The heat singed his lungs, but this time not only was it killing him, it was saving him. "Time to exhale." His lung reminded him. "Time to shoot." His mind added. The round found its mark before the burning smoke could clear his eyes, his target was lost now, out of sight, crumpled behind a ventilation duct across the rooftops, another victim of this city, another virus cleansed from her dying streets.
"What do you feel when you kill a man?" Her voice cut through his thoughts and snapped him back to reality. It was gentle, caring, and almost genuinely interested in hearing the answer..Almost. Her eyes were fierce, still bright and brimming with a sense of purpose. Her features belied her intentions, still young like him, beautiful but cut back, forced to look a certain way, dress a certain way, a sacrifice her eyes showed she was willing to make.
"Can you hear me?" She leaned back becoming tired with his offset gaze.
"Yes" He mutter, eyes unmoving.
"You pay for these session, you don't have to speak if you don't want to, but I'm afraid I can't help you if you don't talk to me." Her eyes fixed upon him now, he soft cheeks recoiling into a feigned look of sympathy. Just like her eyes, her face was perfect, unscarred by the streets below, a hint of glamor traced the subtle lick of the eyeliner that reached out from the edges of her hazel eyes. He cheeks sunken from a distinct "Eastern-block" heritage. "What do you feel when you kill a man" she repeated. This time his eyes inched upwards almost meeting hers.
"Recoil" He said as a smile eked across his face.
They sat across a large room, high ceilings with a dark wealthy wood finish on everything in sight. Again something he guessed she had chosen to make the "High society" of San Paro feel more at home, not her preference, but one she had to choose. He sat is stark difference to it all, including her. No longer making sacrifices for the system he cherished so dearly, he chose to become a parody of it, laden in PVC, and expensive "Washed-Out" Jean, his clothing reeked "rich yuppie." His hair in a small trimmed Mohawk, piercing riddling his ear, face, and head. If you saw him on the street at first glance he looked liked just another punk ready to mug someone, but the closer you got the more you could see the expense. That's what he wanted. "I'll see you again next week, Doctor." He said his eyes finally meeting hers as he rose from his chair, arm outstretched still clinging to old civilities. She shook his hand with a pained smile.
"Of course." She nodded as he turned and left the room.
He smiled as he left the office, he enjoyed those session, not because they helped him cope, but because he got to see another hopeful at work. She, like he once was, is trying to make a difference in the cancer ridden city. She just hasn't realized that the system is beyond repair. "She thinks she making a difference." He thought to himself, the smile still clinging to his lips. "Maybe she is. But she won't save this place, she can't do it one by one." The smile finally leaving his lips only to make room for a cigarette as he stepped down into the streets. He scanned the passersby and he slipped into the bustle of a humid Monday morning commute. The cigarette distanced him from the Financial elite, all trying to dodge the puffs as they wafted into the smoggy air. The cigarette made him a leper, but he didn't mind, he knew once the night fell and the rattling of the banks and stock exchange fell silent he wouldn't have to deal with it.
Until then, he needed a coffee, a good book, and another smoke..
"What do you feel when you kill a man?" Her voice cut through his thoughts and snapped him back to reality. It was gentle, caring, and almost genuinely interested in hearing the answer..Almost. Her eyes were fierce, still bright and brimming with a sense of purpose. Her features belied her intentions, still young like him, beautiful but cut back, forced to look a certain way, dress a certain way, a sacrifice her eyes showed she was willing to make.
"Can you hear me?" She leaned back becoming tired with his offset gaze.
"Yes" He mutter, eyes unmoving.
"You pay for these session, you don't have to speak if you don't want to, but I'm afraid I can't help you if you don't talk to me." Her eyes fixed upon him now, he soft cheeks recoiling into a feigned look of sympathy. Just like her eyes, her face was perfect, unscarred by the streets below, a hint of glamor traced the subtle lick of the eyeliner that reached out from the edges of her hazel eyes. He cheeks sunken from a distinct "Eastern-block" heritage. "What do you feel when you kill a man" she repeated. This time his eyes inched upwards almost meeting hers.
"Recoil" He said as a smile eked across his face.
They sat across a large room, high ceilings with a dark wealthy wood finish on everything in sight. Again something he guessed she had chosen to make the "High society" of San Paro feel more at home, not her preference, but one she had to choose. He sat is stark difference to it all, including her. No longer making sacrifices for the system he cherished so dearly, he chose to become a parody of it, laden in PVC, and expensive "Washed-Out" Jean, his clothing reeked "rich yuppie." His hair in a small trimmed Mohawk, piercing riddling his ear, face, and head. If you saw him on the street at first glance he looked liked just another punk ready to mug someone, but the closer you got the more you could see the expense. That's what he wanted. "I'll see you again next week, Doctor." He said his eyes finally meeting hers as he rose from his chair, arm outstretched still clinging to old civilities. She shook his hand with a pained smile.
"Of course." She nodded as he turned and left the room.
He smiled as he left the office, he enjoyed those session, not because they helped him cope, but because he got to see another hopeful at work. She, like he once was, is trying to make a difference in the cancer ridden city. She just hasn't realized that the system is beyond repair. "She thinks she making a difference." He thought to himself, the smile still clinging to his lips. "Maybe she is. But she won't save this place, she can't do it one by one." The smile finally leaving his lips only to make room for a cigarette as he stepped down into the streets. He scanned the passersby and he slipped into the bustle of a humid Monday morning commute. The cigarette distanced him from the Financial elite, all trying to dodge the puffs as they wafted into the smoggy air. The cigarette made him a leper, but he didn't mind, he knew once the night fell and the rattling of the banks and stock exchange fell silent he wouldn't have to deal with it.
Until then, he needed a coffee, a good book, and another smoke..
