Nature’s Design is May’s short story, exploring the haunting origins of a primary character within the horror novel, Rave. In this manifesto, the writer questions willpower, humanity’s terror, and Mother Nature’s grand design.
Nature’s Design
People mystify me.
Yes, they’re a part of nature, and yet they’re the one animal that does everything in their power to force Earth to bend to their will. Look at our technology, language, culture, and cities. We migrate to every corner of the planet and try to change it, deeming it unfit for our needs. Our actions go against the root of evolution, which is to adapt to one’s environment, not the other way around. Somewhere along our lineage, we decided we were better than Mother Nature. The amusing fact is, we all return to her in the end, where we feed the soil to allow new and better life to flourish. I do genuinely believe that in the end, Mother Nature will reign victorious. People like me can aid her along the way. Whether it is by Nature’s Design or my own free will, it is what I do.
People anger me.
Their arrogance fuels my desire to help Mother Nature. I fear the majority of humanity is unaware of the pain they inflict on the planet. People directly destroying the forests and drilling into the Earth’s heart are proof of my claim. No well-adjusted animal deliberately damages their life source. Human beings’ unawareness to acknowledge their downfalls makes me question if people have free will at all, like a parasite that kills its host. They are wrapped up in their ‘civilized’ work world that they fail to see the horrors they are causing, let alone the freedom to actively live their lives. Perhaps that is proof they have no will. Most people are pawns for the top few leaders, like ants following their queen. Maybe people aren’t capable of free thought. It would explain the grotesque number of mindless followers popstars have.
People have use to me.
They can serve as a message. If some people lack free will, I may not be responsible for anything like the other animals. In that case, I am one of many, if not all, humans are incapable of making a conscious choice. We are simply born the way we are by Nature’s Design. It would explain my mindset and desire. The anger that grows inside me comes from a deep need to cleanse the planet of its pain caused by its inhabitants. Not everyone will understand, which is why I hid the first time I offered liberation – a mercy kill that aided the suffering. I was only six years old.
People wouldn’t understand me.
The poor magpie was crippled after hitting our front window. The sound didn’t grab my mother’s attention, for she was too occupied with dinner, wanting to please my testy father. I went outside to inspect the animal, seeing that it had a broken wing. It lay beside the garden out front by the trimming shears, attempting to fly away with no luck. The magpie cawed in agony. It was the first time I had heard something cry like that . . . such a desire for the pain to end. Above, crows circled, ready to feast. You don’t have to be very old to understand what was about to happen to the magpie.
Consciously or subconsciously, I decided to save the bird. No, I didn’t take it inside where my mother would yell at me, telling me that father would beat me for bringing a mangy animal into the house. Instead, I took hold of the rusty trimming shears and approached the bird. It froze, uncertain if I was a predator. I was its liberation, bringing the blade around the bird’s tiny neck. The first clip didn’t cut through the neck, and I will never forget the animal’s cries. I cut a few more times and learned how dense bones are – and how dull the shears were. Eventually, the animal stopped moving, the head came free, and the crows came to feast. My mother never discovered what I had done. That day sprouted my purpose as I watched the crows peck flesh from the headless corpse. I knew I had done good. The magpie couldn’t feel pain anymore. Pain is everywhere. Whether we have free will or not, everything feels it: the trees, the animals, humans, and the Earth.
A couple of years went by before I killed again; this time, it was a cat. The liberation was more violent and drawn out than the magpie. In the end, it was for the animal’s best interest. The creature was being stalked by a pack of coyotes. The cat was homeless, thin, and unable to run. It was pure chance that I found the poor thing when I did, or perhaps it was Mother Nature’s guidance. Regardless, the pack of coyotes was on top of the hill, watching. Knowing its soon-to-be fate, I strangled the cat. From there, the hungry coyotes were able to feast freely on the creature, who was saved from a more violent death.
People aren’t like me.
My preferred method is head removal because decapitation is cleaner with the right weapon. Axes are effective tools, as my father had taught me while camping. I had saved a few more animals between the cat and my first human kill, which birthed the anger. My hate for humanity started with my father, seeing how he treated Mother, who only wanted to please him by providing a good home. Yet, it was never enough. He’d drink, arrive home late, and unleash destruction for reasons I cannot remember. It didn’t matter. He’d find any excuse to hit her or me.
Father had taken me on a camping trip, showing me how to navigate the wilderness and hunt. I enjoy the hunt. The act of tracking, laying traps, and ultimately freeing the prey from grief surged me with new life. Yet, I didn’t appreciate Father’s methods. He deliberately attacked the animals, stalking them as if he were a predator who killed for fun. Father had trapped a buck and fired his rifle at it, missing the head. The creature was bleeding with its leg in the trap, lungs filling with blood. Father let me provide the killing blow, and I swung the axe into the creature’s head, freeing it from the horrors my father had created. Father assured me that it was natural for humans to dominate nature. I disagreed and told him I didn’t want to kill without reason again. The words upset him for the remainder of the trip. He repeatedly called me a pussy the more he drank the whiskey. He eventually slapped me and threw the first punch. A few more fists followed until I hit the ground.
Blood filled my mouth as I stared at the campfire below the stary sky. The punch brought my focus to the moment, realizing that I was now a victim, like Mother, like the buck, to this . . . human. He was only a man who deemed himself superior to Nature’s Design. I wouldn’t have it. The anger was birthed, giving me the strength to see that my father was merely a product of his environment, a piece of nature itself, as I was, as Mother, or the cat, or the magpie. We’re all part of Mother Nature, each serving a purpose. Father’s ultimate purpose was to create me.
