[FINISHED, I GUESS]

March 23.

The text above belongs to Hemingway and is according to him his greatest work.

There is something beautiful in being able to tell a whole story with only six words. Of course it could be argued that Hemingway's short story is too open to interpretation, but what stories aren't?

I have myself many times wanted to accomplish the same thing but I do not seem to be able to pull it off. And for those of you who have been fortunate or unfortunate enough to read my short stories (see older posts below), you might have noticed that even though the stories themselves are fairly short they do not describe a whole lot of events. So let's face it; as much as I do admire Hemingway I will probably never be able to write like him. And no shame in that. I am, in all honesty, quite proud of what I've accomplished so far. To me, being able to sit down and actually write something using my own imagination is fantastic and whenever I have completed another story I complete it with a sense of pride. It might not be worth publishing, but it is proof that I haven't lost my imagination completely. Some people might see it as if I've lost my mind, but to hell with them. It's my mind and I will lose it as I please.

Like I am doing now. This sort of meta-writing is nothing but rants from myself but yet I can not help myself. It needs to flow from my brain, through my fingers and on to the computer screen. After all, it is the only freedom I have these days. Since the government banned public protests a while back due the violent protests at the EU meeting which took place in Sweden 2010, there hasn't been much of an outlet for people at all. Especially since they took over all the magazines and newspapers. Not that they were much to read anyway. Lately they've been nothing but puppets on strings controlled by the mass entertainment industry, so losing them to the government didn't really cause much of an uproar. Most intellectuals were glad to get rid of them. At least until we saw them turn into propaganda tools for the new right-wing government.

I remember it like it was yesterday. Election Day 2010 and this was the day when we would once again go back to leftist rule. But something went wrong. As expected, the Christian democrats lost a huge amount of votes because of the outcry and their jihad-like behaviors concerning gay marriage. The photos of Christian democrats raiding a gay wedding spread like wildfire online. And once the party leader defended the actions by the raiding bastards it was all downhill from there. So in all, the 2010 election seemed like it might be a walk in the park for the social democrats and their allies.

But everyone seemed to have forgotten about the Swedish Democratic Party, the nationalists...

Hold on, there's a knock on the door. I need to log off.

I'll be right back if all goes well.

No problems. Just a neighbor this time. So far no one from the bureau has dropped by, but let's be realistic; it's probably only a matter of time. And yet I can't stop writing. They got the brown-haired girl down the hallway a couple of months ago. I thought that was the last I'd ever see of her and then almost out of nothing she comes back. In a sense. The body, the shell, that once was only part of her old self is now all that remind me of her old self. Something had changed on the inside. Someone had changed something on the inside. She no longer says hello. In fact she rarely says anything at all apparently. All she does is stay in her apartment most of the time and when I actually see her, her face is almost completely blank. I don't know exactly what they did to her, but I sure as hell do not want it to happen to me.

Oh yeah, the nationalists. It turned out that disgruntled former Christian democrats and a whole bunch of other people had turned over to the really dark side and gave the Swedish democrats enough votes to get into parliament. A disaster in itself, but it did not stop at that. None of the other parties would be able to rule in majority without the support of those damn nationalists. Unless of course, the rightwing and the leftwing parties set aside their differences and decided to rule together. And it wouldn't be that difficult either to be honest. They've stolen ideas and ideologies from one another over the years anyway. But pride -- and stupidity -- got in the way.

So the rightwing parties formed their old alliance and the nationalists took the place of the Christian democrats and nothing changed for the better. New laws were passed and immigrants got a harder time, we all got a harder time. It turned out that the nationalists' ideas of public surveillance were not just their ideas. Maybe it is an effect of political power or power in general. What can be done to get even more power? For politicians, the opportunity to control people even more can be hazardous to their judgment.

And that's why we're sitting here today. No other un-controlled outlet for our ideas but the Internet. And even that is tricky. Mobile connections, special firewalls and software and websites which hide your IP address and even then there is always the chance of someone spying on you and providing the authorities with information.

But so far, no one has come close to finding me. Hell, I don't even think they're looking for me. There are far worse people than me out there. Hardly anyone read my blog, and those who do are mostly friends of mine. But every now and then, someone else finds this site and I get a short comment written in my guestbook.

To imagine the Internet, which was once in every human being's home and mostly used for stupid shallow communities and porn, is now being part of the underground movement in Sweden. It is more underground here than in China these days, especially since they actually managed to start some form of democracy there last year.

Well, it's time to get to bed. I have to get up early tomorrow and report for work. Being a teacher used to be more fun when there was more freedom, but at least it helps me put food on the table.

Good night.

***

March 24.

