Allister often had a hard time deciphering good from evil. Sitting in a small cafe tucked into the corner of a bustling city, he would look at the files and ranks of people passing by the window. They that passed by tall and they that passed by small and they that passed by in the most average of heights.
To him, there seemed little to be found to pick those that carried or desired evil from those that did not. Though they walked fast, Allister was well aware that none of them had the red enflamed eyes that seemed signs of a demon's presence. Though some clenched fists while some let their fingers flop open, Allister knew this was not a question of who wanted to pet someone's head and who wanted to send a punch to the place behind someone's head where the skull meets the spine. The tension of someone's hand was more a question of where and how soon someone needed to be somewhere.
And yet, he knew that some would walk by and do unspeakable deeds. All that passed, of course, would commit some minor evil-which could barely pass as evil. These would become all the more minor when Joe Smith or Eleanor Tutt's names were compared with the names of, say, Vlad the Impaler or Jack the Ripper.
But, beyond moniker, where was the kernel of the evil? Some, of course, provided short answers whose brisk response settled the souls of only those that wished so desperately to hide behind a settlement. The validity of the answer, in these cases of people, was an afterthought of an afterthought-which was not a thought at all. These answers were grabbed from the darkest corners of places that we have never been-that evil grew from a foreign country, that evil grew from a foreign belief, that evil grew from the shape of one's mustache.
Did it grow from birth? Did it rest beside the good? Is it, then, a question of nurturing? Is it the difference between a hug and a slap? Is it the difference between rich and poor? Is it the difference between having enough and needing more?
Or is it something inherent? Are there those whom a hug can not save, whose eyes may not reflect the darkness, but whose hearts were born tarnished? Are there those who, though given all in the ways of love and kindness, desire destruction?
These answers could not be obtained through monocled scientists or monocled doctors or monocled philosophers or any of their monocled manuals and tomes. They could only be obtained by attempts made in the dark. Attempts to hold all those that one would call evil, to look them in their eyes and search. To find your way back to their beginning and see if you could untangle what, if anything, chokes them.
To him, there seemed little to be found to pick those that carried or desired evil from those that did not. Though they walked fast, Allister was well aware that none of them had the red enflamed eyes that seemed signs of a demon's presence. Though some clenched fists while some let their fingers flop open, Allister knew this was not a question of who wanted to pet someone's head and who wanted to send a punch to the place behind someone's head where the skull meets the spine. The tension of someone's hand was more a question of where and how soon someone needed to be somewhere.
And yet, he knew that some would walk by and do unspeakable deeds. All that passed, of course, would commit some minor evil-which could barely pass as evil. These would become all the more minor when Joe Smith or Eleanor Tutt's names were compared with the names of, say, Vlad the Impaler or Jack the Ripper.
But, beyond moniker, where was the kernel of the evil? Some, of course, provided short answers whose brisk response settled the souls of only those that wished so desperately to hide behind a settlement. The validity of the answer, in these cases of people, was an afterthought of an afterthought-which was not a thought at all. These answers were grabbed from the darkest corners of places that we have never been-that evil grew from a foreign country, that evil grew from a foreign belief, that evil grew from the shape of one's mustache.
Did it grow from birth? Did it rest beside the good? Is it, then, a question of nurturing? Is it the difference between a hug and a slap? Is it the difference between rich and poor? Is it the difference between having enough and needing more?
Or is it something inherent? Are there those whom a hug can not save, whose eyes may not reflect the darkness, but whose hearts were born tarnished? Are there those who, though given all in the ways of love and kindness, desire destruction?
These answers could not be obtained through monocled scientists or monocled doctors or monocled philosophers or any of their monocled manuals and tomes. They could only be obtained by attempts made in the dark. Attempts to hold all those that one would call evil, to look them in their eyes and search. To find your way back to their beginning and see if you could untangle what, if anything, chokes them.
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