In The Name Of The Sun

The crowd stood in shock surrounding me, and I could read the one question pouring off their faces: Why would he do it? I tried to sympathize with their shock, but found that I was unable. I was too tired, too weak, and too broken down to join them in their pretending that the man had done nothing wrong. I refused to take part in the 2,000-year-old charade of this man’s innocence.

The realization of what I had just done finally caught up with me, and I dropped the gun not out of disgust, but because my limbs went numb. This simple gesture, that would have been taken as a sign of peace in any other setting, seemed to scare the people even more than the murder they had just witnessed. They stared at the discarded weapon blankly as it fell for a stalled eternity, then, when it finally hit the ground, the faces that I hadn’t thought could get anymore twisted in surprise, the mouths I didn’t think could open any wider, did.

"It…It was heavy," I explained and realized my voice was terribly unbecoming someone addressing a group whose leader he had just killed. I tried to walk over the body at my feet, but the man’s impractical long robes grabbed hold of my foot and I stumbled. I stood erect again, embarrassed. Though I suppose I had no reason to be, these weren’t people who were going to be pointing and laughing any time soon.

"Quite the glorified cross dresser, eh?" I said with a hallow smile...a smile? Did I really smile? I wonder if I am a psychopath. Oh well, not important, we’ll come back to that later. The thing I needed to focus on at that moment was the fact that I was in a cathedral, and I had just shot the Pope.

You probably are wondering how a sweet, nice, promising young man, (with a relatively good fashion sense mind you), ended up in this insanity laden predicament. It all started on a rainy day in Congress, when the second major holocaust was approved and put into effect. That is not when I was born, but it was nonetheless where I began.