The Weekly LitWit Challenge 6.6: Let’s hear from the villains is Extended.
Daniel Day-Lewis as Daniel Plainview, hero and villain of There Will Be Blood.
We have no winner for LitWit Challenge 6.6 so we are extending the deadline to Sunday, 14 August 2011 at 11.59 pm.
Some useful tips:
1. The title is “Let’s hear it from the villains.” The piece should be written from the POV of the villain. It is not about you.
2. We do not need a summary of the book or movie. Nor do we need the villain to introduce herself/himself. The trick is to drop enough clues so we can identify the speaker.
3. Think of it as Method Writing. Put yourself in the mind of the villain. Consider the alien in Alien. “This species, though puny, makes an excellent incubator…”
Answers to questions you might be asking, unless you wandered onto this site purely by accident >>>
August 9th, 2011 at 20:58
Confessions of the Last of my Kind
I really didn’t expect to be the last. I had hoped that nature would have had a less biting sense of humor. But apparently the only ones who are laughing the hardest are those damned inscrutable roaches.
They were so laughable at first, so flesh colored; descendants of those apes that we used to eat in droves when the bears got too sleepy and the wild boar got too agitated. We didn’t even bother to hunt them down properly. We just terrorized several into climbing a tree and the rest who fell down were easy pickings.
My family and I used to mock them and their helpless attempts at fire.
We didn’t even dress down Prometheus when he took a smart one aside and breathed on a dead tree for him. We even cheered him on as he didn’t get his hands scorched. Until one of them made the first wheel. That was something we didn’t think they could fathom within the limits of their tiny skulls.
We kept our distance though. They were a noisy lot. I think it was Prometheus again who bothered with teaching them language, but again, I give them credit for that. As far as we were concerned, they were wingless, without armor and had no capacity to breathe fire. Completely useless aside from the comic relief they provided, which they provided exceedingly well. They were given these unbelievably plasticine faces.
Some of them tried to speak to us.
Tried is the operative word.
It was only when several of us had perished at the end of their tiny lances, at the hands of several sorcerers and knights who knew how to keep us fatally mesmerized. We are, or were creatures of logic. A simple mathematic equation, such as “If x was 15 and we have another integer (perhaps a y) if we put them together we have 50, how much would the other integer’s value be?” Would send us lethargically defending our lives. The equation quoted with such arrogance would ensure such dramatic deaths. How could one be so enthusiastic about fending away a bothersome knight when such an elegant question frittered away so loudly in the mind?
Thus, I shall die soon. They have conquered the moon. The moon, which I used to visit with my fiery scaled cousins who were wise enough to leave this blue paradise when the humans began to travel the vast oceans.
Those tiny, little clay-ey creatures we used to laugh at and ridicule.
My underground lair will soon be discovered and my golden hoard.
If only they had asked nicely. If they only saw beyond our skins’ capacity to withstand fire and our heads that they kept for trophies. The heads did not keep long at all. They often rotted like the anything else.
We could have worked out a wonderful compromise. We defecate gold. They adored it. We are fire breathers, and the same alchemical process that allows us to breathe fire from vegetable and meat allows all matter to leave our system with a golden and metallic sheen. The gold keeps our cold blood warm and doesn’t even smell bad. A miracle of evolution.
They didn’t even bother to wonder why all the gold lies deep in the mountains now.
Why most if not all the gold is located nearby deep calcium deposits, the ashy bones of my kin. Destiny has made it so, humbled us… from the hunters now the hunted.
If only they knew.
August 10th, 2011 at 08:01
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August 10th, 2011 at 11:37
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August 10th, 2011 at 12:04
How about this:
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August 10th, 2011 at 15:44
“Now, I have a machine gun, ho ho ho”
Our mystery nemesis thinks his funny. Friedrich Nietzsche was funny.
What a demeaning and lack-luster way to say hello to a party host- blood on cheap garb.
I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that appalling sweater. It would be like Alexander entering the gates of his empire clad in what can pass as a harpies’ loin cloth.
Wearing a suit draped with a trench coat for thievery, even Homer would applaud for my eloquence. Ski masks, huhh…overrated… it’s like calling Danielle Steel’s books as literature.
Culture, this is what this part of the world needs.
