Last Rites

Disclaimer.Not mine

Spoilers-Sleep tight

Don't hate me for what I did, for as I lie here, with my own blood on my hands, I realise that I have done this to myself. For all my good intentions, and for all my solemn vows to protect, I have sealed my own doom. I held pure innocence in my hands, and I will die here, now, because I failed to do what I so desperately wanted to do. Good intentions mean nothing when they cannot be fulfilled.

I drank from the sacrificial cup of self-riteousness, and for this mortal sin, I will take my final bows. I will die as I have lived; worthlessly, undignified and all alone. I dare not raise my hands in prayer, lest I bring about my inevitable death before I have had time to crack the whip down upon my own back. It's only what I deserve. Allow me the one final dignity of torturing myself one last time, the way I always did. Save them the trouble. I never deserved their backing. I never deserved to lead them. They are champions, and I? I am their haggard nag, lagging behind, gasping for breath. I was the thorn in their side. I was the element of weakness in their strong, unbreakable front. I was the crack in their steel; the faulty chain. I am better off dead.

Don't hate me for what I have become, for I no longer hold my pieces together. Fragile, torn and weak, I should've known better than to trust myself. When has anyone ever put their trust in me? Why did I deserve their confidence? When did I prove myself worthy of their faith? When I opened my mind to the influence of a woman-hating, maniacal sociopath, or when I stood in the line of fire, my inane naivety practically inviting that bullet to pierce my skin and make me bleed, just as I am doing now?

Don't despise me for how I am. I don't wish to blame my being on my tortured childhood, or my years of abuse at the hands of a man who should've known better. This is not a court of law. There are no juries to impress, there is only my conscience to hang, draw and quarter me. Do not despise me for placing my trust in the weak or the bad, because my judgement is tainted. My convictions are as blind as my blurring, unseeing eyes. I try to see the good in people, and I know that strikes me down. Don't condemn me for this. Don't condemn me for my insatiable hope…because my bad judgement lifted a knife and slit my throat only moments ago, taking precious cargo from me and effectively reproving me to lower than the fool I always was. Intentions were good, I repeat, after all…

…The father will kill the son

I have experienced these words before. The father will kill the son…Wyndham-Pryce Snr will murder every last element of his son before he has a chance to grow, chipping away at his life with every insult and every blow, killing the man he could've been and creating the man he is today. Once again, my complex got the better of me, only this time will be the last. This time, there will be no morning after to ponder. There will be no apologies. What I have done goes beyond apology. There is every right to hate me, for I have committed a mortal crime. Give me the death penalty without the jury, for I sentence myself. I sentence myself to purgatory without redemption. I lost a miracle. What is the punishment for that?

The father will kill the son. I truly believed that, the way only I could. Nobody thinks a father is capable of murdering their child, but I have seen the capability with my own eyes. My own, blind, stupid eyes. Gouge them out, for they have seen too much. Cut off my hands, because they grasp but never grip. Cut of my head, because my thoughts and intentions are flawed and useless. Just. Like. Me. What will happen to the child, now? What fate have I condemned him to? Will he die, bleeding in the darkness, just as I?

I want to say goodbye, now. Goodbye to the world which I never belonged in. Goodbye to the people I loved, yet did not deserve. Goodbye to the seer, whose worth by far outweighs her fault. Goodbye to the fighter who once took me on as a brother, yet who I could never in a million years live up to, the bumbling fool that I am. Goodbye to my beautiful Fred, who survived the blackened enclosure far better than I did, and who could never had brought herself to love me. Goodbye, Angel, who I failed in a way one could never imagine, and for who I will suffer for an eternity. May you find your redemption one day. Fight the good fight, Angel, for you deserve your freedom.

Goodbye to Connor, the innocent child I sent to death, like a lamb to the slaughter. A miracle, yet a martyr for the cause. I am no martyr. I am merely dying.

As I lift my hands away from my gaping throat, I welcome death eternal. No wreaths and petals for this man. Heaven is a lifetime away from me…and I shall fade out the way that is only proper. Meaninglessly and alone.