![dominos.JPG](https://steemitimages.com/DQmdX6qmXek8YQZay48dcrtj5n5hUPf3KgRKXfroHw4xtuk/dominos.JPG)

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) / [Two](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-part-ii-chapter-2)

***

While Panzer was a bit needy, he was also more open-minded than some of the other guys. Jilette would, frequently and with great gusto, proclaim the French as the most superior of the Caucasian races. He wasn’t born in France, his mother was only an eighth French herself and he spoke as if somehow he’d been gypped out of being French royalty. He couldn’t even speak the language. 

He was shorter than most of us, but limber and deceivingly agile despite the beer belly that had grown larger over the last several years. While breaking into a home to “acquire some new, shiny trinkets,” he had an altercation with the homeowner that was supposed to be on vacation. She had wrestled him through the living room and then ran to another part of the house to call the police. The way Jilette tells it, he grabbed the first thing he could (a vase) and ran after her, smashing it over her head as the 911 operator picked up the call. ‘Stupidly, I went back to the living room to grab my loot and by the time I found my way to the backyard, the neighborhood had been covered in subdivision rent-a-cops. I got caught because I got greedy,’ he’d explain with a shrug. 
	
The homeowner had been in a coma for almost 4 years before her body decided to stop fighting. Once the only NV to hang out with us violent offenders, he was now one of us to the end and you could see the resignation within the creases of his forehead. 
	
“You ever wish you could go back and change things?” he asked me the week after his vic passed away. We were in the common area, killing time over a game of dominos. It was a largish room with a low-hung ceiling and several tables, all bolted to the floor, set up around the perimeter. Jilette had commandeered one of the worn down love seats and a chair for the two of us to sit on. “I mean, not because you got caught, but because you see what a total sham your life has been up to this point?”
	
I shook my head. “Nope.”
	
“Why not? You wouldn’t want to change anything? Even if it meant you got to be released?”
	
“Gimme 15,” I said, laying a domino down at the far end of the cross. “What would going back and changing anything do? It might, and I stress ‘might,’ change things if one could take back the knowledge they currently have. This would allow the individual to rightly change their ways, assuming they would do it for the right reasons rather than for the decadence of getting away with something. Knowing what you know now, would you have chosen to run instead of going back to get your sack of items from old girl’s living room, or would you have simply picked a different house to rob? Or, would you could completely turn your life around and live a clean, healthy existence until you die?”
	
“5 points,” he mumbled, laying a tile down next to his end of the cross. “Well yeah, I mean, wouldn’t you want to get a second chance? At anything?”
	
I pressed my finger against my lips in concentration and looked at my tiles. No points this time. “I’m of the firm belief that if I’m here, there’s a reason for it. I don’t necessarily believe in Fate, but I believe in Purpose.” I laid a tile down and looked at him. “Had I stayed in the outside world forever, my internal struggles may not have ever have subsided. Since being in here, I’ve learned to channel every negative emotion or thought into something else. And while I’m stuck in a cell most hours of the day and I never see the outdoors, I remember what topside looks like and I meditate.” Jilette looked at me oddly and laid a tile down. 
	
“Does my lack of seeing the topside act as a sort of catalyst for my need to assuage my mind and body? Maybe,” I said, half to myself. “Does my being topside right now, at this moment, mean that I would have eventually followed the Buddhist teachings? Maybe. Neither statement can be affirmed or negated without actually having gone back and changed one moment in time, though. Since nobody has invented a time machine yet, you and I sit here, playing dominos in a government-funded, bomb shelter of a home. The only difference is the bombs are being sheltered from the general public and not vice versa.” I played my last domino. “Domino.”
	
“You speak in such a weird way, you know that, J?” he said, smiling and flipping over the tiles to mix them up for another game. “But I think I understand.”
	
I nodded and pulled seven tiles from the larger mass on the table when he had finished. “All I’m saying is that we are the culmination of our worst mistakes and our greatest accomplishments and we must regard both with equal aplomb. Does sitting here, wishing you could change the past actually change the past? Or would you rather focus on changing your future?”
	
He laid the double sixes down, starting the game. “What future? Before my vic died, I at least had the possibility of leaving this place. Now, I’m stuck here until the end.”
	
“And that is the byproduct of a mistake you can’t change. Take it, store it, move on. Or rather, move forward as best you can from here on out.” We played a few more rounds, only speaking when scoring points or passing on the round until Jilette burst out laughing for no reason. 
	