He didn’t even see the axe enter his neck. His focus was getting the last drop of whisky from the wretched bottle. I didn’t shake as my hands gripped the axe, still in his neck. Father sputtered a few times, getting up from his chair. I pulled the axe from his flesh, widening the wound then he collapsed into the fire, gurgling in pain. Power had shifted, and I realized that I could liberate him from misery. He suffered too, from the liquor and from his own chaos. With the axe, I hacked into his head with a slopy strike. Then another . . . another . . . another. Eventually, he stopped flailing, and I continued to chop until his head toppled onto the dirt.
The smell of burning flesh is one I’m not too fond of. Fire is destructive. An axe is clean. With Father dead, I watched the flames scorched him. The axe dripped with his blood as time ceased to be, and the flames withered, suffocating from the body’s size. A black bear smelt death, giving my father one more purpose on Earth – feeding nature. I stepped into the dark, watching as the large animal carefully gnawed on the body, avoiding the crisp, scorched flesh. I hid in the truck, locking the doors and hiding the axe in my father’s toolbox, knowing that the act I had committed had to remain hidden. Human law and Nature’s Design do not see eye to eye. An RCMP unit found me a couple of days later, and they didn’t question my statement, for I was a starving, lost child. Nor did they find the axe. The RCMP only saw my father’s half-eaten charred corpse.
Strangely, my mother was comforted. She never expressed this joy to me. The woman cried when the RCMP returned with me and the tragic news of her husband. I could see the relief in her posture over the following days. She no longer scurried around the house like a beaten dog. There was relaxation in her motion, knowing that she didn’t have to cook just the proper meal or keep the house as tidy as my father demanded. Her subconscious behaviours were proof that I had done good, for my mother is pure. Vengeance can be a tool of mercy.
People fear me.
My anger grew well into adulthood. I became aware that my father was one of many dangerous men and women. I pieced together the harm inflicted on nature from large-scale agriculture and energy sectors to daily acts like carving your name into a tree. The horrific actions of humanity’s ignorance take place all around me. Prince George decided it needed some flare – a Hollywood-style welcome sign – to bring in tourism. They called it “Clean Up Prince George,” saying that the flashy design would bring the town a new prestige. The mayor approved deforesting on top of a hill to build the horror: those poor animals and the dead trees. I wouldn’t have it, and neither would my two friends. We formed the group Mother Nature’s Guardians to defend her.
I don’t think my comrades knew the depths I am willing to descend help Nature’s Design. No one knows about my previous kills and how their deaths have been justified. Is my secrecy proof of free will? I’m unsure. Regardless, I have done my best to keep my anger and wild actions hidden from everyone. My friends and I started small through letters, protests, and eventually leading to an attack on the logging site with homemade tear gas. It worked . . . for a week. The town was determined to make that damn sign.
We, Mother Nature’s Guardians, plotted carefully against the mayor, wanting to send a message to him. The plan was to create shock by vandalizing his home, hopefully enough to make him end the killing of Mother Nature. I found a lone coyote pup at the deforestation site when we attacked the loggers with tear gas. The animal was wounded from one of the collapsed trees, making it exactly what we needed for the message. Still, I was conflicted. I wanted to heal the animal. I didn’t. Just as I didn’t nurture the cat, and just as I decapitated the magpie. Mercy kills serve both worlds. The crows were hungry, as were the coyotes all those years ago. This coyote pup served as a tool to free Mother Nature’s pain from humanity’s harmful actions. With that, I slit the pup’s throat.
One of our comrades couldn’t follow through with the plan, fearful of punishment. He was not fit for healing Mother Nature. The two of us initiated the vandalism on the mayor’s home. We dropped the pup’s corpse in the mayor’s backyard with the spray-painted words “Clean Up Prince George Kills.” My friend believed that was enough. I was not convinced and wanted to see if we could make a real impact. To my luck, the backdoor was open, and we went inside, where I sprayed more paint over the kitchen. Unfortunately, we did not foresee the mayor having a cat sitter. She and her boyfriend were in the home. There was an altercation, one that went too far. My comrade hacked a knife into the boyfriend’s face as I chased the girl. She and I crashed through the glass backdoor, landing on the deck.
The poor girl’s neck and chest had been sliced open by the glass. She was bleeding everywhere. I had to save her. Her suffering was caused by my own hand, and I had to make it right. So, I took the knife from the boyfriend’s face and preceded to decapitate the girl. My friend did not understand what I had done. It was for her own best interest. The blood loss would have killed her eventually. Even if she had survived, she would have been horribly scarred and unable to talk. Her death also served a greater picture, one that reassures my understanding of Nature’s Design. The girl’s death was never part of our plan, but the opportunity presented itself. Killing the girl was such a tragedy to the town of Prince George that they finally understood the seriousness of our message – Clean Up Prince George Kills. The sign construction was cancelled.
People anger me.
My comrade and I were sent to prison, where I am today, writing this documentation. It is upsetting that I need to write out my justification as if my actions do not speak clearly enough. People do not understand why I do what I must. Perhaps it is Mother Nature herself who has willed me into existence, serving as her blade to cleanse the parasite known as humanity. Or maybe I have chosen this path. Then why don’t I feel remorse for anyone or anything I kill? I understand the greater picture and each creature’s purpose on Earth, which lets me see beyond the horrors of violence. Humans seem to think they can defy their natural course. That is what angers me and gives me purpose to ensure humanity falls under Nature’s Design.
Vlad Borisyuk. July 3rd, 1989
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