Volume V: The Tragic End of Treason

Chapter 8: Disturbing Recollection

Once upon a time, there were legends, no - they were gods.

            Help!

            I’m a casualty of society; I’m a victim of modern tyrants overthrowing humanism.

            Save me!

            I’m lost in the masses, nothing more than fiction; a figment in a mile-a-minute world.

            Spare me a moment?

            Hear my screams, bear my pain, pay for my madness. Listen to my story. Please?

            I’m asking nicely, pleading softly, begging desperately.

            Come find the abyss, take hold of my outstretched arm, save me from my own insanity.

            Maybe I’m mad, but take heed of my warning.

            This artful little rant I’ll not remember by morning.

           

            Sunlight hurts. Rolling out of bed, finding the world still spinning - gentle disappointment settles in. Get up, change, start moving. Sit, look around, try to figure out how much of this was here yesterday. I remember the general surroundings, the furniture arrangements, the light from the window…blink a few dozen times…everything’s still real. You’re awake, this isn’t a dream. This isn’t a nightmare either. It’s just reality, basic, boring…realism. This is why we have imagination…our sole salvation to keep us from dying of routine. I do firmly believe that a life without change can kill; I can feel it eating away at my soul as it is. Day by day, everything the same, I felt my motivation slip away. My inspiration crept out the back door. It went that way, officer.

            Curl up in a corner, hide away from the garish light that stings your eyes. I sit with coffee, blinking unconsciously, breathing involuntarily, drinking silently. A few moments before the day starts, before Hell comes knocking on your door, pounding like an upset child. There’s no way to lock the world away, but it’s worth a shot. It’s early…too early to function properly. Or maybe it’s just me. I might be slightly insane, just a tad unhinged. Then again, who isn’t nowadays?

            For a moment, the world is at peace with itself. Soft footsteps move around as part of the background. Stay curled up in the dark, my eyes became comfortable over time. The steps creep by, a kiss on the cheek, the usual greetings.

            Good morning, Vince.

            My mind can’t process much, like I said, too early. Vince refilled my coffee without question, he crept around almost silently. He had years of practice being nonchalant and quiet. It was somewhat comforting I guess, but it was unsettling at the same time. He was just that good and he took immense pride in his gifts.

            Story time kids. Try to keep up.

            Here is the case history, how we ended up where and how we did. Here’s to a trip down memory lane. You might want to take notes for this. 

            To explain and possibly understand the present, we must meticulously explore the past. To go back, let’s start with Cicero. He was the first in a steady line of lunatics. When he fell, crime reigned free…and then Vincent stood up. Cicero’s death was sudden, but he’d given up control of his gang when the war started. There comes a point where it’s just enough and you’re old enough to “retire,” if the business doesn’t kill you first. Somewhere along the way, Vincent took over. And Vincent’s methods might have been worse than Cicero ever was. The topic is highly debatable.