Tinkering and Thinking
It was quiet in the lower floors of the Gallery as V tinkered nonchalantly with a particular piece of equipment. There was no more need for any destruction, no more killing. But to keep his mind busy, he made bombs and poisons simply because that was all he had programmed himself to do for the past twenty years. Old habits died hard. A bit more dangerous than reading a book, but books conjured up other things than merely the stories within their pages; he wasn't able to focus on the words anyway. His mind kept creeping to the upper floors where there was nothing there but the silent museum-like displays, elaborate tapestries and iconic busts and statues, not to mention the multitude of books resting neatly in their shelves or stacked upon the floor. Even the piano, telly and his beloved jukebox remained somber in their stillness. However, a few days ago, such strained silence was non-existent as the Gallery was alive with her light foot falls, her voice, god, her very presence. They were parted again, and the solitude, now, was unnerving. He vaguely remembered a life before her but after having met on that auspicious night so many months ago, he couldn't fathom any day without her. Granted, he had been without her for two months before and it nearly crippled him. His mind certainly had a roller coaster ride of a terrible time. But as with all train tracks, no matter the dizzying twists and turns, it all lead to a final destination.
The slightest fold around his finger was the only evidence of the ring he wore, safely concealed beneath the leather of the glove. The ceremony had been quiet, for the most part, but serious, as he had wanted it. They were joined through holy matrimony, a feat V never imagined he'd ever experience and to the woman he had always loved and would forever love. It was miraculous, V thought, positively extraordinary in such precise execution of a vast orchestra such as this. The pieces perfectly aligned, the events hurtling and charging down their path, but, as he knew only too well, were really falling into place.
A soft but pronounced click broke the stillness and V was once again brought out of his thoughts as he stared at the fifth bomb he had been absently constructing for no reason than to relieve him of the incessant metaphorical noise of his imagining. Nothing good ever came from pondering in solitude's sanctuary. It lead to dark things that V would gladly leave on the dusty, cob-webbed floor. He didn't want to worry of her but it was instinct than a conscious choice to do so. He set the screwdriver down on the table and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. It was only an hour until he had grown tired of watching people go about their day-to-day meanderings on the numerous screens covering an entire wall within that particular room on this floor, but not before he had tended to the roses or before he had mixed up a few concoctions for no particular reason than to ward off fatigue and concern. Amidst his wanderings, his feet had finally led him to the table he now sat at as he diligently decorated its surface with dangerous ornaments.
He had no idea what the time was. But his body was letting him know that he was extremely fatigued, even if he was too stubborn to heed it. He would certainly try to hold it off for as long as he could. The tips of his fingers absently caressed over the ring, lost in thought again, not trying to thwart it with menial habits anymore. Her words would always drift into his mind, as if giving him advice when needed at that precise moment.
The ghost of a smile pulled at his lips and he closed his tired eyes. He recalled the many times he would memorize her face and he felt his head roll back, his body slowly leaning back in the chair, reveling in the image behind his eyes. That familiar ache in his chest slowly returned as a breath passed from his lips. He wondered if she was alright, how she was doing. He fervently counted the days when she would be home. He expected her quite soon, actually. But tonight would not be it, much to his dismay. He felt empty, lost. He countered it with thoughts of the future -- and something quite grand that he had prepared; the idea weaving and slowly being constructed in his mind. It was still too soon yet for any execution of such caliber.
He was planning again, and coupled with thought was quite the recipe for a deeply impending disaster. He had been so joyous, elated, and giddy at the mere thought of it that he failed to recall the numerous other times he had planned for things of which the results of such plans left a lot to be desired. It wasn't long before his happy reverie began to get clouded with doubt and second-guesses. If he had to, he would will it to work in his favor for it was the only thing sustaining him through such long days. He opened his eyes at last, a sigh escaping his lips as he heavily stood up. V was sure the night air would cure him of the weariness that was cast over him, like a net. Stepping out of the room, he slowly pulled the door closed, enshrouding his creations in darkness.