I woke up early. Bad dreams do that to me and the last couple of weeks they've gotten worse. I wish I could remember more of them. Only fragments, but bad ones. And the screaming in my dreams is what I hear when I force my eyes open. It is probably what my neighbors hear as well, but no one takes any notice of it these days. You always hear screams and loud sobs from the other apartments. The pool of sweat was even larger this morning. Along with the fragments I guess that's the only proof I have that my dreams are getting worse, because I sure as hell am not sweating from being too warm. In order to save energy, the government decided to pass laws stating the maximum temperature allowed in homes. I know it's just another way for them to control us. When you're cold, it's hard to focus on much more than getting warmer. Just like most aspects of life these days, it's all just become a game of survival.

The fragments I bring with me this time are the same as every night, only they get more detailed. It used to be only shadows, but now I see faces. I see faces of people I have never met, faces of people I've seen on TV and this night I saw my friends. And it's always the same. Torture, blood, flesh being ripped apart and the faces never stop screaming.

Speaking of torture, the bus for work leaves in a couple of minutes. We have yet another meeting without an agenda, probably discussing the implementation of something already implemented. It's like 1984 and the Naked Lunch no longer serve as a warning but as a guide book to those in charge. And it probably never served as a warning to them. They just waited for the right opportunity top set things in motion. Bureaucracy as a means of control and as a means of collective torture. And all of this because I need the money. So maybe it isn't torture. More prostitution.

Time to get going.

***

I think someone is after me.

***

March 26?

What has happened to me?

***

March 31.

God, I hope this computer is safe. In all honesty, it actually doesn't matter anymore. The world needs to hear my story, not the one that has been floating around the news these past couple of days, because it is wrong. It has to be. What they are accusing me of is not me. I have never hurt anyone. Not even by mistake. Of course I quarreled with my younger brother when we were small, but who the hell hasn't? And the step from hitting your seven-year-old baby brother at the age of ten to what I am now being accused of is not a step actually, but a giant fucking leap and I think you would all agree with me. At least I hope so.

It turns out someone was after me. I am not yet quite sure who it is, but considering what I normally write about here it might not be too much of a wild guess that it was political. Maybe not as high up as my theories of conspiracy led me to believe in the first place, but at least at a grassroots level. At the beginning I must admit I felt a bit hurt when I realized I was not being chased by the actual government. My ego took a small beating there, but knowing what these people I actually had to deal with were capable of, I do feel as if I got away fairly easy. Easy. Using the word easy for these circumstances could only imply two things. Either that I am pretty fucked up in the head or that something is severely wrong with society nowadays. And in all honesty, it's probably both. Being the prime suspect in a double homicide messes with your sanity in truly bad ways.

Just like almost all suspects in these kinds of crimes I would just like to begin by saying; I didn't do it. And like most people following these cases you are probably saying "That's what they all say" and perhaps adding something like "murderous maniac" or any other similar expression which is not necessarily an alliteration (repetition of the first letter in two words or more).

I remember going to work on March 24, just like any other work day. And just like any other work day, I had to skip a couple of buses until one with enough available space finally arrived. When the government forbade private transportation in the inner city in favor of public, I actually applauded them for thinking about the environment, but as always, it turned out the environment was not what was on their mind. Getting a monopoly on transportation in the largest city of Sweden is a lucrative business. Especially if you raise the prices and cut back on service for these buses. These buses hardly run, they are anything but environmental and the safety cameras are not there for your protection. Very few things are actually there for our protection, even though they of course claim it.

So, I finally get to work and there is chaos there, more than there usually is. We are under-staffed like all the other schools in the country. When people lose their jobs for having leftist ideas, there are not that many teachers who can take their jobs for granted. Let's face it, most of us tend to lean a bit more to the left. But we try to hide it as good as we can, but in the heat of the moment something may slip out during a class and if you're unlucky a student who is disappointed with a result or a grade will tell a parent and your teaching days are over and in most cases, so are your working days.

***

April 7.

Next time you open your mouth

I'll put my fist down your throat

So deep you can not swallow

I'll make your body hollow

You will enjoy the abuse

'Cause you've got nothing to lose

I swear I'll fist fuck your brain

Until I'm smiling again

Combichrist are playing in my head. It's the first music I've heard in over a week which isn't government approved. I feel safe enough to disappear into my head with music for awhile.

It's been almost a week since I sat down by a computer last time. I hope I don't have to leave in a rush this time as well, but get a chance to say what I have to say. Needless to say, I was almost caught while writing last week. A woman recognized me and called the police. She tried to hide it from me as good as possible, but she stared at me a little too long for me not to get suspicious. And I was right. Just a few seconds later, the cops showed up, but by then I had already made my way out of the community center where I was sitting.

These past few days the weather has improved. I guess spring is on its way. The sun is shining like never before it seems and my black leather jacket soaks up the rays and makes it almost impossible to wear. Funny thing, it almost feels as if I am not on the run. The weather is too good. It should be raining or at least be gloomy. I guess I have seen too many movies. The director is god and can choose setting according to mood, but out here where there is no god sometimes a man on the run will crave an ice cream and actually enjoy himself for a few minutes until he once again realizes the seriousness of the situation.

