How Fitting

How fitting that this would be the day, the day of his birth, of his Savor’s birth, the day on which he had forsaken Him, and the day that everything had been taken from him would now be his day of judgment. He would have laughed at the unfairness of it all had he had enough breath to do so, but as it was he could barely breathe and he hadn’t uttered a sound in years.

He hadn’t always been like this, old, bitter, alone. No, once he’d been young and idealistic, full of life with friends and family that loved him and that he had loved deeply in return. He met the love of his life and they were happy even though children would never be in their future. But the world had started to change and with it so did he. Then the wars came and his unique skills were needed. He went willing knowing that he was doing a good thing. Then slowly the ends began to justify the means no matter the cost. His loved ones began to look at him with trepidation and disgust. He heard the whispered words of “butcher” and “monster” from the shadows when they thought he was out of earshot.

But he heard them, oh how he heard them. At first they cut through him, ripped his heart to shreds. Then he got angry. What right did they have to judge him when he was doing it for them, so that they could live, so they didn’t have to do what he did? But that didn’t matter. All they saw were his actions, and the reasons why no longer mattered. Then one day he woke up alone, the spot next to him, empty and cold, just like his heart suddenly felt because the one that had always stood beside him had finally left him.

But he got up and went through the motions, not talking to or looking at anyone. There was just one last mission that he had to take care of. Then they would all be safe and there would be no more killing at least not on his part. The mission went smoothly, too smoothly for his liking, but he just shrugged it off and went back home. Heh, home what a foreign concept that seemed those days, for how could someplace be called home when a person wasn’t welcome there.

As soon as the mansion came into view, he knew something was wrong. It was quite, too quiet, and most of the lights were out, an oddity at this early of an hour, particularly when he realized that it was Christmas and the children should still be creating a ruckus showing off their new toys and dinner should still be cooking.

He moved off the path into the cover of the trees as he made his way slowly towards the building, looking for anything else out of place, any threat. But then there was a deafening roar that he still imaged that he heard screaming through and an explosion over took the building. The last thing he remembered was flying through the air and pain before darkness took him.

When he awoke he didn’t have a clue where he was, who he was, didn’t know anything. All he knew was that he hurt. For days he drifted in and out of consciousness. Then one day he woke fully lucid and the memory of the explosion swamped him and all he could do was scream and scream and scream. Nurses and doctors came running and they gave him a sedative but still he screamed. He screamed until his throat bled and he could produce no more sound, but still he silently screamed.

Even decades later he was still screaming inside, but no one could hear him. No one asked because no one cared. And here he lay on this cursed day of his birth, the day they used to call Christmas.

When the robed figure finally pulled his hood down to reveal the face of his long dead love, he knew that there would be no last rites, no confession. He would never meet his maker. When his love held out his arms he drew his last breath and flowed from his body to embrace the figure knowing this was the last time he would ever see his beautiful face again. As the arms wrapped around him, he embraced his fate.