The Ripper's monologue

 The Ripper's Monologue

You are surprised at hearing from me after such a long time, are you not, sleeper? I hope I have not startled you in your slumber but it has become more and more necessary that I speak on the subject which perturbs my addled mind. Now, after so long being separated from my mortal machine, I have had much time for the undulating chords of my innermost being to make sense of the beautiful and heavenly art that I am so well known for, and, of which, I am increasingly proud. Do you understand the importance of my lovely duty?

You know that I am given credit for the dispatching of several young women on the fog laden streets of my native London, are you not? Most would see me as a horror, or at very least a man of less than healthy thought, who practiced some vain and vindictive need for murder on those lonely streets. But if this be your thoughts sleeper, I must hinder your process with the truth. In fact, nothing could be further from my original intentions. In the many millennium that came before me, it was most usually the armies, the soldiers, the great patriarchs, kings, emperors, and such that practiced the art of death among men. But I, a common man, brought death to the people in a way and a light which entirely changed the world my friend. I was given the great gift of a calling, to create excitement among the people and not be charged by any army, by politics, or religion, but simply by a deep, heartfelt want to practice my divine art.

You see, before I came along, the multiple deaths of men where most often imparted by those of official office, and although I am sure that there were ministers such as myself before my time, they fell into obscurity because they had not the wonderful timing that I myself took advantage of and of which I made use. It was a condition of my time you see, that really brought me to the fore, and gave my fanciful notions the stage, as it were. The press drank in my obscure address, and cast it forth so that all within earshot of a bellowing paper boy could be in on the dawning aspirations of a young artist.

My long sleep and depth of thought have loosed my tongue and I feel that I take up too much of your time sleeper, but I must behest of this turning in my brain, lest I forget and go on to some other thought which is less important. So I drag your ear to me, and hope that you can grasp that which I will now impart to you. I was a famed man of my day, few could speak without my name coming up in conversation, and now, many decades later, my name is legend, in every household, and on the tongues of even your children. Why is this so sleeper? Because I, the artist who felt the calling and obeyed, I began an exodus of the soul that still to this day is under way, and I have inspired so many young artists who have come after.

Yes, you know this to be true if you stop and give consideration to my claims. I have given birth, from my hallowed loins, and my gleaming razor to a hundred, no, a thousand children. They have taken my name and my calling and practiced my art. They are born from the necessity for my aspect to be carried forth into our human future. They have many names, nationalities, and creeds, but in the end, they are all my seed. They carry on the work of their father and I am proud to call them my own...but now I see that I have overstepped my telling. I have been touting my own legacy and not giving you an explanation. My apologies sleeper, let me return to the original thought and step back from my own storied telling.

What you need to hear and understand is this, the actions that I have taken, those famed killings of mine, and the actions that so many of my children have brought forth, these activities are not what you think. I understand the human mind, the sight of death, the fear of loss, the act of facing the unknown. These cause great fear, and deep searching of the soul, but that is where the concept ends with mankind. The great art that I ply is foreboding to the uninitiated but I wish to bring to light that which I know so well. What is this world in which we live? A hive of disease, distemper, anger and sorrow. A place of hardship and failing, not on a simple scale, but on a Jovian one? There are some, born or bartered into wealth or power, and these few live a life of plenty, but it will be noticed, they myself and my progeny rarely target such men as marks for our purview. Instead, we seek out those of least blood, those of daily struggle, poverty and pain. The average bloke who does his best, but his best is never enough. Why is this you ask? Well it is a simple arithmetic that brings us to this end.

You believe that death is some sort of end, and in this death becomes a great unknown. It is death, unknown angst, that man cannot grasp, and in this it becomes fear, dark, hallowing, fear. I do not see it this way, and I have passed these eyes on to my children so that they to are not blind to the truth of death. As many of your kind that curse our names sleeper, they should instead give us ultimate praise. For we, in fact, give forth freedom! Wonderful freedom, from the hateful, and painful life that is the birthright of the common man. Those young working women who I relieved of their breath, what kind of life where they living? A giving of the body, of the pride, of the dignity to bring simple food to mouth, is this the kind of life any of us wish to live? I set those poor souls free! I practiced art upon those cages, and gave mankind a certain excitement that he has seldom felt. My friend, sleeper, I am an angel in disguise. I and my progeny bring to you release!

In defense, you say..."what of heaven and hell?" and I say...what of it? If there is heaven then I send souls to their promised bounty and keep them from the continued torture of this mortal vein, and if there is a hell, I send those deserving of it to suffer for their crimes. In the grasp of logic you and those officials should give me grandeur for practicing my art. Oh, and art it is. I had grown to hate the beleaguered box of flesh and bone into which we are all entrapped. So in freeing the soul I use the container as an expressionist uses a canvas, I set forth an ethereal beauty created in organs and viscera that is both breathtaking and exquisite. So now you see sleeper, I give something to mankind that few can provide. The man, so enthralled by his morality and duty cannot even see to do that which is most loving. He cannot release those he loves from their painful experience and send them into that beauteous adventure that awaits us beyond these bonds of bone. But I and my children can, and it is our calling to do so...and as you can now see, it has become our morale duty to continue our art.

And now it has become your duty sleeper, to call out this art, to bring it to the forethought of mankind, and to give us, killers, madmen, our just due...it is high time you thanked us for our diligence.