Post by Alessandro Moretti on Nov 11, 2014 19:12:41 GMT -5
Wolfe's Pond Park,
Staten Island,
New York,
11:46PM
Staten Island,
New York,
11:46PM
Whereisalice: I have to go.
“Perdonami.” Alessandro spoke with a mouth as dry as cotton. There was no bitterness in his voice and 'nor had resentment surfaced. Instead, acceptance stood forward from the darkness. He had come full circle on his life and had nothing to show for it. He had lost everything and the more he searched, the harder it was to find. He was out of ideas. He could not think of any conceivable course of action that would allow him to rectify all wrong-doings in his life. He had no-one to talk to. No friends or no family: - he was alone.
His appointment with the Company had not yielded the results he was hoping for and all other routes to forgiveness had either been taken from his clutch or had collapsed beneath his feet. He had been left him with an unimaginable hole in his heart; there was a void in his life and he could not fill it. It felt like a ship sinking deep into the depths of the dark ocean and Alessandro was locked in the cabin.
And as the ship tore itself apart from the pressure, Alessandro became submerged and though the water was cool and reassuring, his breaths were limited. It would only be a short while before he drowned. And time was running out.
Alessandro moved his mouse over to the red 'X' and left clicked. The chat window shrunk into nothingness. A spent sigh left his lips and he pushed himself up from the computer chair and looked around the room, scanning for his firearm. He found it lying on his bedside cabinet loaded with two rounds. He could not afford to purchase much ammo anymore. Money was wearing thin but had come to live with that; he did not care for material possession. He would not need it where he was headed.
Pulling on one of his jackets, he attached the firearm to a fastener on the inside lining and walked out – leaving his keys by the door.
It did not take too long for him to reach his destination; a quiet bench in the dark alongside the coast overlooking the ocean. Wolfe's Pond Beach, he believed was the name. Alessandro had ventured to the Staten Island beach on a few occasions. It was peaceful and was usually empty at this time. Here would be his resting place.
“Padre,” Alessandro spoke quietly, turning his gaze to the black sky, “Non posso vivere così.” And he could not. It was killing him from the inside and despite the pain he was feeling not being of physical origin, it felt as if he had been stabbed by a thousand swords and each blade had been surgically twisted to cause as much pain as possible.
“Mi aiuti.” He begged.
The Italian dropped his gaze to the floor and a single droplet of water fell onto the sand, “Please..”