Day 86 - One

 One 

Matthew Ryan Fischer

 

It was a lonely existence, but it was the one he wanted. It was the one he felt he deserved. Alone in his cabin, late at night, he would think back across a life of carnage and destruction. He felt shame and misery, sorry for what he had done, but there was no one to apologize to or seek mercy from. He had worn uniforms and badges, been honored and reviled. His worst was done as a member of an organization dedicated to nothing but its own power. He was a survivor. He had done what he set out to do. He was still here, despite it all.

Years had come and gone, but he woke everyday sure someone would come to kill him. He knew too many secrets and worked for the unsavory and then there were always the friends and relatives of his victims. Someday someone would put the pieces together and they would come. It was easy to set traps and maintain security systems, but it was impossible to prevent the march of time. He woke with new aches and pains and everyday he was a little bit slower. Once upon a time he would have fought off anyone who came looking for trouble. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

Everyday he looked in the mirror and hated what he saw. It was the age; it was his eyes. Miserable, lost, empty eyes. A sorrow he couldn’t fully describe. Eventually he took down the mirrors. His angst remained.

He carried a weapon at all times, never knowing when or where trouble might come from. He slept with a gun, a bullet at the ready.

Late at night, when sleep refused to come, he would think about all the pain he felt, all the pain he caused, all the pain he might cause again. He would think about that one bullet and how easy it would be to relieve that pain. One small act to make the world a better place. He could do it. It would be easy. If there was any kindness left in him, he might, rather than sit and indulged his self-centered pity. His shame made him torture himself. His arrogance wouldn’t allow him to heal or end things. It was masturbatory but he couldn’t help but be self-indulgent.

He found solace in his solitude. Alone, as he should be, as he deserved to be. As he preferred to be. A punishment wasn’t a punishment if you welcomed it. He couldn’t even bring himself to suffer any consequences, even the ones he had tried to prescribe to himself. His ego wouldn’t let him die.

He packed his things. The city awaited his return. He had learned nothing, changed nothing. He realized that if he wasn’t willing to try, then why bother. He might as well return to the life he left behind. Perhaps there he would be judged accordingly. Perhaps then, there would be some sort of justice. He didn’t think so. He loaded his weapons and told himself he would accept whatever came his way, but not without a fight. No sense in making things easy for them, or himself.