![1.jpg](https://steemitimages.com/DQmaLFmmeW8ukwJrosriG3RoVrfJdF8KUhKpdhxSCLBMM5M/1.jpg)
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I'm posting up the chapters of this uncompleted book as I hope the Steemit community might offer up its criticism (which would, in turn, force me to finish it, honestly). Started in 2008, this was my first foray into novel writing and was my undergraduate thesis required to graduate. The story is about an executioner in the not-too-distant future. Executioners are highly trained individuals with extensive educations built to help them execute their prisoners in the exact same manner that the prisoner's victims died. This is called the law of retaliation or _lex talionis_; you may know it better as "eye for an eye."

Because I was also getting my degree in philosophy, I wanted to explore the ethics involved. While I feel I'm a better writer now and could certainly expand most of this book, I also really enjoy criticism as I'm usually too close to the work to see what's working and what's not (though in this case, there's plenty that I feel is not working). So please...feel free to criticize the work if you'd like, but be constructive about it. Simply saying "this part isn't good" doesn't tell me much; don't hesitate to tell me why it's not good or offer up possible alternatives to make it better.

Thanks in advance!

***

Previous Sections/Chapters:

_Part I_
[Chapter One](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-chapter-1) / [Two](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-chapter-2) / [Three](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-chapter-3) / [Four](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/tgjcj-the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-chapter-4) / [Five](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-chapter-5) / [Six](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-part-i-chapter-6) / 
[Seven](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-part-i-chapter-7) / [Eight](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-part-i-chapter-8) / [Nine](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-part-i-chapter-9) / [Ten](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-part-i-chapter-10) / [Eleven](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-part-i-chapter-11) / [Twelve](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-part-i-chapter-12) / 
[Thirteen](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-part-i-chapter-13) / [Fourteen](https://steemit.com/writing/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-part-i-chapter-14) / [Fifteen](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-part-i-chapter-15) / [Sixteen](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-part-i-chapter-16-the-end-of-part-i)

_Part II_
[Chapter One](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-part-ii-chapter-11)

***

Upon waking in this bright, imitation sunlight every day, I throw my legs over the side of the bed. The floor is always bitter cold and sends a shiver through my body, alerting my senses that they need to awaken as well. I never pull my feet away from the floor, no matter how cold the feeling. This is a small example of discipline and resolve in the face of a hardship, one of which I am determined to take control. 

‘Life is Suffering’ is the first of the Four Noble Truths and while I’m only a by-the-book-Buddhist without a proper teacher, I still try to live by what I read. The adage ‘life isn’t fair’ isn’t just something parents recite to their children when they don’t want to spoil them, it’s a truism. Each of our lives is finite; we begin and end on our own timeline due to outside forces sometimes beyond our control. Your grandmother may be on her deathbed, but if one of her grandchildren dies before her, we consider it a tragedy because we as beings expect to outlive our elders. A bullet, an addiction, or early on-set of some disease may end our earthly lives which causes those we surround ourselves with an amount of suffering. Suffering does not end, it only gets transferred from one person to the next and we must find a way to deal with it. 

The second Noble Truth is that suffering stems from attachment, whether to people, objects, or ideals. My attachment to the outside world still exists as I had experienced much of it before landing in this living grave. Of course it has diminished over the years due to my being locked up, but even those above ground have their own attachments. One of the most telling ways to learn about a person is to ask them what one object they would save if their house were on fire. Many will say the pictures from the days of their past lives. Others will say their pets and some others will even say easily replaceable objects such as a home computer or vehicle. The pictures are merely the physical representations of memories that already exist within us while the pets contain a certain amount of emotional attachment. I never owned a pet while topside, but I couldn’t imagine leaving a human friend behind in the fire, so at least I understand this answer. 

The physical objects are just that, objects. We crave things, extraneous stuff that in the end, means absolutely nothing except to those who own it or desire it. A Renoir might look perfect above your mantel and may even be a great monument to the human achievement of the arts, but it is only the physical manifestation of one’s imagination and not a true account of real imagination. The truth lies within the real rather than the representation of the real. We have been bred and conditioned to crave representations as opposed to desiring the real. We find that even with the real, however, their existence is finite and the ultimate end of one thing’s existence results in a certain amount of suffering. 
	
The third Noble Truth tells us that the cessation of suffering is attainable, regardless of how impossible it may seem given the second Truth. The key is to have the opposite of passion, dispassion, towards every possible attachment. This isn’t to say you shouldn’t love, but you should love with the understanding that one day it will end. Whether it be with a person or an idea, if they don’t end first it means that you might. All things end, no matter how fairy tale or story book they may feel at first. Once someone has achieved dispassion through every aspect of their lives (which takes many several steps according to the texts), they achieve what is called Nirvana. Nirvana comes in the form of a lack of worries, an abundance of calm, and a steadiness found in turmoil many people can never achieve. Attempting Nirvana through a diminishing capacity for attachment leads to a happier life when dealing with the suffering that will most definitely come during one’s life path.
	
The final Truth describes the necessary path to the cessation of suffering. Topside, I was less likely to believe in a karmic destiny of sorts, but down here the lesson is easy to grasp. The likelihood that one will achieve true Nirvana through self-discipline is small, thus the nature of other lives lived in order to make adjustments to the soul. Think of it as being maintenance work on an infinite loop over the course of several generations. There is a fine middle line one must walk between outright hedonism and strict absence of cravings. Eventually, when one has attained this middle path, true Nirvana is achieved and the soul moves on. 
	