‘You, hand me that radio.’
Let’s try pry into the innocuous mind of our party crasher. But I deem that the Socratic Method will be too…hmm what would Americans call that- aahhh yes- confusing.
—-
{On the radio}
” You know my name but who are you? Just another American who saw too many movies as a child? Another orphan of a bankrupt culture who thinks he’s John Wayne? Rambo? Marshal Dillon?”
Mr. Cowboy! Americans, having gun-slinging cowboys as their cultural icons. What a pity. Is America that isolated, that autarkic, that full of itself that it never bothered to hear what Homer, Alexander…. what’s the point? It’s like having a discourse about virtues with a tax collector.
—-
A German villain with an impeccable British accent holding hostage a Japanese firm’s Christmas party in LA- atrocious? Hahaha! The law enforcers must have been discombobulated, still referring to us as terrorists. What a row of slow-burning deadwood, easily distracted. History should have thought them that lust and thievery is a poignant mixture, a fatal aphrodisiac. Ask Paris when he succumbed to Helen. He did it for a woman; I do it for the money.
—
McClane!! You’re my motherfucking black swan!!!
Wouldn’t it be more serendipitous if I cast the fatal blow and witness you plummet to your death? Aveda Kedavra!
August 10th, 2011 at 16:34
You lose at the second sentence: “Our mystery nemesis thinks his funny.” Then it gets worse. If you’re going to call people “uncultured” you could at least use the spelling and grammar checker.
August 10th, 2011 at 19:34
Oh how I like my job! You see, there’s nothing more enjoyable and satisfying than driving people to the edge. Not to just physically hurt them, na-uh, but to, you know, simply allow them to be true to themselves. In fact, I’m doing them a BIG favor because they don’t have to pretend that they are something good when in reality, they are just a bunch of crazy mad people – like me. So, who says I’m alone eh?
Then there’s this someone who people think they need. I mean, I don’t have anything against him you know, I respect him. He’s strong, compassionate, and has this unbelievable and somehow misplaced self-righteousness. He’s a bad-ass, if you ask me. I can’t imagine this city without him, he kinda completes me. As crazy as I am, I still have this insane need not to kill him. He’s just too much fun you know. Without him, this city would be a boring place to wreak havoc. So no, killing him is out of the question.
Not that I’m bragging but no matter how strong he is, the truth is he has nothing against me. Oh, did I say that he doesn’t have the balls to show his face? Yeah, he hides behind a mask and believes in someone else to become a symbol of hope in this city. He thinks that that kind-hearted and just fella is the key to placing order in this city. But this “freak” talking to you right now knows better. This lunatic who they think is just garbage who kills for money can feel and hear the rumbling in the core of this city as it sways on the brink of chaos.
I am an agent of chaos. And I say that this city is just as mad as I am. All it needs is just a little push. I’m sorry but I’ve got to be honest: Their hero, their police, their defender have nothing against me. I have nothing to lose, I ain’t afraid to die. As a matter of fact, I want their “hero” to hurt me, to kill me because that would make my point. They hate me so much because they know I’m right. Because they’re jealous of me not having to follow the rules. Because they can’t accept the truth that they are more than ready to beat the hell out of each other when fate did not turn in their favor. Deep inside their rotten soul, they know that. They just need me to make them hear it, really hear it. So here I am, doing my part and enjoying every bit of it.
I like games. I like gambling because I’m a doer. I don’t plan. I gotta do what I gotta do. So, let’s make a bet over whether I can prove that there’s an end to the goodness of people. You know, it’s pretty simple, really. All you have to do is to break their spirit into little pieces and voila, they become more ruthless than me.. you’ll see…
If I win, I’ll kill you… if I lose, I’ll kill you… with this… knife.
Sorry I’m not a fan of guns. Knives are way more fun. You get to watch you victim’s last moments in slow motion. You know, when their eyes widen in fear… when they beg you not to kill them… Oh I savor those looks. Killing them slowly gets them to drop the act and be true to themselves. You’d be surprised to see many who seem so brave, so courageous, cower in fear the moment they feel the coldness of this blade.
Siigghh… I better get going and rob that bank. Then, we’ll see what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object. But before that, “Wanna know where I got these scars?”
August 11th, 2011 at 11:35
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