Welcome to part two of Diary of a Madman. You have listened to part one right? We wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you would we? I mean it would be such a shame if you “accidentally” landed on something sharp during the protest you attend on the weekend.
This story is chock full of trigger warnings such as bad language, violence, and murder. This story is a vehicle to highlight many social issues such as domestic abuse, depression, and suicide.
Consider yourself forewarned.
What follows here is the second episode and it’s transcription. If you enjoy this and would like to explore it further, subscription on my Patreon page will get you access to the next episode as well as an annotated version of the script where I share my thoughts, outtakes, Easter eggs and other relevant information. You can also discover other great bonuses and a sneaky peek at some of my new projects.
If you are dealing with any of the problems highlighted in this story, or know someone that is, then please either call the police emergency number if you’re in immediate danger, or your local police if not; they will be able to get you the help you need.
DIARY OF A MADMAN
PART 2: SIN EATER
So why him? Why have I got this particular brand of asshole in my sights? If you haven’t worked that out by now, then you’re a big part of the problem. If you see it and you choose to stand by and let it play out … Well, that makes you as bad as him. This prick that’s quite happy to hand out a beating to his family; you, if you choose to be a passive bystander, you have as much fault, as much culpability, as him.
So why him? ‘Why not?’, I ask. He’s a piece of shit on the shoe of humanity. Creating misery wherever he stumbles his hateful, fucking arse. Surely offing him is for the greater good, right?
Domestic abuse is everywhere, and nobody gives a fuck. The moment it becomes apparent, the moment it spills out onto the street, you busy yourselves with something else or, even worse, you break out your phone and turn on the fucking camera instead of intervening to protect the victim. Instead of trying to help your fellow citizens in their moment of need, your mind immediately goes to how many new followers and Likes you’re going to get out of this public travesty’.
I know you aren’t going to step up, you aren’t going to do anything. At best you’re a coward … at worst …
That’s why I do this. That’s why I step up to the plate. Because you’re nothing but a bunch of fucking cowards!
Not then and there, no matter how much I wish I could. I have to wait. Your rules make waiting compulsory. Standing in line while you slowly rot away, and woe betide anyone who cuts in. Then we finally see your anger, your wrath! Heaven knows all you little maggots need a sharp shock to wake you from your zombie state. Your eyes glazed over to reality. In your ears, nothing but white noise drowning out the world around you.
Society frowns upon vulgar displays of power in public, so I have to wait. I have to plan.
There’s a sin on every street corner, yet you choose to ignore it. You call yourself a humanitarian but really you’re just weak. Hiding behind that label so that you don’t have to get your hands dirty.
It’s your bright, shiny badge that covers your cowardice.
If a dog bites you, you have no second thoughts about having it “put to sleep,” but if it’s another human being? You sit there, spouting words like “sentient,” as if they only apply to humans. Last I checked a dog has ears, eyes … a nose. In fact, their senses are far more adept at perceiving than our own. Surely that must mean they are more sentient than us? And, arguably, does that even matter? Does it matter whose sentience is greater? Surely not! Surely it only matters that we aren’t the only sentient beings and others have worth … yet you’re extremely comfortable denying them that which you expect for yourself.
… It’s okay, you don’t have to answer. I don’t need your piss poor rebuttal. I know deep down you’re thinking (imitates someone else talking) ‘sure, go ahead. The world will be a little bit brighter without him in it‘. I don’t need you to say the words. I know you have to keep up that precious little pretense of yours.
So why him? Well … okay.
Truth be told, the kid in the candy store with the “oh so wonderful father figure!” is me.
I can relate. My father was this prick. Used to beat the shit out of my mother … and then back hand me away when I tried to stop him. It’s easy to spot an arsehole a country mile off when that’s your starting point in life.
The minute my father got bored, he left … I was six.
I thought that was the best day ever. Thought that everything would be like on the TV, all smiles and picnics in the park from then on … it was no fucking picnic I can assure you. But at least the beatings had stopped.
Those fucking beatings.
It took my mother forever to stop flinching and cowering at every loud noise. Probably something to do with the copious amounts of booze that numbed her brain over the years.
Later I learned that he’d left for another woman, who also got treated like a punch bag. Followed by a string of similar relationships, all destined to end with an injunction, until he became a sad and pathetic loner that nobody cared for.
FX: USE DIFFERENT VOICE FOR GRAMPS SET THEM OFF CENTRE FIRST TO THE LEFT THEN THE RIGHT.
Gramps used to tell me that he’d “run that little bastard out of town!” He was old school, “take no shit off any fucker” he used to tell me. Last I saw Gramps, he was holding back the tears at his daughter’s funeral …
same as me.
Three months later it was his coffin we were lowering into the ground. The death of his daughter was … too much for him. He’d locked himself up in a bottle, and then put a bullet in his head.
The pain doesn’t stop when the beat downs do. That shit lives on forever, torturing you every fucking day. A downward spiral of self-doubt … depression … drink … drugs.
And yet you all look on. Do nothing. Justify your inaction with some piss poor sound bite about how it’s “none of your business” or how they will leave their abusive relationship, and start afresh, and live “happily ever after.”
Tell me. Are you living your “happy ever after”?
Do you know anyone that is? That honestly is?
Looking back, that’s when I decided he was going to pay. He would pay for destroying her life. For taking Gramps. I didn’t know it at the time, but that’s when the seed was planted. Fed on hate, it didn’t take long to become a solid tree, on which many souls would eventually hang.
Madman: Karim Kronfli (@bullshotUK on Twitter)
Written, edited by: Dohai (@Dohai666 on Twitter)
Edit & produced by: Paul Sating (@paulsating on Twitter)
Art by Kessi Riliniki at https://www.patreon.com/kessir
Raul Vega: http://www.rosedrivepodcast.com
Keniche Ohme: https://soundcloud.com/ohme