Atagonist

         It is not my past that defines me, just as it is not the atrocity of the criminal that defines them but the motivation behind the transgression. The antiquity that I once lived has been shattered and now lies as rubble beneath the yesteryear that my enemies have altered with  rumors and slanders in order to further degrade my standing in society. No it is not history that casts the true definition of who I am, for what can a faux anterior say about my true ambitions? My life has been assassinated and unfortunately it leaves my fate to the people, to let society decide how I am defined. Will they praise my work and present me with accolades of gratitude? Will they despise me and damn me to hell? My past, real or fake, will not tell how my future will be. Only one decision will decide, will I change or will I stay the same? But alas, this is not an essay on me defending my future but a proclamation of my innocence. It is just a coincidence though that both my past and future lies solely in the hands of the people that wish to sully my good name.
         Do you see now the position my enemies have put me in? They have ultimately destroyed any chance of creating my own destiny and living my own past. Unwillingly it was my doing. Though my conclusions have come to the fact that I am a lost soul trying to find a black island in the pitch black darkness of my fate, I keep a glimmer of hope as natural human beings do with a god on their side. So how did I end up in this epitome of dereliction? The question has been racing in my mind for some time now, and unhappily I have yet to come to an answer. I  tell the story many times of my past hopefully to see something I have overstepped or over analyzed. I hope that I find something new, something that would reveal where everything had went wrong, where I had failed.
         I would like to start first by saying that your opinion at this moment means crap to me. Your two cents much like the economy is worth nothing. Until complete analyzation of my proclamation has been conducted can one voice a valid opinion. So first of all and most importantly think of me as a person you’ve met once or twice but never had the chance to actually consort with. Everyone has that one person, a certain somebody that  they’ve never actually met yet the features on their face were so impressionable, so prominent that it stains the mind. That person, the one for whom is always recognized yet strayed away from is my character. My future, like my past (real and fake) lacks joyous depictions to be nostalgic about, and for that reason no blood or social relation to you should be thought of as my character. My name is unimportant, my age is unimportant for time is irrelevant in my story. In every decade, in every age one will find me.
         The start of my tale begins in a small town no one has ever heard of in a small country that no longer exists. I was born on a splintered table, to a bastard mother I never loved and entered the world ignorant to what would become my fate. With the aide of an inexperienced doctor and my illiterate father, my twin brother also became part of the population of ignorant fools. Both me and my brother were oblivious of the animosity that would form between us. Though I would have fourteen years with my parents, my brother would be given away minutes after conception.
         The city was simply dubbed Glencove, a valley of trees and grass surrounded by mountains as far as the eye could see. There were three shells of houses surrounding the tall white church that none attended, each house identical to the next. A basic white tint covered the Victorian styled houses followed by outlines of dark brown. Each thatched roof had protruding from it a red bricked chimney, constantly spewing towers of smoke into the already grey sky. Each house was surrounded by whitewashed fences, securely containing the beautiful yard and elegance that the house claimed to be unique. To a stranger the city was a utopia away from a corrupt and vile world, they couldn’t be more wrong. Glencove quickly became a haven for criminals and outcasts.  The city’s secrets were darker than its nights. They say that god himself refused to even acknowledge the city’s existence which made the church’s lack of attendance all much clearer.
         I grew up hating the world, hating my parents, hating the city, and most of all hating my brother. I entered the world as our city underwent a great depression. I was not born in Glencove, but a neighboring country. A patria that in the past seceded from its homeland. Though it was a separate constituent, we as children grew up chanting the mother nations anthem. Defying objections we gave our faith to the old state. As youngsters the idea of recombining the two was planted in our childish minds. We were the future soldiers, it was only smart. I hated the world for putting my land into depression, for forcing my family to spend weeks without food, months without rest. My father was against everything I stood for, he wanted me to be one thing and I strived for the other. My mother supported me until the death of my father, then she became a hollow void. I ended up leaving my own home for more fiscal opportunities on the streets.
