially trained ape’s .This supremely intelligent primates had snaked their way into the building through the air conditioning system. One witness proclaimed the sight as ‘completely monstrous, 12 apes with various weapons of destruction leapt from the ceilings and waged war on our work team’.
Significantly, ‘The evening herald’ just so happened to be my former employer. Santilo and I began to manically grin and hysterically cackle. The media was collapsing before our very eyes. Our dream had become a beautiful reality.
I was a remarkable man, a force to be reckoned with. A personality some may judge as egotistical and equally pompous but what I proudly deemed as incredible self belief. I was the revolutionary voice of a nation, a powerful tyrant in the eyes of the literary world. I was accomplished and world renowned in my work field, naturally processing a flair for language so profound it dazzled my associates. I obtained an engaging and inquisitive nature from birth which ignited my stupendous ability to rapidly uncover an emotionally stimulating story in any given situation, be it banal or extraordinary. I was a master in my art, I was a journalist.
Now you may have become somewhat concerned or alarmed by my avid use of the past tense in relation to my incredibility, you see my aspirations of global success did indeed reach beyond my wildest imaginings in many ways. I was on the momentous summit of the staggering success mountain. Unfortunately, the only destination left for me was a crumbling and painful fall, an everlasting downturn that with each passing day would lead me closer and closer to a demonic underworld of self-destruction.
I lived a life of gloriously exhilarating adventure and discovery, exploring the vast lands of backward civilizations in the most enriching regions of South America, indulging in the eccentric fabrics, food and sweltering heat of the Middle East and observing the materialistic and narcissistic character traits inherited in the citizens of elitist North America. This was my salvation, my sanctuary, my heaven, my job. The global correspondent for the most prestigious news network in Europe and they savagely stripped that away from me, like wild hyenas they tore at my flesh, ravaging my dreams and aspirations. I was left with nothing but a bloody aftermath of traumatic turmoil.
In truth I had begun to conduct my research in a manic fashion, perhaps exceeding the recommended limit of normality. My dismissal occurred during my fixation on the life of the homeless and hopeless. I believed the only way I could truly comprehend their troubled and downtrodden states of mind was to essentially ‘be’ them. I began to dress in ragged and gruesome apparel. Sporting a rugged and unshaven look as well as taking on their life threatening habits of alcoholism and drug addiction. I squandered my assets to fund my newfound ‘addictions’ and began turning up to work in a oblivious state of drunkenness or in narcotic induced trances of distortion. I stumbled along the city streets, impersonating the life of a tramp, festering among the venomous vermin and lying in the putrid stench of waste disposal sites.
I never did write that feature, I became too consumed in the puzzling yet fascinating life of the damned, I relished in the depravation, the isolation, the utter pity. I believed misery completed a person, why hadn’t I declared myself ‘homeless’ previous to this? The authorities above me cruelly labelled me as a preposterous attention-seeker, unable to meet deadlines, unfit for work and clinically insane.
I wanted to believe in a higher force, in something better, something revolutionary that would act as proof to those insolent network producers that I was stupendous, levels above them in the overall scheme of life. I sought a replenishing salvation and, alas, nothing came. I wallowed in a perpetual state of misery, I wanted to choke this utter discontent and dismay, I wanted to strangle it in a fanatical fashion never ceasing until I caused it everlastingly dire pain. But my consuming desires did little to improve my emotional strife, I would sit for days on end in my decaying attire, in my crumbling home counting each minute that passed by, demanding the almighty God’s to answer one frequent question. A question I would religiously proclaim in an uncontrollable fit of weeps. Why was I, the all talented, the all generous forsaken this fate? What beastly crime had I conducted? What purpose had life for the regal and majestic, for the distinguished and honourable such as I? Life did not want to be acquainted with those that exceeded its juvenile expectations, who reached beyond its limit, Life reacted ferociously to those people, shunning them in an envious manner and cursing them with a destiny of hardship.
One day, I had a glorious epiphany, an epiphany that would entitle me to outsmart my miserable destiny, my pathetic life. Thus, I created an ingenious plan, a sinister operation that would feed my thirst for revenge. My hellish plan involved the aid of a profound man.
Now it just so happens, that Mr. Santilo Dofermi shared the same twisted fate as me, ridiculed and cheated by society to the point of self-loathing and perishing gloom. He inhabited one of the most angelic and unspoiled locations in the world, living amongst the wild orang-utans and fluttering feathered creatures of an Indonesian forest. However, what Santilo did not comprehend was the fact that this forest was state protected, only freely available for official government workers, curious and equally hazardous tourists and the rapidly endangering animal species, of course.
In fact, he was determined in the fact that he was an ape himself, of the purest kind. He rapidly fled from his shanty town village at the tender age of 18 in search of his true identity, howling and screeching through the streets whilst the local police attempted to restrain him. This animalistic fit was a direct result of his rejected emancipation order, he claimed his rightful loyalty and familial bond lay within the enticing rainforest in some form of animal, he did not belong in this regulated and domestic human civilization. For obvious reasons the judicial system quickly dismissed his plea and so began Santilo’s life as a valid member of the animal chain.
