Post by tearing on Jul 14, 2012 4:31:17 GMT -5
| [atrb=valign,top][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][STYLE=background-color: #fff; padding: 10px; font-family: arial narrow; font-size: 25px; color: #333; line-height: 25px; letter-spacing: -2px; height: 130px; border-right: 5px solid #333;]BEEN BLIND & I CAN NEVER LEAVE THE PAST [STYLE=float: left; padding-top: 10px;]  [STYLE=background: url(http://i.imgur.com/o5Hix.png); width: 48px; height: 100px; float: right; margin-top: -103px; margin-left: 4px;] [/style][/style][/STYLE][STYLE=background-color: #fff; width: 360px; padding: 10px; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 10px; color: #494949; border-right: 5px solid #333; text-align: justify; padding-top: 0px;]The weather must have been the most memorable detail out of the whole ceremony. The frost chilled him to the bone, yet the numbness made him feel nothing more. The weather report said it would be cloudy.The weather report was wrong. Live fast, die young; a type of philosophy that defined his current line of business. It was a subject sensitive to the ears of the masses, often painted as glamorous and exciting; but these days, even he too was no different, suffering from the monotonous routine that had slowly become an unavoidable part of life. You chose this life, he'd tell himself, often, as he stared at himself in front of the mirror every time before he thought he might have to put a bullet through a man's head, so you'd better see it through. He blinked; twice. His eyes were getting dry. Typical of a man like Virgil to die in the middle of winter, of all seasons. A simple mistake is but a costly one. Including himself, there were a total of five people who knew the truth behind the Don's death. Today was just a show. Frankly, he wouldn't be here, allowing his shoes to crunch through the mid December frost that seemed to have infected the grass he was standing on, if he didn't have to meet a certain person. Vivien had already said goodbye. On the day of the Don's death, he used the master key and unlocked his room door, pulled open his desk draw and with his slim, beaten fingers, tipped the packet of cigarettes at an angle, and used another finger to carefully remove it from the pack. The cigarette, when lit up with the Don's old ruby red lighter, tasted sweet. With an odd, bitter tang to it. Slipping Vivien's final packet of cigarettes into his pocket along with his little souvenir, he then took out the tobacco stick and exhaled, watching a thin glaze of fog sinking into the dense air. Maybe if he was ten years younger, he'd cry a little. Maybe if he was ten years younger, and instead of following, he would have done what he should have done, he wouldn't be here in the first place. But Virgil would be sad. Vivien couldn't allow his brother to die alone in this wretched city. (Everyone knew, in this line of work, that you'd die eventually. The Don just happened to die young. Somehow, Vivien was no longer sad, nor bitter about this any more. He had said his goodbyes. That was enough.) The man with the light blond, almost snowy hair leant against the tree, one ear listening to the radio, the other was drowning out the voice of the vicar, and the ones in the dark, crisp, soulless suits... just like himself, funnily enough. He would laugh if he could've managed it. “Ferravida.” Come his announcement of his presence. Vivien did not move, knowing that the man he once knew when they were boys would give him to time of day he was seeking. As far as he could remember, Ferravida had been an untainted soul. He had been blessed with a positivity Vivien would never dream to have. The blonde man who told stories of people he once knew, mistakes he once made, and tales he once shared did not smile. He merely dipped his head lightly, eyes not even glancing toward the ceremony that was taking place. Only several families had been invited. Vivien made sure the Ferravidas were amongst the very few. It was then did he finally step out from his hiding place. “This may seem a little sudden, but I need to talk to you.” There were a lot of other words that could have been supplied in those speech marks. 'I missed you.' 'It's been a while, hasn't it?' 'I'm glad you decided to come.' But Vivien knew better than to waste time. Especially now, when he didn't have much of it left. Nevi... or could he still call him that again? Vivien was right. Maybe it was for old times sake, but the man certainly did stop and give him the time of day. Again, Vivien would have smiled, if he could manage such a feat. “I have something to ask of you.” Vivien simply stated, eyes looking straight into the slightly older man, while trying to find that spark Vivien never missed a good ten years ago. “What is it? Do we need to talk in private?” There was a small hint of concern. Was that all polite speech too? Guessing was tiring. “... I don't think we need to.” Vivien spoke, quietly, in his now slightly accented Italian. French was a tongue he long lost his passion for. Passion was a word that managed to separate itself from his dictionary. “So what is it?” His impatience seeped through his simple patterns of speech. Perhaps it was just as he thought. Even after all those years, Ferravida never quite forgave him for the existence of his brother. He liked his lips, unsure how to make his approach. Years of experience stopped him from hesitating for too long. “You see her?” He pulled out a photograph from his pocket, slightly creased from being in his palm. “She's my daughter. Isn't she beautiful? She's the only girl I've ever loved.” He mentioned, a small huff, accompanied with a tiny smile. Vivien hated speaking more than several sentences. It was a form of torture. “...You have a daughter?” Ferravida asked, eyes and voice filled with disbelief. “...She's beautiful, but why are you bragging about her, exactly?” Vivien shook his head. “You mistake me. I would like to ask... if it's not too much trouble... if I could hand her over to you.” It was then Ferravida's gaze darkened, ever so slightly. “And why, if you love her so much, would you want to possibly give her away?” A valid reason. “She's safer away from here.” Was all he said, as opposed to all the things he could have said: 'This place will go up in flames.' 'It doesn't matter if she won't remember me. It's enough for me if she'll live.' 'How could fifty per cent of my dna produce that? God is far too kind to me.' But Ferravida is no old friend. Friends don't exist in his line of work. Vivien should have been well aware of this, yet a small part of him did not change, even a little, from his eighteen year old self. “She's waiting in a car. You'll find her. Please, I'm begging you. Love her in my place.” His voice trembled, only audible to the trained ear. The soft plead could only be heard by the wind, and the man he once knew. With his fingers infected with his nervousness, they took out another one of Virgil's favourite brand of 'cancer sticks' and lit it, tasting the sweetness, and the bitterness in his mouth, all over again. He turned and walked away, holding whatever was left of his feeble pride along with him. His steps were heavy, his eyelids weighed him down, but to hell with all of that. She was in better hands now.[/style] | [atrb=valign,top][atrb=style, width: 100px;][STYLE=background-color: #333; padding: 10px; font-family: arial narrow; font-size: 25px; color: #fff; line-height: 25px; letter-spacing: -2px; text-align: center;]BEHIND[/STYLE][STYLE=background-color: #333; padding-right: 5px; padding-bottom: 5px;][/style] |
