Seconds later the door opens. I look to my right. At first I don’t recognise who it is. A second later I realise it’s Tony Blair.
My mind and heart goes into a tailspin. Amazed and shocked that he’s at my door, disgusted yet I feel the grip of needing to pay respect to a man known around the corporate media world. Confusion follows. Which emotion do I squash. Which emotion can I squash? The conscience begins to make it’s presence felt. The ‘respect’ gets decimated and the utter hatred envelopes my whole being. The heart is beating at nearly 10 to the second, the adrenalin makes my limbs spasm, my voice would tremble if I was able to speak. The mind empties except for one thought. The legs become jelly yet ridged enough to allow me to begin a lunge which takes hours to get towards him.
I immediately go for his face and try to strangle him. Bad move – he’s still strong enough to try and fend me off, exhausted already, muscles cramping with adrenalin triggered lactic acid I do my best to start punching him.
I cannot stop. I MUST not stop.
Finally I’m getting the upper hand, he’s feeling the effects of my attack. Now I go for his throat. With a grip whose signature is death, I push on this throat with my stiffened thumbs, push for all I’m worth. But he, bastard, is getting off lightly, he’s not suffering enough! He isn’t seeing pieces of his childs body still burning from an exploded shell just moments ago, no, but I cannot make him endure the horrors he’s inflicted upon the world.
His throat makes some cracking noises as I continue to push. At least if he survives he’s going to be permanently injured, but I do not relent. My thumbs now feel as though they are at his neck bone. My thumbs are warm. He’s going limp. YES, I’m doing it. He’s paying for it now. I’m doing what the world should have done ages ago yet was too cowardly to do so, having never felt the pain of depleted uranium lung cancer only allowing the shallowest of breaths lest one enjoys excruciating pain.
I’ve done it. Blair isn’t responding, but I maintain the strangle for an number of seconds after, dispensing the justice of a millions souls and tens of millions of bereaving people which channels through my body.
I get start kicking his cadaver, over and over again, more, more. ‘You fing bastard’ I repeat with each kick.
Finally I collapse, utterly exhausted. I feel an overwhelming sense of relief and satisfaction at doing what it was only right to do.
I stand on top of the world.
I did it – you cowards. Are you watching world? I did what YOU should have done. Me. Nobody.
The euphoria is on a par with ‘on’ing of the big bang. That and the satisfaction from believing I made a chill run down the spine of each and every other bLiar out there ,never leaves, remaining until my dying day.