As I stand here, on the beach, staring up at the moon I can't but wonder what if? What if my mother hadn't gotten herself killed, would I still be who I am today? What if I hadn't needed rescuing, out of inch think blood in a shipping container, by one Harry Morgan aka Dad, would I still wear this mask he taught me to wear or would I have been a normal boy? What if my brother had been part of my life, would we still have been two sides of a coin, the same side? The serial killer side?
Glancing to my right I take a moment to stare at my sister bathed in moonlight, she always liked it here; Dad used to bring us when we were younger. She looks like some sort of Angel, if you believe in that kind of thing. More questions pop into my head as she looks up and smiles at me, the kind of smile that could meld ice. What if I hadn't felt such a connection to the ice truck killer, would things have still turned out this way, would the genius mastermind behind those artful murders still have turned out to be my forgotten, deranged, brother, Brian, would I have still killed him? What if I hadn't gotten there in time, would he have just killed Deb, made her another one of his bloodless art pieces just to send me a message? What if I had gone through with the brother bonding he had suggested and killed her, would I actually have felt something, felt guilt for killing my sister, my only family, for killing the one person I could have feelings for? I could love?
She's still smiling at me, why is she still smiling at me, certain aspects of human behavior still allude me? And then it hits me when she moves to my side and wraps her arms around me, molding herself against me, I can tell she's still afraid from the slight tremors her body is releasing. She just answered all my what if's in that single move. And as I wrap my arms around her and tuck her head under my chin, I smile, I actually smile, an honest to goodness, normal, smile. Because at the end of it all, after all the killing and all the blood, I'm still me. Dexter Morgan, son of Harry Morgan, understanding cop, and little brother to Debra Morgan, insecure detective. I'm still her only family just like she's mine.
Yes, that's me, Dexter, a forensics expert by day and a serial killer by night and I wouldn't have it any other way.
Numb..is that even a feeling
Death..is that really the end
Life..is that even real
Illusion..is that what we are
Blind..is that why we can't see the truth
Deaf..is that why we fail to listen to those around us
Tears..are they shed for nothing
Darkness..is it truly cold
Emptyness..is that what this is
Quiet..is that when we stop caring
Love..it doesn't exist...yet