Silent Words from a Silent Heart
I never thought it would ever be like this. Never be this hard. I'd been tried and tried over and over again with this and each attempt to throw me off just ends in failure. My plan is flawless. My skills are perfect. My theories are undeniable. But I am none of those things. I can change my face and I can slice away the scars, but I still end up just different; never perfect.
It's not what the outside is but what the insides are. Skin is just skin. It's just a protective layer. It's our minds that truly sets us apart from others.
I had always been exceptional with the mental aspects of my work. I had to hire out for the other areas in which I lacked, and I hate using that phrase. I don't like 'lacking' in any area. I've hired gunmen, brutes, bouncers, and hogs. Anything to get the job done. And each of them made me sick just to speak to. Idiots. All of them.
They all had the same mentality. I am small and, therefore, am weak. They would pick at and poke and prod and laugh. If there is one thing I cannot tolerate, it's being made a fool by someone unfit to even breathe the same air as me. Very few of them lived longer than a single heist.
But, one...One really threw me for a loop. King. I didn't come across him like I did the others. He was just a stray. A punk off of the street. And he was perfect for the job I needed. It took a little pushing and pulling to get him to fall in line, but he knew where he fit into the big clockwork of the life I was asking him to come into. I was his meal ticket and his employer. That earned me some amount of respect. Later, I was his friend and his Get Out of Jail Free card. Those earned me better benefits.
I like King. He's stupid as a box of rocks, but I'll be damned if he isn't the most loyal son of a bitch I've ever worked with. He's the only man I'd ever give my life for. He's my only true friend. I trust him with everything. If he tells me he can do the job, then I know, without a doubt, that he can. I have faith in him.
Faith. Again, we circle into my current alias. A priest. Of all things, I'm playing the town for suckers by using their own faith to trick them. It's a sick thing to do, but it beats sneaking around in the wires, pissing out serial numbers and bank account codes for months at a time. I get to handle far more precious commodities. Secrets. Dirty, filthy, nasty, sickening little black skeletons that rot away in people closets. I get a strange kind of amusement out of hearing these people confide in me, telling me how terrible they feel for pushing the retarded kid out of the grocery line just so they could be closer to the cashier. Or how some sick individuals have fantasies involving their own children.
I'm not part of their world. I'm above it. I'm higher than their silly little moral dilemmas. Fuck them. I've done too much, sacrificed too much, to crawl my way out of the pits of hell they call 'normal life' just so I can breathe some actual air. Joe Average sits at home after work and watches the game before crawling into bed and fucks his wife, only to wake up the next day, drink a cup of coffee, and head out to his meaningless tiny cog job in BumfuckingNormalVille, USA. I fight the world just to catch a spot of breakfast. King has to kill to survive until he can find a decent place to sleep.
We're not like the rest of the world. We're tougher. We're stronger. We're better.
At least...I thought we were.
Things started to go downhill for me when we moved here. I've met the most interesting people. People not too different that we were. People who weren't bad but who weren't good, either. They were just people trying to fight the system to survive, like us.
And I'm starting to become afraid of those people. Up until three months ago, I was pretty damn certain I didn't have a heart big enough for anyone other than King. Didn't have room for another rebel without a cause. No room for a boy who reminds me so much of myself it almost hurts.
Yet here I sit at my desk, takking away into a word program about my dirty skeleton and wishing that for one day, one single day, I could stop using everyone around me to get what I want just so I could take the time to give that boy what he wants. What he deserves.
I wish, for one day, I could tell him who I really am and not have it cause any problems between us.
But, I can't and I won't. Tomorrow, I'll still be the nice, gay priest of the Presbyterian Church down the street. I'll still be the guy who lives in a half-way house for wayward kids. I'll still be the trustworthy citizen that everyone spills their guts to. But, in the end? I'll still be a liar and a thief and a whore.
Just like I was before.
It's not what the outside is but what the insides are. Skin is just skin. It's just a protective layer. It's our minds that truly sets us apart from others.
I had always been exceptional with the mental aspects of my work. I had to hire out for the other areas in which I lacked, and I hate using that phrase. I don't like 'lacking' in any area. I've hired gunmen, brutes, bouncers, and hogs. Anything to get the job done. And each of them made me sick just to speak to. Idiots. All of them.
They all had the same mentality. I am small and, therefore, am weak. They would pick at and poke and prod and laugh. If there is one thing I cannot tolerate, it's being made a fool by someone unfit to even breathe the same air as me. Very few of them lived longer than a single heist.
But, one...One really threw me for a loop. King. I didn't come across him like I did the others. He was just a stray. A punk off of the street. And he was perfect for the job I needed. It took a little pushing and pulling to get him to fall in line, but he knew where he fit into the big clockwork of the life I was asking him to come into. I was his meal ticket and his employer. That earned me some amount of respect. Later, I was his friend and his Get Out of Jail Free card. Those earned me better benefits.
I like King. He's stupid as a box of rocks, but I'll be damned if he isn't the most loyal son of a bitch I've ever worked with. He's the only man I'd ever give my life for. He's my only true friend. I trust him with everything. If he tells me he can do the job, then I know, without a doubt, that he can. I have faith in him.
Faith. Again, we circle into my current alias. A priest. Of all things, I'm playing the town for suckers by using their own faith to trick them. It's a sick thing to do, but it beats sneaking around in the wires, pissing out serial numbers and bank account codes for months at a time. I get to handle far more precious commodities. Secrets. Dirty, filthy, nasty, sickening little black skeletons that rot away in people closets. I get a strange kind of amusement out of hearing these people confide in me, telling me how terrible they feel for pushing the retarded kid out of the grocery line just so they could be closer to the cashier. Or how some sick individuals have fantasies involving their own children.
I'm not part of their world. I'm above it. I'm higher than their silly little moral dilemmas. Fuck them. I've done too much, sacrificed too much, to crawl my way out of the pits of hell they call 'normal life' just so I can breathe some actual air. Joe Average sits at home after work and watches the game before crawling into bed and fucks his wife, only to wake up the next day, drink a cup of coffee, and head out to his meaningless tiny cog job in BumfuckingNormalVille, USA. I fight the world just to catch a spot of breakfast. King has to kill to survive until he can find a decent place to sleep.
We're not like the rest of the world. We're tougher. We're stronger. We're better.
At least...I thought we were.
Things started to go downhill for me when we moved here. I've met the most interesting people. People not too different that we were. People who weren't bad but who weren't good, either. They were just people trying to fight the system to survive, like us.
And I'm starting to become afraid of those people. Up until three months ago, I was pretty damn certain I didn't have a heart big enough for anyone other than King. Didn't have room for another rebel without a cause. No room for a boy who reminds me so much of myself it almost hurts.
Yet here I sit at my desk, takking away into a word program about my dirty skeleton and wishing that for one day, one single day, I could stop using everyone around me to get what I want just so I could take the time to give that boy what he wants. What he deserves.
I wish, for one day, I could tell him who I really am and not have it cause any problems between us.
But, I can't and I won't. Tomorrow, I'll still be the nice, gay priest of the Presbyterian Church down the street. I'll still be the guy who lives in a half-way house for wayward kids. I'll still be the trustworthy citizen that everyone spills their guts to. But, in the end? I'll still be a liar and a thief and a whore.
Just like I was before.