Painkillers
I could hear her words through the sound of the rain, and the gunshots and screams in my head.
"God... I became such a damsel in distress." She said.
But yet, I hadn't became the knight on the white horse. I was the hollow reflection of what that knight would've looked like if he was something other than a fairy tale character. I was, once again, losing her.
It was almost morning. The need aroused in me once again. I needed painkillers to soothe down the pain. I needed painkillers, or a cold gun to shoot myself in the head, blasting the pain apart.
"Mona..." I could let out, as she looked at me with her sparkling eyes. She was so beautiful. God knows I didn't want to lose her.
But a voice in my head knew better than that, it said;
"Everyone you touch dies."
"You're a real angel, Max." she repeated.
I was an angel. I was a hollow angel. A fallen angel. Everything but that celestial being with wings which was able to fly. I was able to fall, and fool myself on the way down, telling myself that, there was still a chance I could find peace.
Peace in this world was forever dead.
My name is Max Payne.
Another New York minute in my life is about to end.
This is where she is dying on me. Again.
"Mona..." I repeated, "Thanks." "For what?" she asked, I could see her struggle to stay. "For being there. Dead or not, pushing in was all a lost cause until you came." "That's unlike you Max... Now, hotshot, as much as I hate to say it, I gotta go. The Reaper is waiting on me." "Don't be afraid." I said, as if it was still a legit argument, "He doesn't see you. Just fly, Mona, just fly."
Even in her Death, she was my last vine. The only thing I could hold onto. In this hurricane, all I could get take out was a piece of sanity. We had walked the same path until her side of the road was suddenly cut short with a grave.
Dear God, she smiled like an angel...
...Falling from grace.
The rain continued to fall outside of the glass. The monstrous shapes it drew on the walls of this quiet manor were the ghosts who continued to laugh at me.
The manor had fallen silent. Everyone but me were dead, decaying on the surface. The rain outside was only a brief, melancholic choir to my sorrow. The rain knew. The rain understood.
I looked out from the window, still on my knees, and saw myself lying dead in the middle of the clearing outside. God knows I wished to. God knows I tried to.
Because living while others were gone, was not justifiable. Getting the revenge of a dead wife and daughter, and claiming the revenge of betrayal was.
I ran my bloodstained hands through my whitening hair. It was the finality now; I had gotten the revenge of my killed family, and my one-eyed messiah's too.
But what about me?
Whom could I cut the bill on my destroyed life? Was there anyone whom I could make pay? To play was to pay, but I hadn't found the real suspect yet.
The real suspect was still out there somewhere.
I managed to push myself onto my feet and I limped to the mirror nearby. I only wanted to see something. I only wanted to know something.
Could I have done something different?
Something, sometime, someway, somewhere, somehow?
I found the mirror, and looked at myself. My eyes were dark. My hair was going white. The lightning crashing was drawing shadows into my eyes. And I stared into my own eyes...
... To catch a glimpse of the real killer.
Max Payne was the real suspect of the case.
I heard myself speaking,
"Your honor, Max Payne before you is a criminal. He is guilty with the charges of infidelity, murder, heresy, the abuse of an honored duty, and stealing medicine to soothe his madness down."
"Now who is to stand up for this man, respected members of the jury? Who will stand up for this man? Himself? He has given up on that years ago."
"If I may, your honor," Max Payne had risen, "I have no excuses. I am the one to blame. My crime still stains my hands. I was the one that should've died thousands of times, but yet I'm alive while the others died once and got away. Jim Bravura, Alfred Woden, both respectable members of the society, and Vladmir Lem, Vinnie Gognitti, Jack Lupino, Finito Brothers, Boris Dime, Angelo Punchinello, The Trio, Mona Sax, Michelle Payne, Alexis Payne, Alex Balder, Detective Jane Winterson remain dead, the dues of theirs are put to my debt."
"Objection, your honor, Max Payne is not allowed to stand for himself!"
"But what will Max Payne do, if not to stand up for himself?"
"I will punish who did this."
"...And justified violence for all."
The gun in my hand crashed on the mirror, and with the sound of the gavel, the shards fell down. I could see my reflection in them. They showed how I was supposed to be: broken.
The pain in my head spread out to my body, and it was not receding. I was going numb. I let out scream, out of madness...
... It just echoed back at me.
No one was there.
I was ready to fall, but first, I had to soothe the pain down. I reached down to my pocked and pulled out the painkillers. I took two of the pills and then put them back where they belonged.
The night was still ascending. The rain was still falling.
The night had three pieces. One; the beginning, in which you are just realizing how dark it's starting to get. Two; the midnight, the time when you realize that the night is thick and heavy, and it has fallen onto you with it's load. Three; the twilight, dawn. Where you are just so sick and tired of everything that you either wish to die or for the sun to rise.
I let go of the gun, slowly. It fell to the floor and it's sound of falling echoed throughout the manor. I fell on my knees, right beside the gun.
"Michelle... Mona..." I could let out, barely aware of my own mouth speaking.
I fell.
I had a dream of my wife.
She was dead.
But it was alright.
Then I had a dream of Mona.
She was dead too.
But it didn't matter anymore.
