Volume V: The Tragic End of Treason

Chapter 10: The Unforgiven

10. The Unforgiven

            A better fiction, a more horrific fairy tale…the band of compatriots that stumbled upon one another, their story is legend enough. There are two times, to worlds of existence, this explanation may take a bit of time, please, bear with me. There are more fairy tales in this version. More fictions…please take care.

            The top dog of this series of tales, the leader of the Hopeless Martyrs…Damien, a true gem amongst men. He was something else. Indeed, he had his temperaments, but he was the kind of guy you didn’t fuck with but you could befriend if you were casual enough about it. The point was not trying too hard, know your limits, but don’t go off the deep end, that’s the whole idea. He respected limits. He respected morals. Even though some of his very own were lacking. That’s the irony of life for you. Damien was the cop that let the small stuff slide, he understood perspectives. He was a victim of devotion. His family was stolen from him, one by one, until he just couldn’t feel it anymore. He chose a life of illusion to stop the pain. Anything to stop the madness. Damien is vital in the stories, in the legends, because he bore witness to so many. His death isn’t recorded anywhere you could find it. You’d have to know where to look and who to ask to learn the saga of Damien. Bottom line? He lived and died for devotion, as all good martyrs should.

            Melissa. Damien’s other half. She completed him, until her untimely suicide. Melissa is a marvel in the stories. She truly was something. The clans tell tales of the Martyrs, the suburban kids who never had a chance here. Here - the really real world. She was dead for ages. But she was always alive, hidden behind her eyes was something more. She was amazing. Melissa, the photographer, similar to another legendary photographer; she wasn’t insane. She was just overly devoted. Tragedy claimed her early. They still celebrate the anniversary, her birthday, her death date. The cycle of madness - everyone knows the many sacred events that come to pass on Halloween. Melissa’s is just one of many ghosts to surface for the event. There aren’t proper words to describe her. She was Damien’s only love. She was his heart and soul. And with her, he died. He just didn’t know it yet.

            Seth; friend, brother, companion, boyfriend...and self-righteous son of a bitch. Everyone knows that it was ultimately he who destroyed the family’s unity; he who betrayed the Martyrs. But he had his good points, he was loyal, for the most part. He was reliable, honest...just overly self righteous. We all knew what happened to the righteous - they were martyred. He lived up to his title in some ways you could say. Seth was the brother of brothers, his dedication knew no bounds. He was Eileen’s other. But he wasn’t as deep into the cycle as the rest, he didn’t preach hope and love and faith. He was a realist. Can you blame him? Could you even dare to try? His betrayal wasn’t based on power my dear friends, oh no, his betrayal was based on morals. Isn’t that just the irony of it all?

            Eileen, Seth’s other half. The funny thing about the two of them was that they couldn’t understand the eternal moral of devotion. It’s not that they...adulterated it, but they just didn’t get it. It was like a junior version of the real deal. They could call it what they wanted, but it wasn’t what it could have been. You can’t love the righteous, they won’t allow it. Principles and all. Eileen tried like hell, she cared about little else, which was her own shortcoming. She turned her back on all else for the hope of her beloved, just the slight hope. She was nothing of the sort of creative genius that Melissa was. Eileen was always second best. And she knew it. And she learned to accustom herself to it. She was a child sheltered by an adult’s facade of maturity.

            Christine and Shawn. To separate the two would be a sin. An immortal sin. They belonged to each other, now, forever - Always. They were the illustration of devotion. Paralleled only perhaps by the Drakes, they were...perfect isn’t the right word. They were beyond mortal limitations. But they were wise with their love. They spent it solely on each other. They were supportive and helpful to their fellow Martyrs, but there was a distinct line that they never crossed. They believed in family, in trust and loyalty, but their love came before all else. And they pulled it off. They survived the madness, the treachery, the tragedy. They made it through and were stronger for it. They were beyond vulgar words and pettiness. They were well beyond that. A look spoke miles. A simple gesture could define eternity. They were an inspiration to the society that said we couldn’t, they broke the rules and rewrote the odds and they survived. They deserve one hell of a pat on the back, but they don’t need it. They don’t consider it anything special. They’re simply surviving the best way that they know how. The only way that they could. If love proves real.