Beautiful Mark

Mark is a troubled man, lurking in the shadows of his larger-than-life father, he decides to become a legend.

Godliness was disposed upon the wicked incarceration, jailed upon the release of death, gently swaying upon an institution of gilded appraisal and wasted reflex. He was calmly placed between the large man with fingers made of greenish posture, ejaculating random scripture from the Bible. He was heralded among the grasp, and through the effortless pining that had ended him in a godforsaken place, he was woefully disengaged. God was the question to the fate that had played his heart in the tumultuous fashion, high strung note after high strung note, echoing through a dense forest of cleaving detractors and ignoramus’.

Mark, as he liked, was of nothing but informal confabulation, eking his heart out through history, bleeding onto the page with the touch of his mystical pen. Quill, actually. He was stunted in his manner, a giant imposition to implicate his improper frugality, and he was so disposed to bringing about his cheerful manner that he had hidden himself in the closet of coats, where he was only to be found by a maid that had gotten a sudden chill from a burst of A.C.

Mark had deducted that no matronly honor could displace him, and he decided to bring this idea to truth. He was not to be upended in his route to glory, and being found in a particularly damning situation would only multiply the problem. His financial emaciation was the eminent subtraction of his glory, and he decided that he wanted to be a legend. He wanted to be remembered not so much as a menace, but as a ridiculing irreverent man that had decided to act vengefully on a corrupt nation of wealth. The maid, the maid, was the only conceivable reprieval from that goal.

So, Mark did what he thought necessary. He killed the maid. This was out of pure necessity (at least that’s what was stated when he pleaded guilty to the crimes, many of which were applauded.) He kept insisting upon this.

(The maid’s family was not to have any of it, in fact, one of her brothers threw an actual tomato at him during the processions. Charges were not pressed.)

The murder of the maid was drawn out, and difficult for her family to swallow while Mark explained it during the trial. He seemed to have to trouble saying the words.

“She opened the closet, and I was fairly well hidden, so I thought she hadn’t seen me, but as the door began to shut, an umbrella fell down beside me. As she went to pick it up, she found me.”

“What did you do after that?”

“Well, she said, ‘Mark, what are you doing in here?’ and I panicked. I told her to shut the hell up. When she closed her mouth I told her to turn around for just a second, and that I needed to check on something. Then I snapped her neck. They never depict the sound in the movies. It was quite nauseating. I shut the door to the closet and waited until they left.”

“Then what?”

“I had to dispose of the body, so I took her into kitchen and threw her into the wood pizza oven. Then I left to my safehouse.”

The revelation of those details solved a month long investigation of the missing persons report for Mary Tabitha Barber.

Mark then prepared himself for the task of corruption, Evil, the place of misguided fortune was dispelled in the devilish premises. Of nothing, pleasing, barely alive, wasting into oblivion, smothered with a lack of shame, an unwillingness to change, and ignorance beyond pride, a conceited gesture of self worthiness

Mark, Nothing but something and every single place of time had divulged itself into a myriad of disintegrated vindication, and the personal responsibility of attainable stature had perfectly leaving the body to rest in peace. This was juxtaposed with his second target, Gerell Decklin. Decklin was not opposed to the the illusion of safety was a masterful imaginatory context. Copiously calculated mathematical venture had ceased the condominium of pleasure and the exact replication of such was illustrated

To Mark, the murders had begun to grow into a continuous string of non-linear events, and the point of which began to elude him. He had grown so desperate for purpose, for pride, he was acknowledging himself for irreprehensible calamity.

Maybe it was his father, Mr. Cherry. Mark had grown up with an undying admiration for his wealthy and inculpable father. He was so clean cut, so untaintable. He was a larger than life figure to the young Mark. But Mark had grown to distance himself from his father. He felt locked in a shadow, and that the only possible way to leave was for his father to die. Mark did not murder his father, however.

On the day of Mark’s 25th birthday, Mr. Cherry suffered a massive stroke, and died in the arms of his son. He gave everything to Mark, a capable successor to his father’s aire. The first day Mark starting working in his father’s place, he was called Mr. Cherry by all his employees. He did not like it.

Mark was not a named that he fancied either, but he felt it was the only way he could escape. Everyday people would tell him how amazing his father was. This was the reason he wanted to be a legend. He wanted to be Mark Cherry, not David Cherry’s son.

