The Da Vinci Code- Silas 063 Past
Title: Born a Sinner, Die a Sinner
Fandom: The Da Vinci Code
Characters: Silas
Prompt: 063
Word Count: 920
Rating: PG-15 for some violent imagery
Summary: Silas remembers a violent past he hoped he was free from.
Author's Notes: Warnings for self-harm. Also it's cross posted to a few places. Oh and comments are love.
Silas knelt before the huge crucifix on the wall of his room and genuflected several times, his eyes focused Christ’s face as he reached out for The Discipline that lay beside the canvas mat that served as his bed.
“Forgive me Lord for I have sinned,” he muttered raising the knotted rope high above his head and bringing it down against his naked back harder than he had done before. The jolts of fire like pain shooting up his back caused his whole body to shudder and spasm with pain but he brought The Discipline back up and hit himself again, his eyes focused on the cross, getting strength from Christ, knowing everything he had suffered and yet still survived. Another lash and he cried out in pain, but still he could not stop, he had sinned in the worse possible ways today, four men lay dead at his hand, and even though he knew it was for a just cause that also knew that he must be punished. His soul had to cleansed of his sins and he knew this was the only way to do that. He bought the rope up once more and summoning all of his considerable strength lashed himself once more, the searing pain causing him to collapse against the hard wood floor, as he dropped The Disciple, now bright red with his fresh blood, on to the floor beside him.
His vision was blurred by the pain and the tears in his eyes, tears of pain and anguish over what he had done, as he raised his head and stared intently at the crucifix again. “Forgive me Lord, cleanse me of my sins, deliver me from evil,” he begged, feeling the familiar warmth as the rivulets of blood dripped down his ghost white flesh and gathered in the small of his back. He knew his back could take no more lashings, but he also knew the pain he had just inflicted on himself was not enough, not for the things he had done today. Reaching down he tightened his cilice hissing as the barbs cut into his thigh. Pain is good he reminded himself.
Feeling too light headed to stand, he instead crawled to his bed and laid on his stomach, the fresh wounds on his back stinging too much to allow him to lie on his back. Silas closed his eyes and wondered if this was what he truly was, a murderer, if it was what he was born to be. He had thought his past was behind him when he had found the Bishop, that finally he could live a safe and peaceful life in the service of God but the possibility of lies being told about the faith had put a stop to that idea when he had been ordered to discover the whereabouts of the keystone by any means necessary. His past, it seemed, had come back to haunt him.
As he laid on the thin mat closing his eyes, it occurred to Silas how odd it was that he couldn’t remember his birth name and yet he remembered certain events from that period of his life as if they happened yesterday.
He was a small child, scrawny even and yet he stood up to his father whenever he beat his mother which he frequently did. It was all his fault after all, he was an embarrassment to his father’s name, a curse on the family. Silas knew his father hated him for what he was, an albino and that he blamed his mother for his condition. He couldn’t stand the guilt and so he took the beatings just as regularly as she did in a futile effort to save her from them.
At the age of seven his father got carried away with the beatings and as Silas lay in bed he heard the fight, his mother screaming at his father to stop, to leave her alone, but before Silas had been able to move out of his bed the screaming turned to deathly silence and he knew something was drastically wrong.
Quietly he crept down the stairs and found his mother laying there, not breathing and covered in blood. A fear and guilt gripped him, a voice told him to run, to save himself but a louder voice argued, this was all his fault and his father could not get away with what he had done. The guilt and anger won out and he moved slowly into the kitchen and found a large knife. Taking the knife he walked as if on auto pilot to his parents bedroom where his father had passed out drunk, his mother’s blood still on his hands. He must pay, the voice in his head cried and the fury within him burst out as his bought the knife down into his father’s back with all the strength he had in his tiny body, not stopping until he was sure his father was dead. Dropping the knife to the floor he looked at his father, his heart beating hard in his chest then ran out into the night where he began his new life as an orphan and runaway on the streets of Marseilles.
“I was born a sinner and will die one,” Silas muttered with a great sadness, opening his eyes. His past had been filled with violence and now so was his present, he could only hope when the time of judgement came God would see that his heart was pure.