I could hear her words through the sound of the rain, and the gunshots and screams in my head.
"God... I became such a damsel in distress." She said.
But yet, I hadn't became the knight on the white horse. I was the hollow reflection of what that knight would've looked like if he was something other than a fairy tale character. I was, once again, losing her.
It was almost morning. The need aroused in me once again. I needed painkillers to soothe down the pain. I needed painkillers, or a cold gun to shoot myself in the head, blasting the pain apart.
"Mona..." I could let out, as she looked at me with her sparkling eyes. She was so beautiful. God knows I didn't want to lose her.
But a voice in my head knew better than that, it said;
"Everyone you touch dies."
"You're a real angel, Max." she repeated.
I was an angel. I was a hollow angel. A fallen angel. Everything but that celestial being with wings which was able to fly. I was able to fall, and fool myself on the way down, telling myself that, there was still a chance I could find peace.
Peace in this world was forever dead.
My name is Max Payne.
Another New York minute in my life is about to end.
This is where she is dying on me. Again.
"Mona..." I repeated, "Thanks." "For what?" she asked, I could see her struggle to stay. "For being there. Dead or not, pushing in was all a lost cause until you came." "That's unlike you Max... Now, hotshot, as much as I hate to say it, I gotta go. The Reaper is waiting on me." "Don't be afraid." I said, as if it was still a legit argument, "He doesn't see you. Just fly, Mona, just fly."
Even in her Death, she was my last vine. The only thing I could hold onto. In this hurricane, all I could get take out was a piece of sanity. We had walked the same path until her side of the road was suddenly cut short with a grave.
Dear God, she smiled like an angel...
...Falling from grace.
The rain continued to fall outside of the glass. The monstrous shapes it drew on the walls of this quiet manor were the ghosts who continued to laugh at me.
The manor had fallen silent. Everyone but me were dead, decaying on the surface. The rain outside was only a brief, melancholic choir to my sorrow. The rain knew. The rain understood.
I looked out from the window, still on my knees, and saw myself lying dead in the middle of the clearing outside. God knows I wished to. God knows I tried to.
Because living while others were gone, was not justifiable. Getting the revenge of a dead wife and daughter, and claiming the revenge of betrayal was.
I ran my bloodstained hands through my whitening hair. It was the finality now; I had gotten the revenge of my killed family, and my one-eyed messiah's too.
But what about me?
Whom could I cut the bill on my destroyed life? Was there anyone whom I could make pay? To play was to pay, but I hadn't found the real suspect yet.
The real suspect was still out there somewhere.
I managed to push myself onto my feet and I limped to the mirror nearby. I only wanted to see something. I only wanted to know something.
Could I have done something different?
Something, sometime, someway, somewhere, somehow?
I found the mirror, and looked at myself. My eyes were dark. My hair was going white. The lightning crashing was drawing shadows into my eyes. And I stared into my own eyes...
... To catch a glimpse of the real killer.
Max Payne was the real suspect of the case.
I heard myself speaking,
"Your honor, Max Payne before you is a criminal. He is guilty with the charges of infidelity, murder, heresy, the abuse of an honored duty, and stealing medicine to soothe his madness down."
"Now who is to stand up for this man, respected members of the jury? Who will stand up for this man? Himself? He has given up on that years ago."
"If I may, your honor," Max Payne had risen, "I have no excuses. I am the one to blame. My crime still stains my hands. I was the one that should've died thousands of times, but yet I'm alive while the others died once and got away. Jim Bravura, Alfred Woden, both respectable members of the society, and Vladmir Lem, Vinnie Gognitti, Jack Lupino, Finito Brothers, Boris Dime, Angelo Punchinello, The Trio, Mona Sax, Michelle Payne, Alexis Payne, Alex Balder, Detective Jane Winterson remain dead, the dues of theirs are put to my debt."
"Objection, your honor, Max Payne is not allowed to stand for himself!"
"But what will Max Payne do, if not to stand up for himself?"
"I will punish who did this."
"...And justified violence for all."
The gun in my hand crashed on the mirror, and with the sound of the gavel, the shards fell down. I could see my reflection in them. They showed how I was supposed to be: broken.
The pain in my head spread out to my body, and it was not receding. I was going numb. I let out scream, out of madness...
... It just echoed back at me.
No one was there.
I was ready to fall, but first, I had to soothe the pain down. I reached down to my pocked and pulled out the painkillers. I took two of the pills and then put them back where they belonged.
The night was still ascending. The rain was still falling.
The night had three pieces. One; the beginning, in which you are just realizing how dark it's starting to get. Two; the midnight, the time when you realize that the night is thick and heavy, and it has fallen onto you with it's load. Three; the twilight, dawn. Where you are just so sick and tired of everything that you either wish to die or for the sun to rise.
I let go of the gun, slowly. It fell to the floor and it's sound of falling echoed throughout the manor. I fell on my knees, right beside the gun.
"Michelle... Mona..." I could let out, barely aware of my own mouth speaking.
I fell.
I had a dream of my wife.
She was dead.
But it was alright.
Then I had a dream of Mona.
She was dead too.
But it didn't matter anymore.