His vigilante stunts, would not give him legendary status. He remained a secondary and ill-fated figure in the life of a great man. Mr. David Cherry.

swearing on the ungrateful diligence of gravity, the woeful departure from temptation to resilience were disintegrating before the eyes the sentence. He was shipped to a prison, each day ebbing back and forth, slowly bobbing along in the complex vortex of time and space. Mark was desolate and utterly vacant of emotions. He had weighed so heavily upon himself, and it was the indigenous nature of him to try and make himself a hero, but he was behind the bars, hope gently floating away as he just bobbed.

Mark’s worst mistake came at a dire time in his quest. The inconsequential nature of the kill was most likely the reason for his undoing. His fourth target was a wealthy industrial manufacturing CEO. He had been finessing taxes for more than fifteen years and although he was a very criminal and regal-like person, he was not hard to find. Mark knew what had to be done, and the ease of which he could do it.

This simplicity lead itself to and undue conceitedness. Marks was too cocksure in his ability to carry out the murder. Mark had managed to sneak into the man’s house as a sous chef, and knew that their was going to be a certain time when he would be able to finally kill his largest target.

He was of gross underestimation and automatic reverence that had catered itself to a place in life that was undeserving of wonder. Blinking thoroughly an effervescent dialectical banality was undulating in the winds of change, the breathe of fresh air that had whispered on the lawn of life had now dispersed into a treacherous frigidness, encapturing those that were unwary of their surroundings. Demeaned upon the reckless jargon it was placed into a place where places were no longer placed, and within the heart of the intentional matriculation, it was dislodged into a continuous reiteration of the jargon that had been reckless. Beyond the lines it was in appearance that the devil was sought, and behind the respect of fellow man, he was captured and burned, until it was found that killing the devil would only spawn thousands more. Immense decimation and reincarnation beside, it was found that the devil could begrudgingly behold the wit of an adversary and the mind of a scholar in eternal purgatory.

Beyond his target was his demeanor. And this willful defilement of missionary terms were subjugated into the fulfillment of hearty pleasure. Time and time again, Mark was in over his head. It took him three weeks to find the correct time to kill him, and for three weeks, he had been performing poorly, barely surviving from the cooking classes that he took during a trip to Paris. He planned to get fired the day after he had killed the CEO.

The plan seemed successful, but he was identified by one of his co-workers. Someone in the compound knew about Mark’s financial brusqueness, and they reported it to the police. They did not know that he was also under suspicion for the murder of Gerell Decklin. The police knew that he had killed the CEO, and they began to link all of the murders together with timelines and eye witness accounts.

***

Sunshine lifting upon the horizon, gleaning over the chilled end, and precious sun cradling warmth within its charming clutch. Beyond the rays, the specifications of reality were unarmed and alarmed within the contorted face of reality. Society was blended with the Devil, and deviled eggs were hatching by the thousands, crawling and laying more. The eggs were hatching and hatching and hatching, breaking up until horns and red flooded the earth were determined malice.

Beyond life there was the cavern of hope where everyone decided to dig the dreams, hoping that someday, they would resurface. That primitive desire of the self fulfilling prophecy would destine us to be as much as we dreamed. The irreverent nature of beauty, though, is found in its tricks and follies. It disguises itself as a man or a woman or as an ocean or a mountain, and then it will eviscerate altogether into a hollow memory. The human spirit is enlightened by the process of beauty, and then when it strives to do so, it turns into a ironic deprivation of such.

Mark’s dream was shallow. His cavern was deep, but the dream inside of it was a mere puddle. Mark died unhappy. He was immortal because his father was immortal. His father was untaintable, until he died. Mark had found a way to taint him.

Legend was never the word used to describe Mark and his vigilante efforts. He was not vilified for the maid, an incident which many believe was preventable. Mark believed until the day he died that he would have been a hero had it not been for an umbrella. But he believed that fate had its purpose.

Shadows are not always appreciated. They shade those who need it. The are the reminders of what was there before. A shadow is not a solid item, it is fluid. Mark was unprepared to be fluid. He wanted to be a statue. But unfortunately for him, he was only meant to be the shadow.

Author's Note

Unedited, please spot grammar errors.