Categories > Original > Drama1 Reviews
A man without a future confronts his past. Beyond redemption, beyond hope, he finds comfort for a moment, as he hears a Song for the Damned.
The man sits in the back pew of the cathedral, his hands folded in front of him, his shoulders stooped, staring blankly forward, his mind obviously elsewhere. His build is average, his hair and eyes brown. In all, he presents a rather unimposing picture.
Also in the sanctuary is a lone nun, going about her daily prayers along side one of the priests.
The door opens and a lanky man of just under six foot enters the holy place. The newcomer walks over to the seated man and clears his throat to get his attention.
The two men lock eyes and the seated one nods his head slowly. The newcomer turns on his heels and walks back out, closing the door respectfully as he departs.
With a deep sigh, the man rises to his feet, showing that he’s of barely average height. He slowly rolls his shoulders as he steps out into the isle. The man looks up at the cross hanging behind the pulpit and before he closes his eyes. For a moment his lips move, though no sound escapes. He opens his eyes, and with a sad look on his face, he turns his back on the cross and straightens his shoulders.
The nun and the priest silently stand and walk over to the man who looks to be in his mid-twenties. The man of the cloth says, “What is going on here my son?”
The man sighs, “I guess I am preparing to die father.”
Shocked at the candid revelation, the holy man says, “Why son?”
Slowly the man turns around and looks at the two religious people, “To pay for past sins and protect my wife and my unborn child.”
The nun, a woman appearing not much older than the man says, “What do you mean?”
The man sighs again, “I used to work for certain people within this city, doing contract work mostly. The work was dangerous, but the pay was good. However, that was then. It is one thing, sister, to risk one’s life when there is no one waiting for you at home, but it is quite another to take unnecessary risks with your life when you have a child to worry about. However, the men I used to work for are generally unwilling to let anyone leave their service, let alone a man in my line of work.”
Nodding his head, the priest says, “Ah, I take it you worked for the mob in the city then?”
Smiling, the slightly younger man says, “Correct father.”
“So, I take it you used to be a hit man? I thought they were supposed to be tough, heartless, and other such things?”
The man chuckles slightly, “Perhaps in the movies, and perhaps in years past that might have described me. Now though, I am a man who simply wants out of the game.” His expression turns serious once more, “As much as I’m enjoying this discussion padre, there’s half a dozen men outside waiting to send me to my final reward and I don’t think I can delay them much longer.”
The nun says, “Why don’t you take the back door out of here, or call the police?”
The man smiles sadly, “Because sister, if I took the back way out of here, I’d forfeit the minor protection my former position offered me; besides, you can bet your habit that it’s being watched. As for calling the pigs, there’s more of them on the take than not. Calling them would simply ensure my family dies as an example to others to settle things quietly. No, sister, I’m afraid that the only way I can leave here is through the front door.”
The woman has tears in her eyes as she says, “Is there anything we can do?”
The man says, “One thing perhaps. Could you sing for me? Sing asong for the damned?”
Nodding the nun takes a step back and opens her mouth.
The former assassin smiles slightly as the Latin rolls off of her tongue, the words unknown, but their meaning clear, redemption. When she finishes her song, the man says, “That was beautiful. Now, Iwould suggest you two hunt a hole, a stray bullet doesn’t care who it hits.”
The priest nods his head and leads the reluctant nun from the room.
As the man walks from the sanctuary, he opens his coat and pulls a pair of pistols from a shoulder holster. He looks through the glass on the door and swallows, he’d expected six, they’d sent thirteen men to ensure he didn’t live through the day, three have automatic weapons. He steps to the side of the door and closes his eyes once more. When he opens them again, the eyes of a killer shine through. He thinks to himself, “Seven per gun, fourteen total, this ain’t gonna be easy.” He reaches out and opens the door without exposing his body.
As he expected, as soon as the door starts to open outwards, it is shredded by weapons fire.
The man waits until the goons have blown their first clip before he steps out of the cathedral, a strange calmness overtaking him. He is ducked low and moving at an almost run. “Today I die and Iknow it, so I shall not go alone into the long night,” he thinks. Suddenly the nuns voice is ringing in his ears, her song reverberating through him. With cold deliberation, the man raises his first gun as his enemy’s are reloading. The gun in in right hand jumps as he pulls the trigger, the normal explosion going unheard. He watches as one of the men with a submachine gun develops a new eye in the middle of his forehead. He levels his left gun as another man likewise armed, once more the gun jumps without the explosion and another man sprouts a third eye. The man aligns his right weapon with the last man armed without a pistol and again the gun jumps, the nun’s song drowning out the accompanying explosion. With the three major threats taken out, the man turns his attention to those who have already reloaded their pistols. His left pistol jumps in time with the music, and one of the quicker goons chests explodes in red. The man’s guns continue to jump in time with the song.
One of the goons levels his gun at the man and just as he pulls the trigger, the man stops, the bullet passing right through where he should have been.
Grateful to whatever instinct had told him to stop, the man levels his gun at his attacker and a third eye appears on the mans forehead as the weapon jumps. Suddenly, the song fades away and the man realizes that he is the last one standing. Of the thirteen men sent to kill him, all are dead. Shaken, he checks his clips, both are empty, but there is still one bullet in one of the chambers. The man’s stomach reels as he thinks, “Thirteen shot, thirteen kills.” On unstable feet, the man puts the empty clips back into his guns and walks away from the slaughter, knowing that it will be cleaned up and go unreported.
From the cathedral’s second floor, the nun and priest watch the man walk away.
The woman breathes a sigh of relief, “Thank God he survived. Iwonder why though?”
Smiling secretly, the holy man says, “Thank God indeed, as for the why, I suspect our friend will find it harder to lay down his pistols than he ever thought possible.”
The nun looks at the man of the cloth, “Perhaps you are right. Shall we start preparing for tonight’s Mass, Father Michael?”
The priest smiles at the nun, “Of course sister. After that, Iwill need to be on my way. My work here is done,” he says as he toys slightly with his medallion, a simple golden disk with an imprinted flaming sword.