Finding my last guilt and never leave it!

Guilt.

The guilt for me has the face of the damn asshole that I touch by accident one day, the face of the lady who put her hand on mine in the train, the face of this smily little boy who just wanted a hug. Guilt is my brother.

Your can hide the guilt but you can run away from it.

 

One day, the guilt was so strong in me that it begged me to stop feed it. Stop killing for nothing, for money, for the pleasure of this people which thing they’re God.

I was suffocated by guilt, like it was cutting my throat. So, i went to the living room, and i took a look at Maine, who was perfectly ready for the next murder trip into America and I told him, deeply : « It’s over. I will never kill again. ». He looked at me without surprise, blink his eyes and put his black glasses on. I tought he would argue, shouting, or else but he just stood there, looking at me, with his gun on his hand.

« Are you sure this time ? he asked me calmy.

-          Of course I’m sure ! Like I know, now, that I’ll never got to my country, to my family, again.

-          So, what you gonna do ? » I twas a evidence for me. I would go to the agency, stare to my bald boss with sadism on my face and tell him to get lost, without me. To go playing Frankenstein with another living thing toy. Maine put his gun down, came closer to me with a painful look. He seems embarassed.

« Honey, sweet little Plume…he told me, taking off his glove. The orgnisation will never let you go.

-          They’ll have no choice. If they don’t, I’ll go to the police and say everything…all the murder for all the three years I spend here.

-          Frenchie, you don’t get it, do you ? We’re police, secretly. We’re the gorvernement, the agency is like…

-          FBI ?

-          More complicated than that, but yes we’re a secret agency, like spys. How do you thing that you and me never had problem to go to all this states, all this places without being worried ?!

-          So…I’m suppose to…exectuted order until they find a better killer than me ? Until they get bored of me ?

-          No, you have to fight back.

-          But how ? If I can’t tell anyone I…

-          Kill me and run away ! he interrupted me. ». I was speakless. Killing Maine ? Did the man was just asking me to kill him, like that, for nothing ? I rather take my stuff and just go. But he sayed that if he stay alive, the agency would torture him, asked him where I could, because he was the only person I was close enough to give my trust. But I couldn’t kill him. It’s the only contract I couldn’t honor. He was my father and I told him…

« Your father ? Are you kidding ? Your just a job !

-          Come on Maine, i answered, you love me a little, don’t you ?

-          Loving you ? You’re a freaking monster ! Nobody could love you, people should tied you up in a cage and let drown to the sea ! ». I slapped him. He looked at me, surprise : « You kept your gloves on ?! his voice was sweater

-          Biensûr ! You can say what you want, I’m not gonna hurt you !

-          So, i’ll do it ! ». He closed his hand, and hit me on the face. Then, he falled down in pain. I sit by his side, taking his head between my hands. My right eyes was shaking in dolor. Maine was shivering. « Why did you do that ? Pourquoi ? I asked.

-          The pain in your eye will be the pain out of you heart. I hit you, I’m a bad man and bad man have to die.

-          Maine, tu n’es pas…evil ! I hated you for doing that !

-          Well then like that your just have to take my money and run ! Vas-t-en Plume ! » he wispered before drop dead.

My eyes can’t stop crying, my heart felt cold. The answer hit me on the face. If I wanted to be free, I had to stay alone, to have nothing and nobody to loose. Maine sacrifice hisself for me, I had to make him proud. I had to get the hell out of Virginia, of Washington, to go to a place where they can’t find me without quitting united states, because they had my passport. So i packed my bag and take a Greyhound bus ticket, hoping for a desert holiday in the way of purgatory.