         My brother though held the most of my hate. He was raised not by my parents but was adopted and raised by rich suave politicians. My parents knew they could only support one child, so they put the second up for adoption. He grew up happy in a luxurious home and lived the childhood of a pampered kid. I grew up in a house that looked as if it had conducted its own war with itself. Though our pasts were different, each had to experience everyday the horrors of the streets that we despised. Even more upsetting was that my brother had always seemed to be better than me, choosing to work with pride and honor, while my pride and honor were put last behind stealing to eat and doing anything necessary to stay alive. When he became an important cog in the law enforcement of Glencove he vowed to clean up the city and bring the good name of god back to his people. I vowed to do the opposite, I believed that why fix the problems when you can milk the faults to obtain meaningless vices. Besides I didn’t have an education, I didn’t have a money rich background or fail safes. He would take my opportunities of eating and making a living away.
         Now before I go on, there are certain assessments I must present so excuse my digressions. The part of this story that should really interest the reader is not the anticipated culmination or the suspense that leads up to the climax, or is it the resolution where the hero expectedly but unexpectedly prevails. In fact, it is after the problems are solved, after the words “The End” are long gone from the darkness of your mind. So forget the plot pyramid, the order in which a story should take place, and prepare to go much further than the resolution. Now in all stories the set up is the same, the protagonist inevitably faces his downfall, but by some spark of faith, or saving, he pulls back and defeats the enemy. Most would leave it that, ’The hero won, so why should I go on?” they ask. Not me, no not by far.
         Many people don’t realize that even the dead have a future. Are they destined for hell, heaven, or to rot and decay in a cheap wooden coffin beneath 6 feet of soil? It goes the same for the criminal. What happens to him after he is defeated? If he dies where does he go? Is he reincarnated, if he is how does that person who received his soul turn out? But what if he doesn’t die, is he run out of civilization? Exiled like Napoleon? If he is, what does he resort to?
         Now the protagonist  is usually given a clear, vivid past when the writer leads you to believe that the antagonist grew up as an anathema, in a broken home as a troubled child. I find that solution to be a cop out. A cheap way to explain how that person turned out evil or corrupt. Now if you have not gone back and  reread the start of my story do it. You will see that I am guilty of hypocrisy.  Yes, you guessed it, I am the villain of my own story. Hypocrite I am not, a liar yes. For the past I explained is the life that my enemies have given me. I did not grow up in Glencove, I grew up in a huge city inside a heavily populated country. I strived for the best education possible so that I could win the people not by force but my intelligence. I mastered the art of speeches by studying great speakers and won countless debates using wit and suave. I graduated from a prestigious college at the top of my class and devoted my time to charities. I gave my heart and faith to the church, always acting with the intentions that god would approve of. How could a person from my prestige end up like how I am now? Though in my life I was the protagonist, in some one else‘s life I remained the enemy.
         Imagine my real birth though as seconds after conception I slipped into a coma. Upon awakening I was forced to choose a role in the story that would be my life. Unfortunately I woke up too late and the only role left was the character of the scoundrel. My life revolved around setting traps for the protagonist, and on and on our battles waged.  I was powerful, strong, valiant, and was sure to win. Typically I was given the flaw that all enemies possess, that is arrogance and ambition. Once I had the protagonist defeated I was certain the world like a castle of cards would collapse before me. So I let my defense down and before I knew it I was defeated. Though later I come back stronger, smarter and swifter, the end will always be the same, he will win and I will lose. I continue to be blinded by arrogance and return to exile. I dream and plot of different ways to destroy the hero. But of course I lose, for what kind of story would it be if the hero failed and I the super villain be victorious?
