Today is the second International Pixel-Stained Technopeasant Day. The call is for the publication of professional-quality fiction freely on the web. I’m not a pro, and I am not qualified to judge the quality of my own work, so this quite isn’t properly a IPSTD contribution, but it is offered in the day’s spirit. Enjoy.
A MOMENT IN THE LIFE OF A FINNISH MAN
I am lucky we don’t have the death penalty in Finland. She tells me she’s glad of that, too.
I am a Finnish man. As a Finn, I am irritated by that they let all sorts of, hm, dark-skinned beasts that masquerade as human enter this country. They just come, you know, take our money, use it to buy apartments, cars. I know one, hm, dark-skin, who lives a billion times billion times better than I, without working! I get to toil for my meager living, and the kids and the wife hoard it as if it were due to them —
Oh, women, too, are stupid, totally clueless. First they want equal opportunities and make the man do the dishes, vacuum the apartment, clean the apartment, to do all kinds of work fit only for women. Then they sit and complain that they can’t get a job, you know, the high unemployment and all that. And damn all the children. They play and sing and do nothing to earn their living even though they eat as much as five adults!
Oh, that dark-skin I mentioned. He buys the cars and everything. He gets the money from the government — my money which the motherfucker politicians spead around. They should give it all to the border guard for all I care, so that the ni… I mean dark-skins stayed away from here, away from eating other people’s food. Or to the military, let them kill them all.
Yes, I am angry, and I will not calm down! Do not dream of it! I will give you an example. I was walking, minding my own business, in the streets of my Finnish hometown, and guess what I saw! A giant concentration of filth, right in the middle of the street. It was at the same time a so-called dark-skin, a woman, and a child: a tiny nigger girl. Naturally, I had to perform my duty as a citizen and a Finnish man, and so I approached the pile of dirt and tried nice. I asked if the tiny nigger girl would be so kind as to remove herself into a nearby trash compactor, and therefore save me the trouble to perform this service myself. But the creep had the audacity to look at me with her huge eyes and not move one centimeter.
I tried once more: “Dear nigger whore’s bastard daughter, could you please remove yourself out of my, a Finnish man’s, way, and move yourself inside that device?” I closed my eyes, and opened them, and that thing was still there. Some traitor calling himself a Finn came and tried to talk me into treason, but I told him the small girl did not deserve to live.
Then I realized that the abomination of course could not understand what I was saying, so I said, in English, “Would you mind moving your dirty body into that machine over there?” Now it looked at me scared, but still did not move. Finally I grabbed it and dragged it into that machine. I just about had time to start it, before a treasonous police officer arrested me. Later I heard that the animal had survived. Fortunately it had suffered grave injuries.
Am I sorry? Am I sorry? Not a damn bit. Do you as well belong to the revolutionary movement? You will regret that.
She forgave me fifteen years later. Now, twenty years later, she sleeps beside me, utterly trusting me. There is a beast still inside me that calls me from time to time. She doesn’t know. I have kept it in check.
I hear the beast calling me again.
If you enjoyed the story, please say so. If you hated it, please keep it to yourself. If you feel the story was worth it, please donate a small amount for a charity of your own choosing, and tell me about it. But only if you want to do it. You can contact me by email at firstname.lastname@example.org, or you can leave a comment. Or you could do neither
The original draft in Finnish was written on December 14, 1995. The Finnish economy had hit the bottom of a bad recession a year or two earlier and was slowly starting to recover. The story was a school exercise, free association from Hugo Simberg’s powerful painting The Wounded Angel. This month, I dug it out of my archives, translated it in English and revised it. The frame is completely new, but most of the middle is from the original.
A moment in the life of a Finnish man by Antti-Juhani Kaijanaho is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.