Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Forgive Us Our Trespasses ❯ Forgive Us Our Trespasses ( One-Shot )

Disclaimer: I own nothing but a car and a computer that are almost as old as I am and I certainty don't own GW...have fun suing me for Gundam Wing rights!

Forgive Us Our Trespasses

Here I am, I never thought I'd see this place again. Here I am kneeling in the mud and grime with a scorched mound of rubble at my back and a faded block of stone in the shape of a cross before me. Damn, I swore I'd never come back; what's the point anyway? They're all dead, even my small street gang; no one I knew survived the Maxwell Massacre. I have to dig my nails hard into the flesh of my palm to prevent the scream of anguish that even now threatens to rip free from my throat. Why?! Why do these damn feelings linger when it's all over with? Oz and the Alliance are long gone, peace is here....why do their deaths torment me still? Why do I keep waking up to the shrill screams of the dying every night? Why do I still he ar Sister Helen's last words over and over in my head? Why won't the ghosts of the past just leave me alone? I've done everything in my power to avenge their deaths and secure peace so that more orphans like myself aren't created.

Ah....but that's the problem isn't it?.......Along the way I myself killed many, many people. Along the way, a great many parents must have met their fate at my hand leaving their beloved offspring alone in this screwed up world. Ha! What a hypocrite I am.....I really am the God of Death....I killed so many without knowing anything about them but who they were fighting for. Hell, it was kind of sketchy on that point too. Sometimes I wasn't sure who I was fighting, I only knew that they were attacking so I attacked back.

Is that why you insist on tormenting me, Maxwell? Are you ashamed of the gruesome murders of your protégé? I remember you once telling Sister Helen that you thought I would make a good priest. What a joke! Me, a priest, the damn devil himself; slaughterer of the innocent in a faceless machine. All the while I was kidding myself that I was doing the right thing, I was so blinded by possible futures that I couldn't see the atrocities I was committing in the present.

I bury my face in my hands. Maybe if I can't see that damned name in stone glaring back at me I can forget I'm here. I can pretend I'm back at my salvage yard or maybe wandering around losing myself in the streets. But no, the distant cry of crows and the hollow wind are too loud to let me forget......how I wish I could forget......why won't the dead stay in their graves?

Why is my face wet?

The last cries of those that I have killed fill my ears asking why I killed them. What was so important about the war that they had to be sacrificed on the alter of peace? Father Maxwell, what do you want from me?!!!? Haven't I secured your peace?! Haven't I given up everything?! Where's my peace, where's my rest?! Never in my life have I felt so alone, so empty. So lost. So here I am kneeling before a grave, trying desperately to fight back the tears, wondering what the hell happened. The war was almost like a blur; it's all just a jumble of battles and meetings. The other pilots made it easier, I didn't feel so lonely when I learned about them. There was that girl Relena, she was nice and rather inspirational at times. But now.....now they're gone, off to where ever their lives have taken them leaving me here. I'd prefer a good fight right now rather than this mental agony that has been following me even into my dreams.

And now tears fall freely, confusion and isolation obscure all of my thoughts, and I am alone. I sigh and try to scrub away the tears before any of the weary passer-bys notice my broken state. How big a sin is suicide anyway? Do you think God would let me slide? Probably not, I've killed way too many people to have any hopes of paradise. Still, the promise of release from these twisted emotions that threaten to rip me asunder is a seductive one. Peace....like the others I've been searching for it for myself now that the world in general has it. I can't even find peace in my sleep, what hope do I ever have of finding it? It just seems like I'll spend the rest of my life drowning in guilt and fear. Every noise is a gunshot and every person I see is a potential assassin. Would death bring me that peace or would my damnation make it a hundred times worse?

What...? A small hand is insistently tugging on my shirt. I look up to come face to face with a little girl with soft, brown eyes smiling at me so innocently.

"Mister, don't cry." She chimed in that sweet youthful voice, "He's with God now. My Mommy says that heaven is the best place you can imagine, so you should be happy that someone gets to go there." I hastily cough to hide the choked sob that erupted at that wise and innocent advice; and at the horrible irony of her statement.

"Yea, I guess I should." I mumble hastily to get rid of her. How could I possibly explain to that naive little girl that I'm crying because of my life, not the death of my one-time guardian. That my tears flow from the guilt and pain of my past, that I'm jealous of Father Maxwell at times.

Again that small hand tugs on my shirt and she beams at me while holding out a brightly colored plastic rosary clutched firmly in her tiny fist.

"When I'm sad, or scared; I pray on my rosary and then I feel better `cause I know I'm not alone and that God is watching over me." She presses the rosary into a hand that is numb with shock, then kneels beside me with her hands chastely clasped before her. "Our father, who art in heaven hallowed be thy name..." It's been so long since I have heard that prayer that it takes me a moment to remember the words. At the same time I remember my old agruments that there is no God. What kind of god would allow such horrors in his world? At my silence she turns impatiently towards me, "We have to pray together." She emphasizes as though she were the utmost authority...heh, perhaps she is. Sometimes it seems like only children really understand what religion is about. To my surprise, I find myself murmuring the words along with her, my hands mimicking hers lacing themselves together.

"Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us...." Forgive us our trespasses.....please, God.....forgive me......forgive me Father Maxwell...Sister Helen....all of my vicims....please forgive me. My throat closes up too much for me to finish the prayer but the little girl continues right on,

"....And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen." Upon finishing her prayer she expectantly looks up into my eyes, hers shining with pride and encouragement. The most I can do is offer back a quivering smile and nod. Then she stands up and gives me a firm hug,

"I gotta' go, my mommy's waiting for me. You can keep my rosary, you need it more than I do." She skips away waving madly as though I am her best friend. I find that I cannot look away from her as her simple logic swims in my head. Long after her petite form disappears from view I continue to stare trying to sort out my hectic thoughts. Eventually I look down at the rosary clasped in my shaking hands. Forgive us our trespasses.....the same phrase rattles on in my mind. Such a simple phrase but somehow I get the feeling it will take me a long time to puzzle through it.

For some strange reason I feel better; although, it's not the kind of relief of when a problem is gone but the relief you feel when you finally have a solution, or at least a small part of it. I'm damned. I've killed, I've wounded, I've hid.....from myself and the world. I don't know what I'm going to do with my life now or if I'll ever really find peace, but maybe, just maybe, I'll find the strength to look back at my memories and try to make up for what I've done.

Father Maxwell......I'll remember you and Sister Helen....and.......and I'll pray for you.

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I know this may have been a bit hard for you to follow, but I work best in the stream-of-consciousness genre when relating intimately with the thoughts of a character. This is my take on Duo Maxwell. It's a little rough, but with some help I think I might be able to nail it. If my work is enjoyed, I may very well do a stream of consciousness for each character. *shrugs* I leave it to you.

Lady Eclipse