         Hypothetically lets say that I do win. Naturally because of human nature my tyranny would not last long for there would soon be a public uprising and a new hero would emerge. No matter the situation, there will always be a hero. If one hero dies another will take their place. For every nemesis there will always be a hero, and vice versa. Finally the new emerging hero will end my tyranny and re-establish democracy, monarchy, patriarchy,  or whatever type of rule that they previously had. I in turn would be damned to hell.
         I have seen the fires of the abyss and have cried and pled for salvation when salvation was hopeless. Gehenna existed in my mind, turning my phobias into means of torture and relentlessly dissolving my will to live. I was made witness to the contents of heaven simply to be taunted. I watched the happiness that I could never achieve, the joy that I would never feel, and the people that I hurt being rewarded from the gifts of heaven. I cried because I knew I was innocent. How dare they sentence me somewhere so harsh simply because of what my past has stated. Bad people go to hell, my intentions weren’t evil, they were intended to help. How can a past be the ultimate decision on my afterlife when motivations are excluded from the verdict being made.
         No hell is the same for anyone. A persons worst fear would be multiplied and used for torture. I would be strapped to a chair, totally dehydrated. A glass of cold water, with little drops on the outside due to condensation would appear, and be set on a table inches in front of me. Close enough to feel the cold air sublimating off the ice, but far enough for my tongue to be barely out of reach. Shadows would laugh at me as I plead for the water. My mouth would become so dry saliva would be unable to form, and there the glass would be, sparkling in the light. My fear of heights would be put to the extreme. I would be tortured by being dropped from high elevations onto jagged rocks, but would be saved at the last minute. This would happen over and over again. Different techniques would be experimented with to see how scared I could actually get, and each time the situation would become worse and worse. Physically I would be tortured. Whipped and scarred, they would literally cook me alive. I would be worked relentlessly having to work in my own excrements and filth, all those factors leading to massive infections in the gashes from the constant whipping.
         All the menacing creatures would laugh hysterically at my tears and pleads of salvation. I would make promises of changing my ways but it would only make them laugh harder. No matter how gruesome it sounds this is the happy ending that the reader desires for I the villain has been dealt what I deserve. But what if I didn’t go to hell, what if I was reincarnated into a newborn baby. From day one I would be given the choice of being either a protagonist or his adversary. Subconsciously it is my choice but in reality it is the influence from the events that surround me.
         On another unimportant note fate plays a huge role in deciding my character, but lets say in this case I become a hero. Only fate can decide what hero I become. Will I be a minor hero who without knowing risks his life to save some one else? Would I rise to power and shed hope on a dying decaying civilization? Would I be the lone cause of putting an end to a long civil war or be simple and change some ones life for the better by merely believing in them or having hope in their lost soul? There are too many ways one could become a hero may them be simple or huge.
         But ask yourself, who is a hero really? Could a hero also be an enemy in some one else’s eyes?  If so then who is right, what that people see is right or what the hero sees is right? Can someone believe in something so strong that the result leads them to actions of horrific ends. Tomas de Torquemada, a 15th century Spanish Dominican was dubbed with “The hammer of heretics, the light of Spain, the savior of his country, the honor of his order”. Spanish society saw him as a hero, a godsend to his country, and mostly his religion. Popes of his time praised his actions of ultimately saving Spain from the build up of heretics. Hanging aggressors, and even resulting in his name being synonymous with the Christian inquisitions horror, religious bigotry, and cruel fanaticism, Tomas ultimately created one of the first societies to establish pure Christianity. Greatly influencing the emigration of the Jewish people and the Muslims, Tomas’ beliefs resulted in the death of thousands of innocents.
         Was he wrong for taking action in what his society saw was right? Does the present society’s humane nature cloud the beauty behind his actions? I am not an advocate of his death toll, nor am I just playing Devils advocate. I am merely stating that who are we as a society to say that this person was wrong? If he believed that he was actually doing good, for a religious belief that supported his actions, who are we to say, no matter how harsh his actions were, to say that he was wrong? He didn’t have bad intentions! His motivation was to educate the people he thought was wrong, and if they refused to assimilate, he would take the initiative to give the lost souls to God, so that God would save them. Was he wrong? Was he right? Do his good intentions really justify his mass killings? The man practiced foot roasting and suffocation as means of torture! Can a strong belief, a religious background really justify those horrific actions? Who is right? Who is wrong?
