The End Is Near

The End of New York

I stepped through the door, and rested my "white cane," or as some call it, a walking stick, against the wall. "Ah, so happy you could come, Matthew!" Dave said, motioning me into the dining room. "Is Lizzy here?" I asked. Then, all of a sudden, somebody was hugging me. It was Liz. "I knew it, I just knew you were out there, somewhere." She said, tears rolling down her face.

As we sat, and we talked, I had noticed that their heartbeats were slightly off. Almost as if they were hiding something. Did I mention I can hear heartbeats? It helps me know if someone is scared, or passionate, or lying, even. I can hear the air when a fist is about to align with my face, and I can tell how people spent there day by the scent of it on their clothes. It isn't just my ears that improved when I went blind. It was all of my senses.

"So, what's it like being back Matthew?" Dave asked. "I'm having a bit of a hard time.. adjusting." I responded, somewhat bitter. Then, our cook walked towards us with the food. As she walked toward us, though, she tripped on the leg of the table.
As the food went sliding, I quickly reached my arms out to grab it, which was a successful attempt. "I didn't know you had such good reflexes, Matthew." Dave said, surprised, to which I replied, "I didn't know you wanted to sleep with my mother, David."
Everything got awkward. My mother gave me the death stare. "When we got you back from the orphanage, your stubbornness was somewhat charming. It is much less so now."
"Yeah, well, losing your family can do that to you I guess."

I didn't want to do that to my family, they've been through hell losing me and my father already. But if I want them to be unassuming of me, I'm gonna have to act as if the island didn't change me. I'm not the same person I was. They might not like my immaturity and stubbornness, but it would set a precedent as to what the likelihoods are of me being a superhero who saves people.

FLASHBACK: 14 Years Ago

"Matt's problems didn't seem so severe when we first brought him into the orphanage. Everyday, we pray for him during our mass. But, this is a Catholic orphanage. We specialize in schoolwork, God, and raising children, not treating PTSD. He's gotten so much worse the past few days, and we can't afford therapy visits. We spend too much money on all the other kids as it is, and all we're working off of here are donations and the stupid government." The nun said.
"Well, it was his father that he was taken away from. What about the mother?"
"No, she's- that's another story. Here we are, on your right."
He peered inside the room. "Don't bother, he hasn't spoken to anyone."
"I'll pay for everything. Kid's suffered enough, he doesn't need to be taken to another family for them to pay to treat his PTSD."
"When should we pay you back?" She asked.
"Like I said, I'll pay for everything."

TODAY:

I walked up to where he was sitting at the alter. "How'd you know I was sitting here?"
"You've sat at the same spot since I was a kid, father." I replied with a slight chuckle. Silence filled the room for a moment.
"What's on your mind, Matthew?"
"All these years and I've still got a terrible poker face, huh?"
"People still remember your father around here. He was a great man."
"He was a junkie. You don't need to sugarcoat it, father."
"He may have struggled with addiction, but he was a devout Catholic. I didn't know anyone with a better connection to the man above than him. No sugarcoating there. People don't just remember your father, they remember his son. And what happened to him."
I didn't say anything. His heartbeat remained steady. Calm.
"Seal of confession still applies, even here at the alter, Matthew. If that's what you're worried about."
"Do you believe in the devil, Father?" I asked.
"As an entity?"
"Do you believe that he exists? In this world, walking among us all?"
"Well, do you want the short answer or the long one?"
"Just the truth, Father." I responded.
"This may come as a surprise, but when I was taking seminar classes, back when I was more studious.. skeptical, I had this notion. This idea, which I was very open about, that the devil, Satan, was inconsequential. Irrelevant, in the grand scheme of things."
"Doesn't sound very Catholic of you, Father." I said, with a slight smile.
"Yeah, ha. In my defense, though, Matthew, the Hebrew translation in the scriptures for Satan is adversary. What I believed was that the church used Satan as an antagonist for Catholics. I thought of it as a propaganda technique to drive us to the church.
Years later, when I was visiting another country to help local churches, I had become close with an elder of the church. He had a lot of respect in his community. The man had helped through famines, disease, hurricanes. The militia, though, liked to force villagers to murder their neighbors. But none of them would raise a hand at the man I had become close with. The villagers said, 'how could we kill such a kind, holy soul?'
So the militia commanded one of their own to do the job. They had orders to cut his head off, in front of the whole village. The elder didn't put up a fight. He just asked for the one chance to say goodbye to his family, and make a final prayer to God. By the time he was finished even the soldiers didn't wanna kill the poor man. But they knew they had to, so they went to the commander to ask to use a gun instead of a sword. At least give the man a quick death. The commander, he wanted to meet this man now. See what he was all about. They talked for hours, over tea. At the end of their conversation, he took him out to the town square and cut him to pieces. The entire village had to watch. After he was done, he found the elders family and did the same thing.

When that man killed the elder and his family, I saw the devil. So to answer your question, Matthew. Yes, I believe the devil is real. That he walks among us, taking many forms."
"And what if you could've stopped him, Father?" I asked. "From ever hurting anyone again?"
"Stopped him how?"

LATER...

I walked inside my apartment, and set down my glasses on the table. "Where the hell were you?" Abaddon asked. "You know exactly where I was." I responded. "You're right. What I really mean is, why aren't you preparing yourself for this war? 'Your' beloved city is about to be torn apart."
"You've been talking about this war since the island and I still have no idea it's about. Y'know what I think, Abaddon? I think there is no war. There never was. I think that it's a petty excuse for murder."
"And I think you're just as arrogant as you ever were."
"Oh yeah? Is that why you left me there to die?"
He scoffed at me. "No, I left you there because we were searching for different things. When your father died, you wanted a replacement. I wanted a soldier."
"You couldn't be both?"
"Emotion, attachment, it clouds your mind."
"Yeah, or maybe that's why you're running around in circles fighting a nonexistent war."
"Or maybe, Matthew, your attachments are what has kept you so oblivious- blind, if you will, to it. I've said it before, your mind is fogged. And it's gonna get you killed."
"Tell me what it is, Abaddon. Tell me what we're fighting. What the hell has gotten you so paranoid all these years?"
"The end of New York."