Fandom: The Da Vinci Code
Characters: Silas
Prompt: 063
Word Count: 920
Rating: PG-15 for some violent imagery
Summary: Silas remembers a violent past he hoped he was free from.
Author's Notes: Warnings for self-harm. Also it's cross posted to a few places. Oh and comments are love.
Silas knelt before the huge crucifix on the wall of his room and genuflected several times, his eyes focused Christ’s face as he reached out for The Discipline that lay beside the canvas mat that served as his bed.
“Forgive me Lord for I have sinned,” he muttered raising the knotted rope high above his head and bringing it down against his naked back harder than he had done before. The jolts of fire like pain shooting up his back caused his whole body to shudder and spasm with pain but he brought The Discipline back up and hit himself again, his eyes focused on the cross, getting strength from Christ, knowing everything he had suffered and yet still survived. Another lash and he cried out in pain, but still he could not stop, he had sinned in the worse possible ways today, four men lay dead at his hand, and even though he knew it was for a just cause that also knew that he must be punished. His soul had to cleansed of his sins and he knew this was the only way to do that. He bought the rope up once more and summoning all of his considerable strength lashed himself once more, the searing pain causing him to collapse against the hard wood floor, as he dropped The Disciple, now bright red with his fresh blood, on to the floor beside him.
His vision was blurred by the pain and the tears in his eyes, tears of pain and anguish over what he had done, as he raised his head and stared intently at the crucifix again. “Forgive me Lord, cleanse me of my sins, deliver me from evil,” he begged, feeling the familiar warmth as the rivulets of blood dripped down his ghost white flesh and gathered in the small of his back. He knew his back could take no more lashings, but he also knew the pain he had just inflicted on himself was not enough, not for the things he had done today. Reaching down he tightened his cilice hissing as the barbs cut into his thigh. Pain is good he reminded himself.
Feeling too light headed to stand, he instead crawled to his bed and laid on his stomach, the fresh wounds on his back stinging too much to allow him to lie on his back. Silas closed his eyes and wondered if this was what he truly was, a murderer, if it was what he was born to be. He had thought his past was behind him when he had found the Bishop, that finally he could live a safe and peaceful life in the service of God but the possibility of lies being told about the faith had put a stop to that idea when he had been ordered to discover the whereabouts of the keystone by any means necessary. His past, it seemed, had come back to haunt him.
As he laid on the thin mat closing his eyes, it occurred to Silas how odd it was that he couldn’t remember his birth name and yet he remembered certain events from that period of his life as if they happened yesterday.
He was a small child, scrawny even and yet he stood up to his father whenever he beat his mother which he frequently did. It was all his fault after all, he was an embarrassment to his father’s name, a curse on the family. Silas knew his father hated him for what he was, an albino and that he blamed his mother for his condition. He couldn’t stand the guilt and so he took the beatings just as regularly as she did in a futile effort to save her from them.
At the age of seven his father got carried away with the beatings and as Silas lay in bed he heard the fight, his mother screaming at his father to stop, to leave her alone, but before Silas had been able to move out of his bed the screaming turned to deathly silence and he knew something was drastically wrong.
Quietly he crept down the stairs and found his mother laying there, not breathing and covered in blood. A fear and guilt gripped him, a voice told him to run, to save himself but a louder voice argued, this was all his fault and his father could not get away with what he had done. The guilt and anger won out and he moved slowly into the kitchen and found a large knife. Taking the knife he walked as if on auto pilot to his parents bedroom where his father had passed out drunk, his mother’s blood still on his hands. He must pay, the voice in his head cried and the fury within him burst out as his bought the knife down into his father’s back with all the strength he had in his tiny body, not stopping until he was sure his father was dead. Dropping the knife to the floor he looked at his father, his heart beating hard in his chest then ran out into the night where he began his new life as an orphan and runaway on the streets of Marseilles.
“I was born a sinner and will die one,” Silas muttered with a great sadness, opening his eyes. His past had been filled with violence and now so was his present, he could only hope when the time of judgement came God would see that his heart was pure.