         
                                          It is not my place to say so. It is not societies place to say so.
         
         So then whose place is it? Whose place is it to decide whether or not Tomas was wrong? Whose place is it to say that Vlad the Impaler is not an angel from god sent to earth to rid the world of sinners!? Whose place is it to say that Joseph Stalin wasn’t a revolutionary, the first to realize that by striking fear into the peoples heart is a sure way to create ultimate control?! WHOSE PLACE IS IT TO SAY THAT I AM NOT ACTUALLY THE HERO?! Who does society see as a hero?! Superman? Spiderman? Batman? Is it just a coincidence that societies unanimous decision on a hero are all fictional?! What about Americas forefathers? George Washington was a poor military general. He ignorantly pushed into battle only escaping with losses, except for a few occasions when the French army ultimately won the battle for him. Yorktown wasn’t an American victory. Sure it was a decisive victory that ensured Americas independence, but really the aid of the French navy ensured that victory for America. And what did America do? THEY TOOK THE CREDIT! The forefathers were liars, and only acted upon selfish needs.
         Society is ignorant. They alone allowed my faux past. For what kind of society would enjoy seeing a terrorist with cruel intentions being praised. I am not against America. I am not against any country, I was merely using the country as an example to exemplify why my actions can be justified not by society but by you the reader. Do you really think that I would go so far to change the way society has placed my actions? I care about changing you. For if you agree and spread the word upon societies ignorant decisions, hopefully they will change. Only the present society can change the future society. Hopefully in time, my actions will not be looked down upon, nor agreed with, but I will no longer be dubbed as the villain.
         Yes little birdies, I shall feed you. Let us go back, I had just been killed by the new emerging hero and sent to hell. I was frowned on as an Antagonist when my intentions were to better the people. I believed so strongly that the decaying civilization I belonged to deserved better. Deserved a better economy, deserved better respect, and ultimately deserved a better leader. I refused to do nothing about the people who brought the plague of a slowly deteriorating civilization, so I stood up and intervened. With a  precise plan, the 36 members of my government had fallen at mine and my followers feet. I didn’t represent riches, or cruel intentions of world domination, but the depraved bourgeoisie. With a political army who believed in my cause, we moved to eliminate the people that remained a threat to us. We recruited thousands of people who slowly began to see the truth, who the real heroes were, and who were our enemies. I ordered the removal of the plagues that were destroying my country, only to permanent the fact that our civilization would once again rise to its prime. Expansion was needed in order to appease my growing country. Hundreds of cities fell to my near invincible armies, no one survived, no mother no child. Complete extermination of the people that were prophesized by the protocols to overthrow first my country, then the world.
         I battled anarchists who were my Antagonists but the aggressors heroes. They attempted to slay my endeavors at bettering the world not for me, but for your children. Half of the people looked to me as the chosen one, the others despised my efforts. Was I wrong? Was I really wrong for simply bettering the place that I and my future children would live? The millions of lives that were lost on my behalf were a necessity, just as it was gods to kill millions when he flooded the earth, only sparing a man and his family.
         For those reasons the past that was given to me fails to define who I really am. It would dub me as evil, tyrannical, and obsessed with world domination when my motivations were quite the opposite. Alone I pulled my country from depression, from economic and morale decay! I gave hope to the hopeless, I was their god. But its in the eyes of you the reader that ultimately decides who a hero really is. I may have been a leader of good intentions but looked down upon, In the same sense I may have been a man of bad intentions but considered a godsend. Of all the confusion of what and who I am, only one thing remains clear.  There is no such thing as heroes. No such thing as Villains. There is only the accused, and those pointing the finger.