OOM: How is't with me, when every noise appals me? What hands are here? ha! they pluck out mine eyes. Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather The multitudinous seas in incarnadine, Making the green one red.- Macbeth |
Alex Mahone quite literally stumbles in.
A pair of handcuffs are on his wrists, but this seems to be the last of his concerns. His blue eyes are wide and almost hollow
(and red-rimmed), staring somewhere just beyond the thousand-yard mark.
His son is dead.
His
son is dead.
(he was only five years old)
His thoughts are blurred and yet focused.
What he wants -- what he wants is revenge, to kill the bastards who've done this. What he
wants is to be able to do everything over again, to be able to
fix things, make them better, or just erase himself from existence entirely. Pam doesn't deserve this. Cameron didn't deserve this.
There's a terrible weight in his chest, one that he knows won't go away completely no matter what he does.
But, damn it all to hell if he won't try to mend things as much as possible.
He needs to know --
He needs to know that he can still do this.
But right now?
He falls to his knees on the bar floor, head tilted back, mouth slightly open in a silent question to a deaf god.
[ tiny tag: alexander mahone ]