“What would you do with a million dollars? I mean, suppose you had somehow been acquitted of all charges and a jury awarded you a million dollars in compensation for your time here.”
	
“Jilette, when was the last time you actually handled money?” I asked, laughing back. 
	
He scrunched up his face in thought. “Five years, maybe? A little longer.”
	
“It’s been almost twenty for me,” I said. “I don’t think I even have the concept of money anymore. Hell, we don’t even have a barter system down here, unless you count those horrible rice puddings we get on Saturdays for dessert.”
	
“Okay, but what would you do if you had a million dollars? Would you travel? Would you make yourself disappear into some quiet part of the world where you wouldn’t be bothered? C’mon, man. Surely you’ve got an idea. 20 points!” He slammed the tile on the table with a loud clink. 
	
“Alright,” I gave in, purely to humor him. “I know at one point, I knew what I’d do with a million dollars if I had the opportunity. I wanted to travel, as I think most people do. I wanted to see Europe. I never got to go before I came here. Never traveled outside of the city, to be honest with you. My life consisted of high-rise views from ground level. What I really wanted was to stop living so close to the ground. I wanted to wake up every morning and be able to look out my window and see the tops of buildings drowning in sunlight. It sounds silly now, but I wanted to live so high off the ground that I could open my windows and clutch at clouds passing by, regardless of the city. I’ve heard Italy is nice. Greece, maybe, but I don’t recall any high-rise buildings of much note in either country.” I laid another tile down. No points. “But a lot can change in twenty years, I suppose.” 
	
“I visited Mexico once,” he said. “Of course, I had just robbed a place in El Paso, so you could call it a business trip more than a vacation.” Another tile down and another ten points to Jilette.
	
Despite my best effort, a smirk stretched across my face as I laid down another non-scoring tile. “I see.”
	
“Although, I guess if I had a million dollars, I’d probably want to move somewhere where there aren’t a lot of people. I wouldn’t want someone like me living next to me, you know. I’m sure I’d enjoy my stuff too much to just let it go to someone else.”
	
“But of course,” I laughed. “How silly it would be for an ex-burglar to be okay with a new batch of criminals walking off with all of his prized possessions.”
	
“Right?” he replied, completely missing the sarcasm. “How’s Panzer doin’? I heard he came to talk to you a few days ago. He’s been really quiet since Scabs went ‘poof.’” He shook his hand in the air as if doing a magic trick. 
	
“He’ll live. He’ll suffer for a bit, but he’ll be okay.”
	
Jilette laid down his first non-scoring tile of the round and leaned back against the love seat. “You’ve seen a lot of guys disappear from the caf, haven’t you?” 
	
I paused and thought on all the people I had met during my stay at the Subterranean Hotel for Wayward Sons. “I have noticed, over the years, a swiftly changing populace within the cafeteria, yes,” I replied, leaning back into the chair. 

“Why do you ask?”
	
He glanced around the room, taking stock of how close the other inmates were to us. “How many of them would you have considered friends or at least acquaintances before they were taken? Does it get any easier for guys like Panzer?”
	
I stared at the ceiling as I wrapped my hands behind my head. “Calling them friends would be a bit of a stretch for me, but for guys like Panzer it won’t get any easier. He was in the military, so his entire life was based on a system of camaraderie of sorts. Surrounding himself with people who agree or at least cheerfully disagree is in his best interest because that’s all he knew on the outside. He was part of a squadron of ‘yes’ men, all striving for the same ultimate goal. We’re not that different down here, but if I had money to put down, I’d warrant there’s only one difference between Panzer’s outside world from before and his inside world of now.”
	
“What’s that?” Jilette asked.
	
“If his fellow soldiers were in here with him and they found a way out, they’d take him along with no questions asked. The nature of their military bonding lies in the common goal and the knowledge that you are someone else’s support. There is no individual more important than the entire platoon. If any of the other guys we know found a way out, they’d keep it as quiet as possible so as to truly secure their own freedom. More people involved means more possibility for fuck ups when it comes to criminals. So your question, really, isn’t about how many of the disappearing inmates were my friends, but rather, how many of them could I really trust?”
	
Jilette cocked his head, waiting for an answer and looking offended. “Do you really think it’s like that down here?”
	
“How many of us would you trust?” I replied, looking back down at my dominos and seeing no way to score.