They say that there’s a fine line between helping others and helping yourself. Whether or not your actions are done directly and selflessly or indirectly for your own gain. Now I’ve searched for this line with a magnifying glass in the one hand and a telescope in the other. It isn’t there; it can’t be seen. So how can we blame people when they cross an invisible line that doesn’t even exist? Because without a doubt nobody has ever acted selflessly; not truly. For that act of moral sacrifice they had a penultimate reason for their actions. Yes it could be done for greed or to show off or it could be done for reasons far less vain. It could be to bring self happiness or to save a friends life that you value dearly. But in the end the choice is for your own reason and for your own ends.
Growing up I was taught right from wrong like everybody else. Like everybody else I quickly found out that the concept of right and wrong could be easily twisted based on politics and opinion. Like the first time was bullied at school; I know that they threw the first punch and I was defending myself. The first punch the teacher saw was mine; ergo mine was the first punch. The black eye he had given me counted for nothing in my defence other to portray me as the fighting type. It took a long time to shake off that impression.
Around the same time a rich millionaire invested an untold sum of money into the school. They used the money to upgrade the facilities and to build a new wing to the school. Of course for this thoroughly selfless donation he got the wing named after him, a motif was added to the school crest and he was elected into school councillors. The next year when the entire school was trying to buy uniforms with the new logo and breaking the banks doing so: a new kid arrived at school. He was the son of the aforementioned millionaire and had been kicked out of every private school he had been to. Of course our school welcomed him with open arms and the board of governors even demanded that his record be seen as clean so that he could have a fair chance to fit into the school.
I guess the whole thing got me riled because I wrote a report entitled: “the corruption of charity” and I referenced the effect of the charitable donation throughout. The reaction was maddening. The teachers condemned me, the headmaster was furious and the son: beating me up became his new hobby. Given the teachers blinded impressions of me and the good standing that Johnny had with the councillors; I couldn’t tell on Johnny for fear of being penalised myself. In fact Johnny Barnes made my last few years of school hell.
But I have no need to dwell on the past. Three years after that report ruined my collage life; the same report landed me a first in my degree. Granted; it wasn’t the original report. There were more references and the argument had more balance. But I was able to learn that Barne industries had earned that charitable donation in one of many cruel ways.
I was planning on becoming an industrial journalist, but an even better position slipped right into my hands. Meet the new kid on the block; D.I. Forest, industrial department of the police force. Meet the kid that brought down Barne industries in his first year. Now that’s what I call payback.
