Slumber

Is Cowboy dead or alive? Or maybe he is just asleep?

Only those willing to walk through the dark night will be able to see the beauty of the moon and the brilliance of the stars.

Such beautiful words. Spoken by some archbishop named Socrates Villegas. I don’t know who he is, hell I don’t even know if he is alive but, I do know one thing. 

I am one of those few that walk through the malicious veil of darkness. I am not a being of the light. I am a monster of the night. I don’t pray for the stars to provide me with safe passage. I pay the night’s toll with the blood of my enemies.

How did I end up here?

I started my career in crime fighting, as an idealistic 16-year who wanted to save his city. At that point in my life, I was f*****g pissed at the world. I was pissed that corrupt politicians hid as snakes in the grass, filling the heads of those they represented with propaganda and falsehoods that everything was fine. I was pissed at the gangs for everything they did to my family. But what pissed me off the most was that no one was doing a damn thing about it.

I had decided enough was enough.

I was tired of people being complicit with hell’s overtaking of our city. I was tired of everyone saying things were fine. Things weren’t fine. Citizens had to choose whether to pay the gang’s protection fee, or run the risk of falling victim to the gang’s actions. If one chose not to pay, or fell behind on their payments, they knew they would receive a death sentence. 

Gang members would stalk the children or loved ones, and when the moment was ripe, they would send a message. The messages they would send varied from gang to gang, each had their own preferred method, but they all sent the same message.

Pay up, or else. 

Unfortunately, I had to learn this lesson the hard way. If it weren’t for the wrong doings done unto me, then I would have never done what I had done. If I never did what I did, I can imagine that things would have either stayed the same, or would have developed into something far worse.

In a way, I have to give credit to those that wronged me. If it weren’t for them, I would have never begun my holy crusade to cleanse the city of its filth. I would have never inspired the citizens of Steelport to fight back. I would have never become the hero I am today.

However, if it wasn’t for those who wronged me, I would have never lost my father. I would have never taken a life. I would have never become the monster I am today.

Was it all worth it?

I was lucky to have known that there were others like me. Others that were fed up and wanted things to change. Others that were willing to risk everything for our shared dream. Others that were willing to step into the darkness in order to restore the light.

Yet, in spite of that. There have been a couple of times over the years that I have seriously reconsidered if it was justified. 

Was it worth all that I have sacrificed? A normal life, a girl friend, going to school were all things that I have given up for my career. There are some who are able to balance their personal life and crime-fighting career, but I have seen one too many times of what happens when their hero and personal life clash. 

It never ends well.

It could be argued that those who allow themselves to be consumed with their work have it worst. Regardless of the public’s appreciation and acceptance for what a hero does for them, the heroes always end up alone, isolated. Isolation can be just as deadly as a hero’s enemy, and I’ve experienced first hand what happens when a hero takes refuge in isolation. They became disillusioned and out of touch with the world. Their self-perception goes to the extreme, whether they believe themselves to be a monster, a savior, or a god; a hero’s isolation will inevitably multiply whichever the hero believes themself to be.

In the end, it never ends well.

Which is worse, I don’t know, but I think everyone can agree that not living life to its fullest is the greatest crime one can commit. I yearn for a personal life, but I’m scared that someone or something will take it away from me. I yearn to rise up as the best hero of all, but I worry that I may fall from grace and become the worst of them all. Above all, I yearn to live my life the way I want to live, with no one interfering or infringing upon it, but I doubt I will ever be able to achieve my dream.

Time will tell which path I decide to take, assuming I still have time to live.

Am I dead? 

I don’t know.

The last thing I remember before passing out was someone saying they were taking the shot. What was their target? Was I their target? Did their shot hit me before I hit the pavement? Who knows and who cares.

I can’t feel anything, bullets and limbs included. If this is the afterlife - me alone with my own thoughts - then it f*****g sucks. Not to say I was expecting pearly white gates but, anything would be better than nothing. 

I always envisioned the afterlife being a never ending state of peace and tranquility. I envision my heaven to be a nice little lake cabin with a quaint little dock that I can cast off to my heart’s content, and an ample amount of alcohol and weed. My hell would be the same lake cabin, except fish would never bite and I wouldn't have any narcotics to accompany me.

If I'm not dead, where am I? My body refused to comply with my brain’s message to move. I hadn’t lost any body parts, as far as I could tell. For some reason it feels like I am in some sort of suspended animation. 

The aches and lashes I received from my bout with Angel made themselves known. The cuts on my face from the wind were searing and oozing small amounts of my blood. My muscle fibers couldn’t help but scream for joy in this moment of relief. I don’t know how long this pause will last, or what will come next, so I might as well get comfy and enjoy it. 

Taking note of the peace, my heart began to swelter in my chest. My pecs entered their uncontrollable rhythm of contracting and decompressing. My heart beat began to accelerate faster and faster with each cycle. My eyes grew heavy, and a subtle ringing made itself known.

The switch had been flicked, my healing factor was about to go into full effect.

The ringing became louder, and my eyes had shut, replacing the darkness before with a more eerie version of itself. 

Just before I slipped into my rejuvenating slumber, the faint cries of the dead demanded attention.