Absent Conviction
An uninterrupted tone beeped from the cardiac monitor reverberated throughout the modest hospital room. In that very room was a young man, charred, scorched, and burnt from an explosion that was unplanned, spontaneous. Lying in the cot that was supplied by the hospital, a grunt and moan was emitted from his vocal cords when he slowly propped himself onto his elbows. This was the last day in this humdrum setting, but the forlorn feeling remained in the man's heart. Not only did the 'colleagues' that he worked with perished, but also his dignity, honor, and confidence. Since that unfortunate date, the young man had refused to look into a mirror, but knowing the damage Mello knew his skin was forever scarred, much like his wounded soul. Rushing emotions saturated his core, shaking him, much like the faith he held for a so-called God.
Little Catholic boy, innocent, untainted Catholic boy, wherever did you go? A quavering hand lifted to caress the marred flesh, but almost immediately did he pull back in revulsion. An abomination, he felt that way now with this new appearance. There was a newfound revelation which deteriorated the blonde furthermore. 'Why would you do this to me God? I have always been so devoted, loyal to you. Why must this be my test? My punishment?' Fair ash blonde bangs dangled over his eyes, those sapphire hues that no longer illuminated, or sparked with fire. They were dull, lifeless as if all hope had been forever drained from his very being. What once was, no longer existed, but a new man with no ambition, nor faith.
Nimble, delicate fingers laced around the once favored treasure of his. That rosary of his mother's, that rosary that provided something more at a distant period, he kept wrapped around his calloused hand. By the cot there was a black leather bible, the title in gold and bold. Much like an emaciated man on the streets, he wanted something to cling to, but knew the harsh truth. 'My dear God, why have you forsaken me?' He clutched that rosary as if it was the last lifeline, that last inkling of something more, but nothing changed as he sat in the small bed, in that putrid hospital. Little Catholic boy, you are now a man, how time has treated you so horridly.
With his coarse hands shaking, his faith crumbling, he brought the rosary to those fragile lips, to only keep the cool cross grazing his lips. A sigh from him was a wave of pain crashing on the shore of his broken soul. Once a child, he lost his innocence. As a man, he lost his faith. There was not only damage to the once strong, bold man, but the anguish in his heavy heart ravaged the last of his happiness and meaning. 'Oh Heavenly Father' He prayed with the utmost dedication he could muster at this unfortunate time. Whispering as every tear drenched his warm, gaunt cheeks he felt the words mean less and less to him. All of this was in vain, all of this was a pointless waste of time. There will be no phoenix rising from these ashes, only a man with a crooked spine, and a lack of reason.
With the last word of 'Amen' on his lips, he let it slip away, much like the night giving into the day, the inevitable. Again, he was alone, a slow ticking of a clock, and the beeps of his calming heart were his only company blanketing him. There were no cheers of joy, there was no catching Kira. It was all defeat. This was a game of cat and mouse that was doomed from the start because of his disposition to his genetic preset. Irrational, cocky, and eager were the traits that provided him with a deadly concoction to an egotistical standpoint, a standpoint he would never hold again. With the rosary in his grasp, he looked to it and gave a sigh, and he was ready to let go. Was this all really worth it? At one point, he believed it was.
Fitting into his leather like a glove, he stood there with a blank look, much like his foe that he had secretly always had felt fond of. There was nothing more he could do, but staying in the hospital was a negative impact on his psyche. Without notice, or implication he swiftly paced down the hall to find the exit. Although the man was a broken soul, a lack of faith, and nothing but a chip in his shoulder, he wore it around his neck. His faith shaken, yet still dedicated as he had ever been he never gave up on the one thing that had never let him go. The small beads were more than just beads. They were the symbol that defined him. It was the last piece of his mother, his homeland, his faith, and himself. Catholic boy, sweet little child how you have lost your way.