Beautiful spring weather also means more people on the streets. This means more people to disappear among but also a bigger chance of someone recognizing you. But so far, it all seems to have worked out in my favor. It also makes sleeping outdoors a little easier, though I wouldn't call it actual sleep. It's more like passing out from exhaustion. My credit card has been blocked, but fortunately my paranoia served me well, so I had plenty of cash stowed away. Well, plenty might be an exaggeration. There's not much left anymore.

My nights of unconsciousness keep feeding me horror. It always begins differently, but in the end, my dreams keep showing me the same images. The dark room where I stand in the middle. The faint light which hint that there is a dimmer switch somewhere and I know exactly where to find it. I have been here so many times before.

As my feet move across the floor I feel my legs hitting against furniture that should be somewhere else. I step on something which gives away a crunching sound, and a pain that should awaken me doesn't. The glass in my foot forces me to limp and jump towards the switch and I finally feel it and turn it.

There is a glitch in the dimmer switch in my room and it needs to be tapped on gently a couple of times to keep the strong light from flickering or staying too dark. I never tap on it, but instead fight the urge to turn off the light and disappear into the safety of the darkness, but I know it is too late. My eyes have already seen enough.

They have seen the blood smeared on the beige-yellowish walls I am not allowed to re-paint. Handprints my size, handprints of a woman's size accompanied by scratch marks and underneath them in the sofa broken off fingernails, stained by red on top of them and beige under them.

The first body is almost ripped apart from the stabs. One of my kitchen knifes are still stuck in the body, wedged between the ribs it is standing up, almost leaning against one of the breasts. Another knife lies next to the head, too small to get lodged in the eye socket apparently and the heavy handle probably didn't help it stand up either. Her open wallet shows her ID. Her name is Elizabeth, but I always called her Beth. Ever since we were small.

Of the second body I only see the legs sticking out of the kitchen. The stubby short legs of what my panicking brain first tell me is a midget or a dwarf, but the baby shoes make denial hard. One is still tied to the foot. The other one is still tied also, but it has been pulled off and the sock followed it half-way off as well. For sale: baby shoes. Worn.

As I scream, I move outside of my own body. I float around the room, watching myself terrified, in panic and the noise that comes out of my mouth is no longer human. And I finally awake.

***

I have never actually set foot in my apartment since that day I left for work. Police officers came to the school and arrested me. No one said a word to me as we drove to the station, but the hatred that glowed in the two cops' eyes as they looked at me in the rear-view mirror told me that I should be afraid. I decided that I would not try to deny any of the accusations of conspiracy against the government they would probably throw at me. The stories of torture I had heard from people online frightened me when I had read them. Now they terrify me.

The interrogation cell they put me in smelled of urine and sweat. Bad things had happened there. Confessions had been forced out of people and I had no intention of pissing myself or bleeding all over the place. I'd simply just confess to the accusations, maybe get some community service time, lose my job for all eternity but at least be alive. My job had been taken away from me anyway and community service was in all honesty probably the best thing I could hope for.

The shock that came over me when the interrogations officer yelled his accusations in my face while forcing me to watch the crime-scene photos from my own apartment, which I had left only hours earlier, caused me to piss myself. And the cold sweat ran down my back and got soaked up by the lining of my boxers.

My normally semi-tidy apartment was nothing but chaos. As the officer pulled yet another picture form his pile of evidence, details began emerging and I finally saw the bodies. After the photo of the baby legs I passed out and these are the images which haunt me every night.

***

How I got out I do not know. My cold shivering body woke me up in an alley I've never seen before. Next to me was a newspaper with my photo on the front along with a photo of Beth and one from my old place.

MOTHER AND DAUGHTER

SLAUGHTERED.

MURDERER

ON THE LOOSE

IN STOCKHOLM.

They still run updates on the story every other day. The latest sightings of me. Places I have never been. Interviews with the people there who are staying indoors or at least not letting their children out to play. I cause a slight state of panic wherever I am said to be or have been and I wonder how many others' lives have changed into this. I can remember at least three stories like mine last year. Murderers on the run, being seen all over town. Mothers and fathers keeping their children inside and demanding more surveillance.

Of course, the easiest thing is to dismiss my theories as utter nonsense. According to most of you, I am a bloodthirsty maniac who does not deserve to live and keep poisoning your safe lives with terror and fear. If I could do this to a friend and her child, what is to stop me from doing the same thing from you to get what I want, whatever that is?

But my plea to you is to at least believe in one thing I have to say and hopefully this will give you some sense of disbelief in what is happening around you in your everyday life.

This is probably the last thing I write to you before I try to disappear. This morning a family was found murdered in a house in one of the suburbs. It is always families or at least parts of families, always children. It probably makes things scarier and most people can relate to that. Most of us are part of some family or know families with children.

The news has yet to report whether I am suspected for this murder as well or not and maybe I should take the blame just to make sure no one else is blamed innocently for this. But there is of course always the chance that this case is not part of a conspiracy to keep us scared and under control.

The thing I was going to tell you?

Beth didn't have a child.