He lived in his heavenly animal realm for many years without disturbance, when park officials or tourists would saunter by or inspect their surroundings, he would manically leap into the nearest form of camouflage ,be it a bush adorned with thorns or a deep pool of mud, he paid no heed, his appearance was not a top priority in his primitive life. By day, he stalked the forest’s many dangerous paths, swaying along the branches of colossal emerald trees in search of fruit or to avoid preying beasts below. By night he slept amongst a dysfunctional family of spider monkeys who yelped, screeched and clawed at one another endlessly.
However these primitive beasts cherished his presence deeply. Remarkably they had come to look upon Santilo in a loving and admiring manner, despite their vicious character traits filled with malice and conceit, they embraced Santilo with revitalizing adoration and respect. Each night, they would all lie on their backs gazing at the glowering stars together, fascinated by the shimmering and illuminating constellations. It was a life of bare necessity, of simplicity in its purest form, unspoiled and untarnished by the evils of the man and their barbaric systems. However, this bountiful bliss came to an almighty halt for this innocent animal-lover, when the ferocious beast otherwise known as the media invaded his sanctuary.
An over-achieving and unsympathetic reporter discovered him one night whilst on a daily trek for visitors in the forest park. He spotted Santilo with his scrutinizing close-set eyes, sneering with greed, calculating the success he would gain for this cover feature, the phenomenal recognition. He abandoned all sense of empathy and morality upon the very sight of Santilo, dressed in animal skin, crouching by the shores of the gushing river with several tucans and macaws resting peacefully on his muscular arms. He zoomed up on his high tech binoculars which contained miniscule cameras hidden in the lenses, the images taken of Santilo is his state of serenity being automatically sent to every newspaper and television network headquarters worldwide. The title ‘Illegal barbarian ravaging protected rainforest land’ encircled the headlines. Some hours later, Santilo was brashly handcuffed and escorted to the nearest penitentiary, cruelly thrown into the psychotic wing of the institution. Imprisoned with the thieves, the rapists,the serial murderers. Injustice and impurity invaded the world, my world, Santilo’s world. Santilo gave me his honourable word that once released from prison; he would joyfully conduct a scheme that would ensure the downfall of the entire global media.
*
The day came for Santilo’s long awaited release. To say it was a moment of sheer celebration and utter content on both my part and Santilo’s, would be a tremendous understatement. For many months Santilo had slaved away in his dingy prison cell, formulating a precise plan that would guarantee our vindictive revenge. I was eager to hear his enlightening revelations. When he briskly sauntered out of the iron-clad prison gates, his stance radiated utter joy. He wore a striking grin on his ape-like face, a sinister smile which portrayed the clear message that he was an accomplished man, a man who had completed his duty.
Santilo began to talk in a husky, dignified voice surprising for a man of his wildly unkempt exterior. He retold the tale of his distinguished friendship with a fellow inmate, an Egyptian sheikh. Now this sheikh by the name of Bilal had stumbled upon many troubles in his long-winded life, with the law, with society even with his family. His life was one of never ending strife and grief, yet he had paid little heed to his present circumstances, he was certain he would be excessively rewarded in the afterlife. Whilst the sheikh may not have been overly street wise in many regards, he was blessed with a vast knowledge and connection to the world of the spirits, known as ‘Jinnah’s’ in his religious practice. He
attained an almighty gift, a momentous ability to communicate with these creatures from the underworld. With this communication came the power to reward his companions and curse his enemies. For example he could brutally instruct a spirit to enforce everlasting doom on his targeted party, this would involve the dark spirit tormenting the victim/victim’s in their dreams, controlling their destinies, in short, plaguing their life with atrocities. Conversely, he could inflict eternal prosperity and felicity on to a loved one, through the power of a guardian ‘Jinnah’ , spirits who radiated joy and basked in content. This incredible man performed the solution to our somewhat impossible plan within the confinements of his prison cell.
*
Some weeks later, Santilo and I were lazily lounging on my settee. I was rapidly flicking through the channels; nothing appeared to be even mildly intriguing. Suddenly, I stumbled upon a news channel with flashing headlines and reporters shouting in a frenzied fashion. Within one hour of that what I thought to be miraculous day, CNN headquarters in New York had set been set aflame by teenage pyromaniacs, claiming that they targeted the wrong building, it was an accident. Suspiciously, Euro news headquarters had also been demolished by a team of crazed suicide bomber’s which could not be identified. In addition to this, and by far the most bizarre ,the main team of writers, editors and designers from ‘The evening herald’ had been gunned down by a team of specially trained ape’s .This supremely intelligent primates had snaked their way into the building through the air conditioning system. One witness proclaimed the sight as ‘completely monstrous, 12 apes with various weapons of destruction leapt from the ceilings and waged war on our work team’.
Significantly, ‘The evening herald’ just so happened to be my former employer. Santilo and I began to manically grin and hysterically cackle. The media was collapsing before our very eyes. Our dream had become a beautiful reality.