What this all means is that since we are not perfect souls, we have a way to achieve perfection. It may take longer for some than others and some may never figure it out, but ultimately one must control their urges, release themselves from their baser emotions, and live cleanly. Emotions tend to cloud a normally rational mind and with these feelings gone, one can walk the path without worrying about stumbling. 
	
Any stumbling that happens down here is really just miniscule on the whole. Sure, I miss the “friends” who ended up missing from the cafeteria one day, never to return, but I understood and no amount of pining or mourning them would bring back the pseudo-joy their company provided. Many of them had actually committed the crimes they were here for and as callous as it sounds, I couldn’t allow my emotions for criminals to pull me from the path of soul revision. The one true path is one laid out for the individual, despite our inherent need to cling to others. So when Panzer came to see me the day after Scabs had disappeared, I felt pity for him and then quickly brushed it away. 
	
“It could’ve been any one of us, you know,” he muttered, standing in the doorway of my old cell, months previous. 
	
“And it could’ve been none of us, but it was Scabs and eventually it’ll be you or me or any one of the others,” I replied calmly. “The fact is, we assume it was his time to go and neither you nor I can do anything about it. This is home now and our home happens to consist of a relatively unexplained random disappearance now and then, followed up by assumptions and what can only be called a form of gossip within the lunchroom. Hell, for all we know, he got some kind of pardon due to an amazing lawyer.” I stood up from the bunk, shrugging as he bit the inside of his cheek, processing my rebuttal. 
	
Panzer took up the entire entryway to my cell and raised his arms, resting his elbows on either side of the framework as he let out a heavy sigh. It seemed to expand the room and I thought for an instance I could feel it swim along the back of my neck as I turned back towards my bunk. I closed my eyes at the miniature breeze and imagined my toes dug deep in warm, golden sand while looking out over a vast, empty ocean. It was a feeling I hadn’t had in quite some years. Panzer coughed and jarred me out of my reverie, a byproduct of his new smoking habit brought on by long days down here with not much to do. “You know, you might be right,” he said finally. “I don’t know, maybe I’m just tired of getting to know these guys and then bam! They’re gone and never heard from again.”
	
I nodded and stroked my beard, feeling the out of place hairs bristle along my palm. I made a mental note to fill out a request later that day for a haircut as well. I sat down on my bunk and crossed my legs in the fashion I was accustomed to and patted the mattress next to me, motioning for Panzer to join me. “Sit. Meditate with me.”
	
A dubious look shot across the cell. “C’mon, man, you know I’m a Christian. We don’t do all that voodoo nonsense, J.”
	
I shook my head, smiling. “Think of it as prayer, except you’re just trying to empty your mind of everything. Thoughts, feelings, lists of things to do, so on and so forth. I’m not asking you to forsake your God, nor would I ever, I’m just saying give this a try with me. Perhaps it might help alleviate some tension about Scabs.” 
	
“Do I need to sit like that?” he asked, pointing at me. “’Cuz I don’t think my legs bend like that.”
	
“Not at all,” I said, laughing. “Sit however is most comfortable to you so that you aren’t distracted by limbs falling asleep or even yourself falling asleep.” He joined me on the bunk. The mattress lifted beneath me like a cottony teeter-totter and I had to readjust my position. I watched as he scooted back along the mattress and leaned against the wall. 
	
“Do I need to say anything? Or just, you know, close my eyes?”
	
“Close your eyes and try to think about nothing. If you see all black, keep yourself from putting stars among that canvas. If you see white, try to stay focused on white. Your main focus should be on emptying your head of all emotions, all thought, all everything. Focus on nothing and everything at the same time,” I replied in a hushed, even voice. 
	
“How do you focus on nothing and everything at the same time?” he asked in a whisper.
	
“That’s the hard part,” I said, laying my wrists on my knees. “That’s why it takes a great deal of practice. Follow my breathing for as long as you can and then try to find your own rhythm. Once you’ve got that, focus inward. If a thought strikes you, ignore it as best as possible and move past it. Think of it as swimming with your eyes shut and your mind turned off.”
	
To my surprise, Panzer actually meditated with me for about half an hour, never once speaking up. He had completely matched his breathing with mine for the first few minutes then disappeared into his own bio-rhythms. When we stopped, he stood up, stretched then turned around to smile at me. “Strange, I don’t even feel like I need a cigarette now. Cool,” he said, then walked out of my cell. With shoulders big enough to take on the world, Panzer was the kind of guy who needed someone or something to cling to at all times. A genuinely good person, but with an emotional crutch that would always keep him a step below true independence. 
	
It is these instances, these prison-time conversations that keep my mind busy when I can’t focus on my meditations down here in the Catacombs. I have no one to give my lunch dessert to anymore though, so I force myself not to eat it. I’ve had to slow down my reading as I only get one book a week instead of the allotted three to five. The logic with that seems asinine. 
	
Before turning in for the night, I place my feet on the floor again. It’s about as chilly now as in the morning, so I deal with the chill before going to bed too. No pillows, one sheet, no sound. If I had the ability to come and go as I please, this place would almost be perfect.