How long have I run? I am older, though am I wiser? A poignant question, and one that I cannot answer. I have lived from the shadows for longer then I care to remember, can remember, but still they are out there, seeking me, searching me out and still I run.
Downtown, still decayed, still falling around my ears, around the ears of all who live here, or at least try to live. I sit in the shadows, my weapon loosely clutched in my hand, a worn and cold cigarette limply hanging from my lips. I have held onto my soul, but at what cost? I have held onto my humanity, taken it back from their clawed talons, but the price is a life of running, of fear. What use is my soul and life now, here, in the shadows? Soon they will come for me again, another one of the mindless assassins, seeking my blood, seeking to end my life for more coin in the purse, testing their mettle against mine, playing it as though it were a sick, twisted game that one might play with a child. But the price for failure is more real, more complete. I die they die, what matters, what is the point, why continue?
A bullet in my brain, a shuddering end to my tortured life, perhaps I deserve it, perhaps I am doomed to die here on the streets, none to mourn my passing. Perhaps it is the moral to the story, perhaps I could never win, could never succeed, that my soul once sold can never be mine again, that I sit here, contemplating, considering, and all for nought, the picture is already painted, the door already closed.
I cannot cry, I have wept too much too long since my flight. I have no tears left to shed and no desire to shed them. The gun is cool and comfortable in my hands, a reassuring and peaceful presence against my flesh, something that I have always known and always will, a part of me more then the hand that fires it. It is now against my temple, but I cannot squeeze the trigger, cannot end my life, something tells me not to let them win, not to let them beat me like this and the gun drops to the ground, clattering heavily as it falls out of my reach.
Time to move, I see the man approach from the end of the alley, I should move, I should flee before he sees me before it ends, but I cannot I dare not, it must end and end now. I wait; patiently waiting for the final toll of the bell, almost relishing the death that awaits me.
I see him more clearly now, see his features, pale, haunted, a kindred soul in this city of death. He holds his hand out towards me, beckoning, wanting me to take it, I do. I have looked for you for a long time, he is talking to me, I know he has been searching for me, many have. I do not see any badges, any guns, I look up to his face and he smiles briefly and for a second I see another time, another place and then it is gone, lost in the swirl of bitterness that returns to his face. Come, walk with me, you still have a lot to do in this world my friend, you still have a lot to achieve, and I can help you, I can give you the peace that you require, the peace that you so desperately need and crave. He leads me from the shadows, but a deep fear still grips my soul, and I know that I have sold it again...