Now V could stand for anything. Victory? Five? Five victories? But in this case it feels a lot more like vanquished. Verbose and bloodied I laid on the floor of some cell. For… I don’t know how long. Hours? Minutes? I opened my eyes. Ish. But the swelling had already set in and the haze presented me made me want to spew. But I didn’t. Not yet. It was all rather quite sanguine. My mouth, in profile, laid open, a slight. I remember coughing rather quite a lot. Too much really. I closed my eyes and plotted the room in my pineal. The door against which I laid opening on to two walls running away from each other until stumbling against a far wall which closed off the triangle. The walls an off white, the floor hard. Running my fingers across it I found it gravely cold. Meeting the door, warmer, smooth. My fingers running up and down the layers of cracked paint that built and dropped incrementally like ages in the stratified terrasphere. Meeting the wall my finger tips slipped on the gloss and fell back behind me. Shackled alone, I heard nothing of the other side of the door. My solitude had been broken just once since my maligners had tired of kicking me. When black shoe stepped abreast my huffing chest and slanged away to his heart’s content. I was still none the wiser as to what precisely was going on, but felt I’d inadvertently accepted an invitation in to the lion’s maw. When black shoes spoke, light glinting off his well dubbed and polished toe caps, the words escaping me, the cadence hit me. Or more, it lacked one. A cadence that is. It was more akin to typing words in to a digitized vocal synthesizer. It implied a further lack. Something emotional. But I wasn’t sure of what yet. The word indignado had again cropped up, it haunted me. An illness contracted through ignorance. I knew nothing but that this academy of whatever were none too plussed as regards my blog. It was then I realized it must’ve gone viral and delighted, I reached my hands out to fetch the laptop from the coffee table. But I soon realized, with a sharp jolt about my neck and so on, I wasn’t in my usual lazing spot in the living room, but on the gravely cold floor of a triangle cell. I resigned myself to starvation, after attempting self-snuffing by holding my breath, but finding I could only count to 20. It was hours after that I spent slowly lulling myself to death that I was disturbed somewhat by a tinker, tinkle and then a nominally large explosion.
Livid, as you can imagine, I braved the haze and opened my eyes shouting, YOU BLOODY FOOL CAN YOU NOT LET A MAN DIE IN BLOODY PEACE! And there, on the short side and somewhat rotund stood Napoleon. S. Jose Napoleon, to be exact. My saviour. As saviours go he wasn’t noticeably concerned as regards my safety and, grabbing me by the shackles, dragged me through the rubble and I was rather quite impolitely bundled in to the back of a waiting van. Thanks! I thought. Thanks a bunch, as I bounced about the walls and ceiling of the van, cushioning the moments at which my bones and the metal intersected invariably with my face. It was a long drive back to A Coruna and I had only just about enough sense left to, upon arrival, read the sign above the door I was quickly ushered through. It read:
I was placed face down on the floor and left alone for some time. I wondered what the bloody hell was going on. I wanted answers, and these damned shackles off. I had needed to itch my nose for what felt like years. I made do by wiping my face against the carpet, which can be best described as constituted of tiles of woven wire. It didn’t suffice and I breathed a sigh of relief when Napoleon returned with cutters. Freed I helped myself to a chair and sat and itched my nose while he spent an inordinate amount of time rounding the oversized table which dominated the room. My eyes were little better and I could just pick out the red of blood where my hands had touched against the wood of the chair and floor.
You messed with the wrong people, señor. [I correct his speech for both our benefits]
Exactly. They don’t take too kindly to change round here, you should know that.
A bewildering silence ensued before I realized my nose itching had turned to nose picking quite inadvertently and I quickly returned my hand to my side, depositing of the results on the underside of the seat.
What do you mean people? What do you mean wrong? What do you mean here? [I attempted to look serious, suss him out with a tight frown, but as my sight returned slowly throughout the conversation I realized I had been frowning at a rhododendron on the bookshelf to Napoleon’s left the whole time]
What do you know of the International Indignado Brigades? [He leaned forward, I assume by the sound lighting a cigarette, or cocking a gun. Or perhaps utilizing one of the former with the aesthetic qualities of the latter]
Inter-who? Nada. Diddly-pip. Don’t know ‘em.
Well they know you, Hullcity_fan11. [I gasped at this stage] They know you well. As do the Academy, I believe you and they are well acquainted. [I gasped again and had to take a breather for a moment to regain inhalation normalcy]
Yes, we’ve had our moments. Today, as you know, I assume. You’re the one that ruined their lovely décor. And what exactly have they to do with me, other than gifting me the urgent need of a dentist.
You’ve, unfortunately, stumbled in to what until a week ago was a proxy war. Literally, played out on the proxy servers. The ii want freedom from centralized control. The Academy, as you might know, hold power over the entire Spanish language. It’s here the fight began, with The Academy shutting down facebooks, blogs, even Myspaces whose users communicate in text speak. Your blog has gone viral. And the ii has taken ¡¡ as its emblem of resistance. You’re a marked man, and Concepcion is out for your blood. I see he’s already bled you a fair bit.
Black shoes? He’s had his pound. What does he want with me?
To silence you, not to martyr you. Just, disappear you.
Right. [By this point I felt myself disintegrating, noting the growing pool of blood across the carpet, I could muster little else] And you are who?
Napoleon. The ii wanted you alive. You’re their mascot. Their figurehead. I was tasked with retrieving you, they’ll be here soon to claim you.
Well … all I can say to you is, fuck that.
I stood to leave, and it is unclear to me whether I feinted of slipped, but as you may have gleaned by this point, me and the floor are well acquainted and upon greeting it I sank quickly in to unconsciousness. Blowing bubbles in the morbid puddle creeping out around me.