Transform

fiction: snake, nationalism, dedication

Jack stretched his arms up above his head. He spun his wrists in a clockwise motion and then again in an anti-clockwise motion. He cracked his fingers one-by-one. He picked up the hammer in his right hand and placed the nail through the material of the flag and then gently into the wall before smashing it in with the hammer using all his might. At the end of the nail was a snake. Its skin was painted with this forest green colour in a diamond pattern. To Jack it looked more like a decaying leaf. He didn’t care either way. Jack took a step back from the wall to observe his message. The snake was positioned in the centre of the flag. It was the only thing that Jack would use to decorate the wall. He packed up his toolbox and placed it against the kitchen door as a makeshift doorstop. He then started to clean the house. He took bleach to every surface he could to ensure there’d be no trace of him left.

Once he was done, Jack put his headphones on, picked up his wallet, his backpack (which contained his toolbox) and headed out of his apartment. It was in a dodgy part of town but the rent was kind of cheap. It was temporary any way. On the corner of the street, where he had left his car, was a shop ran by an old man and his son. Jack couldn’t stand the son; the father he didn’t mind too much because he was rarely there. The son had these beady eyes and this stupidly blank face. It was as if the guy didn’t react to anything. Sometimes Jack felt like punching him in the face just for the son to show him some sort of emotion.

Jack pushed open the door and the bell at the top announced his presence. Nobody was at the till which wasn’t all that unusual. He headed straight to the liquor area but found it closed. It was after 10pm but that didn’t stop him. He took the tarpaulin into his hands and pulled it from its hooks. It took him a few tries but finally he could access the alcohol. His drink of choice was whisky. He hated it. It always reminded him of his father which was unnecessary because his face was more than enough.

The son barrelled into the liquor area with an air of anger. He had been in the storage at the back when he’d heard the noise Jack made.

“Hey, what the hell are you doing?”

Jack stared at him for a moment. He did not like to speak too much. He always felt words were too confusing and not always needed. Action was better; his father taught him that.

“What does it look like I’m doing? ”

“It doesn’t matter what it looks like! We don’t sell past 10 so put that back,” he gestured to the bottle in Jack’s hand. Jack noticed the nametag pinned on the young man’s shirt—Jerry

Jack looked down at it and gently rubbed the bottle cap. The strap of his backpack was sliding off his arm. He slid it up and rearranged his backpack more comfortably. He then takes the bottle of whisky into his left hand and with the right he opens it up. Jack takes a massive swig of the bitter drink, all the while looking at the shop owners son.

“You’ve gotta pay for that now!”

In response, Jack takes the back of his hand and uses it to wipe his mouth. He never takes his eyes off the Jerry’s face. Underneath the envelope of his skin, Jack could feel anger burning through his veins. There was something wrong with this man’s face, Jack was sure of it. Those beady little eyes showed no signs of understanding. His fingernails had no grit underneath to signify hard work. His hair had been the same each time Jack has seen him. His face was smooth and unmarked. This guy had no sense of variation, of hard work or humanity. To Jack this guy was nothing but a shell. He was everything that was wrong with the country. His father’s teaching were exact;y what he needed. With that thought, Jack smashed the bottle of whisky into the man’s face. The shards of glass embedded themself into the Jerry’s face and he fell onto the floor.

Jack mourned the waste of whiskey but it had to be done. Apathy couldn’t survive any longer than the whisky could so Jack did his best to give them both a good service. As the young man was screaming into the air, Jack started to scream too. It was a way for him to communicate with the young man. He understood his pain, he knew what it felt like to have shards of glass swimming in his face. The feeling of blood beating out of him was not unfamiliar to Jack. However after all that pain, Jack came out better from it and he believed the young man would too. Jack’s father dedicated time to teach Jack a lesson and Jack would do the same too. This couldn’t be taught unless it was done right.

Jack took one of the larger shards of glass into his hand. He held it tight until his hand bled to remind him of his purpose. He pushed the man so he would be lying down and straddled Jerry so he could do his work better. He grabbed the Jerry’s bleeding face and turned it towards to him. He took the glass and worked curvaceous lines into the meaty flesh. He was slow and methodical. Jack was a perfectionist at heart, his father made sure of that. The screams of the young man didn’t register to Jack. His father’s rules were his anthem. Whenever Jack was completing a task, he played them constantly from his phone into his headphones. Jack kept cutting and cutting into the young man’s face until he deemed his work done. Jack realised that the man had passed out but it didn’t matter. He turned the Jerry’s face left and right as one final check to see what he had done.

Jack had marked Jerry with the same marks he had. His father had created an emblem for his teachings The sign of righteousness and corrections, his father said. Jack had left two snakes cut into the man’s face. They started from each temple and ended at the corner of his mouth. Not deep enough to to cause too much damage, Jack thought, but just enough so it would scar nicely. His father would’ve been better at it but there was nothing Jack could do except try his best.

Jack lifted the man into his arms and carried his limp body across the shop and into the backseat of his car. He went back into the shop and took another three bottles of whisky before heading back into his vehicle. He opened one of the rear doors so he could tie the young man’s hands and feet together. The apartment wasn’t needed any more except to act as a beacon for his father’s message. With that in mind, Jack sat in the drivers seat and started to drive home. His father’s teachings were organised meticulously in his home and Jack refused to disorganise them by moving them to wherever he went when recruiting students. It was easier for him to take them there. Many of his fellow believers took great care to preserve his father’s work. They would look after Jerry until he learns and then he himself will go out and recruit others.

“A snake sheds its skin, the world must remove the unmarked to rid itself of damage.”