Every Mile A Memory
A Theif Lord FanFiction
Country Roads, old theatre marquee signs;
Parkin' lots, and billboards flyin' by.
Scipio was back at the old theatre for the first time in years. He could almost see the ghosts of his memories scampering through the windows and peering around corners. Echoes of forgotten jokes and heated arguments bounced back at him. The place had become so run down by now it was hard to believe it had ever been the glorious Star Palace he remembered it as. He was tempted to enter through his secret passage, but decided against it. His decision to leave Venice was hard enough as it was. He didn't need sentimental childhood memories calling him back. So he walked onward, leaving the old hideout behind him.
Spanish moss, little hick town squares;
Wild roses on a river bank: girl it's almost like you're there
Roaming the streets of Venice, Scipio realized that it was unusually empty. He was grateful for the solitude. It gave him the chance to notice things he usually didn't see: the sun gleaming off the gondolas, an intricate carving on a lime stone building, and the eeriness of a mask display in a shadowy shop window. Small things that he wanted to remember.
There were a few die hard vendors still hanging around St. Mark's Square. Tourists were easy to spot, using the magnificent evening to take their pictures. Citizens walked by, not paying attention to the beauty of their surroundings. The light shifted a degree, turning the canal into a river of gold and setting a flowerbox of roses aflame with a passionate red. The sight reminded him of Hornet for some reason. She was becoming lovelier the older she grew, a rose in bloom. Scipio couldn't help but admire her. It wasn't right though. By getting on the merry-go-round he'd not only chosen to sacrifice his childhood, but to give her up. He was much older than her. What kind of a creeper would she think he was if she knew? She was better off with Prosper.
Oh, every mile, a memory; every song, another scene,
From some old movie going back in time you and me.
He was at the train station now. There was nothing left for him here. At first the thrill of finally being grown up had distracted him from thinking about the things he missed. His work with Victor occupied most of his time. But every once and awhile he had gotten a chance to meet up with his old friends. It was then that he realized how different things were between them. Scipio could no longer participate in their escapades. It was awkward when he tried to include himself in their inside jokes. They were all still warm and friendly with him, but he was no longer one of them as he used to be. He hadn't realized that a thing like age could put up a barrier between them, but it had. Especially with Bo, who was young enough to still be outright with his feelings.
Thinking of Bo brought back memories of the small boy. Scipio had been his idol. He had taught him the thrill of thievery. He could still picture the boy's smile as he admired the trinkets Scipio brought to him. It had always amazed him at how easy it was to please young children. The slightest notion gave them such joy. Now Bo's blonde curls were darker and cut short. School was improving his speech.
On a recent visit of his, Scipio had asked to join in a board game between Prosper and Bo. Bo had replied "No Mr. Scipio, you're grown up now. Go and talk boring stuff with Ida and Victor." Prosper had hastily apologized for Bo and incorporated Scipio into the game.
Thing were very different now. Scipio couldn't stay and watch himself drift away from the most important people in his life.
Every day, a page turned down; every night, a lonesome sound,
Like a freight train rollin' through my dreams:
Every mile, a memory.
The train was jostled by a sudden bump. It knocked Scipio's head against his window. The sharp pain woke him out of his doze. He didn't know what was worse, the painful memories or the dreams sad enough to make him want to cry. Either way he was awake now. Everything seemed to give him a reason to reminisce. The barf bag tucked into the seat pocket got him thinking about the time Riccio and Mosca had eaten some bad food. They'd spent the night throwing up in the bathroom. That had been some quality time with his friends.
The miles flashed by, each one brining new waves of memories. It seemed that the farther he got the more the thoughts seemed to follow him.
Red sun down, out across the western sky,
Takes me back to the fire in your eyes.
Several hours had passed. He was on a different train now. He didn't know exactly where he was going. There had to be someplace far away enough that the memories couldn't find him.
Right now he was being tortured by the recognition of the day his identity was revealed. He'd felt so lost. The empire of lies he'd built around himself came tumbling to the ground. The shame and guilt came to him later, as he watched the hurt and mistrust that filled his friends. He'd been just as angry at himself as they'd been at him. If only he could have been the great Thief Lord he'd made himself out to be. Maybe then he wouldn't be in this situation at all.
Texas stars in a purple night.
Not seein' 'em with you baby: oh, they never do look right, no.
Most of the people surrounding him were asleep by now. More thoughts of Hornet slipped into his mind. The Thief Lord would have been good for her, but he didn't exist. Even Scipio would have done anything he could to please her, but that Scipio was gone too. They had been so young. He hadn't understood much of what he felt, but now he knew. The emotions were tinged with a bit of disgust. The irrational feelings had followed him into his older self. Now they were no longer filled with boyish hope, just empty if-only's and what-if's.
Funny how no matter where I run,
Round every bend I only see,
Just how far I haven't come.
He didn't know what time it was. He didn't know what train station he was sitting in. All he knew was that this plan wasn't working. The farther he got the more he saw. His mistakes were so clear now. If he had the chance to do it all over he knew that he could fix them. But life wasn't like that. You got one shot at it, and if you messed up you had to live with it.
He had hoped that he would find somewhere to start over new. That he would forget, or that he could at least bear the weight of his past choices. It was catching up with him. He sat with his head in his hands and watched people avoid him. He must have looked awful after spending the night-could it have really only been that long?-on the train. Well let them stare then! It didn't matter anymore.
Every mile, a memory; every song, another scene,
From some old movie going back in time,
Every day, a page turned down; every night, a lonesome sound,
Like a freight train rollin' through my dreams:
He would just have to keep moving, watching the miles fly by, trying to outrun himself, and never looking back.
Every mile, a memory;
Every mile, a memory;
Every mile, a memory.