Every time I blog it seems to be a plug for my stories; Damn! I don't like to blog like this, but this one is scaring me.

Well, let's see, talking about my new story, which is haunting me. I can actually see it happening and unraveling in my mind so clearly that it gives me the creeps. It's like sympathy, horror, and an inner sense of satisfaction, when I re-read what I wrote and posted. There's something in that story that makes me feel like I really constructed my own world; a tragedy complete with nuances.

Then, there is the part of me that says; it's all just fiction; it will never happen. Yet, I keep thinking back to it.

There is an old line:

No man chooses evil because it is evil; he only mistakes it for happiness, the good he seeks.

I am bothered by it, because I really feel support for my character and think what he is doing is right. He is taking the worst in our society and punishing them in a way that our justice system due to bureaucracy and laws could not. How can I really argue against such a high truth?

That's the problem and the darkness that I am feeling in my story, it is not whether he is doing good through such actions, but whether the good he seeks to do is actually something much more sinister in our complicated world.

If I just had him go around killing evil religious figures and neo-nazis, then everyone would say I am cliched and the story would fail to me at least on so many levels. Yet, what I wrote and unravelled is complex web of men striving to do good in this world through the corrutpion that inhabits it.

Adding the political intrigue, which was subtly hinted into this story, marginalized my character genuine heroic mission to fight against these people who hid in the shadows of justice.

Then, I draw another parallel as whether gay rights can become a hired gun in a metaphoric sense of a political faction, who had ulterior motives to take out their competition, silently?

This story haunts me on so many levels, because I wanted to make it dark; I wanted to make my characters flawed in every way possible, but amazingly talented in their own pursuits. I wanted the plot to be devestating and people to feel empathy towards the characters for their loss, but the subtext and the politics behind the events are so cold and frighteningly calculated by my subconscious.

Each of my stories are researched before I write them in one way or another, but I feel something special and dark in this one that is drawing my attention back towards it.

Perhaps I need to take a vacation from writing, because I feel like I have seen the devil's argument and I actually thought he wasn't completely wrong.