His journal is of one who is first of all a person, and then a man. He is a happy man, for lack of a better word to portray his refusal to let anything bother him; and his having nothing else other than the fact that he refuses to let anything bother him being the only thing he uses to make himself glad.
He can freely write what he thinks because, after some many years of muddling, he has finally come to the knowlege of his own mind. He knows what he feels and believes he will tell himself the truth, therefore he knows that he will very strongly try his best in his entires not to. He has come to realise that he is often better off writing his actions how best they would have turned out, instead of how they actually did, because not doing so could portray actions begun with the best of intentions as instead being conceived of by the worst of monsters.
He knows he is a good person and he will never let anyone convince him otherwise. This is because he has seen and felt the effects of people that are bad. Yes. People are bad. He experienced some shock when he first came to this realisation that some people are indeed bad… And there are good people. So he has confirmed that there are bad people, good people, bad people who do good things and vice versa. But there are bad people. He knows a good action done in some wave of conscience does not make a bad person good, neither does a bad action of a good person in a moment of weakness make him bad. To him there is black white and gray, and he knows that gray is a heck of a nuisance.
It is his opinion that the men who say that all people are bad should simply change their circle of friends and spend time with more people. It is also his opinion that some people have no right to exercise one, whenever he considered the things that they did and the way they structured how they wished to think.
This introduction to himself was necessary. It was to be for whenever he would re-read his journal entries, for whenever he had to remind himself of why he had done a few of the things that he had imagined himself doing. He had to convince himself that he had to do them even though he wanted to, since separating the things he liked doing from the things he did because he actually had to, to him was quite selfish.
He had also met his share of selfish people but he knew they did not know any better. He did not even seek to change them, because he would become selfish in trying to do so: changing people to what he believed as being better. More importantly he did not bother because he knew it was impossible to change people, considering that those same people could not change themselves even if they wanted to. Those people might only begin to do things perceived as good because their own perspective of what was best for their well being had changed. The fact that the person would always do whatever he feels is best for himself would remain the same.
He was not a very deep thinker. He had tried it once and it gave him terrible mood swings, so he stopped. He merely thought about the same things often, getting new viewpoints on whatever subject that was at then the same. That way it wasn’t tiring; thinking too much because he could.
He was on trial for murder. The trial was a formality. The session had been quick and the prosecution had little work. He had pleaded guilty with a wide smile. He had seen everything clearly, right from the very first day.
“You could come over tonight. We have a little wet work to be taken care of. You know the drill” Uche said
“In other words you want me to kill someone” he said
“Must you say it like that?”
“It makes getting a thing done easier, calling it what it is”
“Whatever. Cut your psycho analysis and get your butt up here tonight. He is in town for two days. I’d do it myself but…” Uche shrugged
“But what? You need a fall guy?” he said “Like me for example?”
Uche was silent
“Yeah. I know” he continued “I may be crazy and all, but i’m not stupid”
“I don’t give the orders” Uche said
“No, you don’t. It’s a shame though”
“To work for the one who killed your family and take his orders”
Uche’s expression became stern.
“Look at me, aiit? I’m a survivor. I have to survive” Uche said
“But that’s the thing… Must you?”
“Must I what?”
“Must you survive?”
Uche looked at him quizzically. Then his expression eased.
“Well. It’s a good thing you already have a death wish” Uche said
When he heard Uche say this he had laughed in his mind. He knew Uche’s kind. Twenty four hour hustler whose mind was to survive in this world despite all odds, while being open to the possibility of committing a felony or two. Uche was a cab driver by day, and well… a cab driver by night. He provided intel on prospective targets. He remembered everything Uche told him about everybody else but himself. Uche talked about himself a lot and was friendly on the outside. He knew Uche was funny and he laughed at him whenever – out of confusion at hearing the things he said – Uche would call him insane. He laughed at the jokes Uche often told him, just as he had laughed when he discovered Uche’s bullet ridden body stashed at the bottom of his cab trunk wrapped up in cellophane.