the sun was high in the sky as enrico maxwell knelt in front of the altar, by himself, hands clasped in prayer. his eyes were shut, brow was furrowed, and there was obvious pain in his expression, forehead pressed against knuckles. he exhaled, lips parting briefly to speak.
"i will never be good enough for you, will i?"
he stood, slowly, crossing himself before he stepped from the pews out into the aisle, kicking an incense stand over, sparks and embers flying before he stared in anger at the ash that littered the glorious tile floor.
"if i am the president, the emperor, the sultan, the czar of russia, you would not care. if i am a saint, you would not care. a devil, you would not care. each and every one of the seven sins personified, you. would. not. care." he frowned, the hem of his white sleeves pristine save for the left one, which he was fidgeting with. about an inch from the hem were thin lines of blood.
"i am too insignificant for you to be bothered with."
and then, he wailed, crumpling into himself on the floor of the church, shoulders shaking with intense sobs, tears streaming down his ash-covered cheeks.
"no matter what i do, nothing is good enough for you, father! you will not--" he hiccupped. "recognize me, you will.. will not... love me! if -- i-i-if i try my life in vain to impress you and to want you to want me, t-to tell me i am good, i am beautiful, i am WORTH it... then i am good for nothing, and deserve to be cast to the pits of hell. f- father.."
and it was clear he was not talking about God.
And now off to go shower and wait for my mom's return. Pretty much just sat down, wrote this, and now here I am. I'm just going to go try to cope with my bad mood. blah.
Current Mood: depressed