Date: Thu, 11 May 2006 17:48:45 -0700 (PDT) From: Carmine Trust <burglary_yeras@yahoo.com> Subject: Dead To You "No help wanted. Thank you, but no thank you. I ask not forgiveness, God. I ask not mercy. For everything I got in this fucking life... I want to thank you. You made me so strong, you made me so cold, you made me so loveless. And I say these words here not bitterly, no. I say them from the heart. That's what I wanted to be, right? Always. Independent. Always. Stronger than others. So now my whole life I will pay. Thank You God. My Lord. You don't really care for me, do you? I thank thee all the same. All the same my Lord." I was astonished, to say the least. George Orson was the last person I expected to see in my grandmother's church. The man who made millions out of ruining other people's lives. The Devil's advocate, that's what they called him. The man who took the biggest criminals and won their cases. The man who manipulated the flow of dirty money all throughout this country. That man was kneeling down in my grandmother's church, hands clasped tightly, eyes were focused on the altar. To say the least I had the right to be a bit baffled. I got up ready to leave. Too many people were beginning to crowd the church and giving me dirty looks. I didn't want to cause a drama in the Lords House. I rushed out from between the wooden benches and as I lifted my gaze upwards I saw them. Both were blue. Not blue like the ocean. Not blue like the sky. Blue like an intense psychedelic paint mixed by a five year old. It was a split second that felt like at least 10 minutes. The face. Freckles. Leave. Freckles. Leave now. C'mon. Move the legs, yes that's it. No, don't turn around. Blue, blue. Freckles. Nose. Walk. People. Stares. Walk. Turn around. No. Blue, blue... blue, Freckles, nose turned upwards. Go. People. Glares. Blue, blue... blue. He ran out of the church like he was about to get burned. I caught his eyes for a split second and then before he left he turned around for a split bit. He had the biggest green eyes I have ever seen. Like pool green. Very dark green matched by his tan. He was wearing a black suit and I knew at that moment that this man would never make his way out of my mind. Blue, blue. Get rid of the blue. Fuck. I was outside, the fresh air hitting my face. I was breathing heavily. Blue, just get rid of the blue. This was too strong. Why is it that a moment can alter a person so much. Blue, that fucking blue. I knew that I wasn't going to get rid of that blue easily, if ever. "Mr. Orson?" I felt a familiar hand on my shoulder. Freddy. Chouffer. "Is everything all right sir?" "Yes, Freddy, everything is perfectly fine" "Would you like to leave now sir?" "Just give me 10 more minutes Fred. I need some fresh air" "As you wish sir," said my old beloved and only friend. He gave me that old concerned look and left. How long have I known Fred? Never once did he disappoint me. Never once did he question my actions. He was the only person I would trust with my life. The only person who knew me since I was 20 and barely on my rise to fame. He didn't despise what I've become. He didn't leave. He didn't stick for the money. I was his only family. He stayed for me. He stayed because he promised my mother and father that he would take care of me until the day he dies. Poor old chap, how he could stand me I didn't know. What I knew was that Freddy would be there when the rest of the world would turn their backs. "June?" "Yes, granny?" "Wasn't that Mr. Orson?" "I believe it was." "Ha. Now what would a monster like him be doing in our church. That man has no tact. To turn up here like nothing has happened. Like he wasn't the awful being that he is. That sinner will burn in hell for the rest of his life June." "God forgives us all, Granny. Even Mr. Orson has a chance for salvation." "Ha. Kids these days. You think you know everything. I say no. God will never permit this monster to enter his heavenly gates. That won't happen. No, never." What have I become? This is the question I've been asking myself for months. A businessman? A monster like most people thought? An evil person? Who am I? Why have I strived for this? When I was 20 I would have killed my own mother to succeed. At 25 my mother died from a sudden heart attack caused by her finding out how I got my first real money. At 29 I lost my sister to a tragic accident. She was making our family look ridiculous. She had to go. At 30 I raped someone. I got away with it. I never felt guilty even when I found out 3 days later after the accident that my victim sat in a bath filled with cold water for 30 hours with slashed wrists. At 34 I became a household name. At 35 I almost died. The father of my victim tried to assassinate me. He failed. He went to jail. I'm 37. It was a long road, very long. Bruises left all over the place. Broken pieces of everything scattered about my soul. I can't remember most of my past. I guess I subconsciously erased a good half of it. Like that quote from Blade Runner "Memories get lost, like tears in the rain" or something to that effect. I get up before the people start coming out. The sky is dark. The Lord himself is mad at me for disturbing the peace of his home. It starts drizzling. I get into my car just as the church door opens. Roll down the window. Wind. Wet. Feels good. Cold. Traffic. Church. People. Faces. Search, search. People. Car. Not moving, They pass. Search, search for the blue. Nothing. Cold. Face. Wet. Cold. Search. Blue, blue. Time stops. Blue, blue... blue. I stare. He stares back. I am aware of my Grandmother's voice chipping away to her old friends just behind me. I stare. He stares back. Now I know what Wilde must have felt when he first saw his Bosie. He was like a carved out painting. Perfect. Pure. Innocent. Clean. Like an unwritten piece of paper. Like a porcelain doll. There was such purity, such trust, yet permanent sadness to his eyes. Blond locks all over. A lithe frame covered by 2 sizes too small black coat. Freckles. I wondered if he had freckles all over that sickly pale body. I could imagine myself counting them everyday and never getting bored. Like a field of delightful red poppies. I would count each and every one. Kiss each and every one. I stare. He stares back. I am aware of my grandmothers voice no longer there. I turn around. She's still there hugging her friend goodbye. I turn back. He's gone. I only see the the back of the long black car as it takes a left turn. I feel a hand pushing me forward and a scratchy voice telling me to come back to life and get a move on. I start walking.