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Sins Of Sorrow And Sorrows Of Sin

Sins Of Sorrow And Sorrows Of Sin

This world is unforgiving. That is the first ever thing Marco learned. He learned that the world we live in offers redemption to only those who can afford it and laughs in the faces of those who can’t. Marco was an interesting kid to say the least, in school while students were outside playing on the playground, he would sit back and observe each and every kid.

Analyzing each and every person he could see with his eyes. Scanning their every move, learning what made each and every person tick and what would push them over the edge. Many found his antics very stalker-like. So later that day his teacher phoned his parents, subtly voicing her concerns over his behavior. Marco’s mother, Julia, was not in the least bit concerned over her son’s actions. She was his mother after all; she was well aware of his tendency to stare and analyze people.

Perhaps it was because she was his mother and it was her job to love him no matter what, or that she thought it was a phase he would outgrow. Well, whatever it was, it did not worry Julia one bit. The woman simply listened to the teacher go on and on about how she should go see if it was normal for a kid Marco’s age to stare at people as much as he did. In hindsight, she probably should have listened to the teacher, or even took it into consideration, however, she did not. Maybe it was a mistake, maybe it was fate. Whatever it was, it did not bother her one bit when it really should have.

Marco soon began to question his mother’s love for him and his four brothers, and whether or not a mother should be as distant as she was. Yet he never worried about it. That is, until one unfortunate night Marco wandered too far into his parents’ closet. It is possible that his father and Julia were right to tell him and his brothers that curiosity killed the cat, and that if they were ever curious about something that they should just ask.

As he looked through the drawers that contained Julia’s undergarments and other necessities, he stumbled upon a small notebook. The notebook itself was very worn out, some of the pages in the book seemed to be ripped out. Harsh jagged lines littered the inside of the book. Angry scribbles adorned a handful of pages. Marco, with his delicate hands, gently picked up the book. Tracing the jagged edges with his callous-free fingers. The paleness of his hands contrasting the deep mahogany of the notebook. The soft fingers continued to skim through the pages, gently outlining the faint dried water droplets.

Time became a figment of his imagination, something the boy conjured up as he became enveloped in an unfamiliar book. Suddenly a paper slips out of the book, swaying left to right gently as it falls to the floor. Reminding him of the way the leaves fall in the autumn. There was a certain calmness that came with nature preparing itself for the howling winds the winters bring. The paper falls face down on the floor. Marco gently lays down the small book, crouching down on his hands and knees, he slowly picks up the paper.

Examining it, he slowly turns it around in his hands, shock floods him as he discovers it isn’t a piece of paper but rather a photograph. The boy looks at the photograph in his hands. A petite woman, with raven hair, stood with her back towards the camera, a black silk dress on her body. Such a perfect fit, almost as if it was made for her. In front of her stood a tall man, head full of brown ringlets that seemed too unkempt for him to even bother. However, the man only had one thing that he was fixated on, and that was the raven who was sinfully standing right in front of him. He looked at her like his entire world was there, and was not anywhere else. Like if he took his eyes off of her for a second, she would turn into ashes and be blown away with the slightest breeze.

Looking closely, Marco thought to himself how the man in the photograph resembled his father, Paulo. A pit began to form in Marco’s stomach, reminding him that he was not allowed to be in his father’s room. It was strictly forbidden for him and his brothers. Marco was never one who listened to the rules, if he wanted to stray from the path, he would. And nobody would think twice about stopping him. Grabbing the picture in his small dainty hands, Marco gently tucked it into the middle of the mysterious notebook.

Closing the notebook, he then proceeds to open Julia’s drawer. Moving aside her socks, he gently places the book in the area where he found it. Carefully, he places a couple of items of clothing on top of them and gently closes the drawer. Turning and walking out of his parents’ closet, he then swiftly exits the room.

Marco liked the quiet. He liked solitude; it allowed him to think. It allowed his thoughts to roam around wherever they wanted to go, free to do whatever they desire with no interruptions. Marco’s life, however, was anything but.

At times it did get lonely for Marco. Watching his older brothers constantly praised for the things they would do no matter how little they were. Whether it was doing good in school or cleaning his room. His older brother, Roman, was constantly surrounded by his father’s endless pool of support. While his three younger brothers, Marcello, Luciano, and Romeo, were doused in the love that Julia showered them in. He never once felt like he belonged in his family. They seemed perfect, and it would be perfect if it was just them. Marco may have only been seven, yet he was the most cynical out of the five. It never fazed him. Nothing ever did.

As the years went by, Marco fell more and more into the shadows, disappearing into the walls. He was like a ghost; he saw everything and everyone, but nobody ever saw him. This went on for years, time and time again he watched his siblings be shown more love and affection than he had ever felt. He never blamed them though. He was the black sheep of the family. Soon, he started disappearing from dinner tables and family events.

However, he always dreamed of what it would be like to meet his personal sin. He didn’t call it love because he never felt what love was, but he had felt sin. How it crept through his bloodstream, numbing every inch of hurt and pain. Sinning felt so good regardless of its consequences. To hell with them, he can deal with the consequences when he was being judged by God. But for now, he would sin. He would sin, and then he would regret, then repent.

It was a never-ending cycle. In a way, he thought he was saving his soul. That all would be forgiven and maybe it was, but he never knew and he never would. Not until the angel of death comes knocking on his door. Only then he would know if his pleas of redemption had been heard and fulfilled.

He occasionally thought about the book he found in Julia’s drawer, and he often thought if anyone would ever look at him the same way the raven-haired woman looked at her lover in the photograph. He then came to the conclusion that nobody would ever look at his tainted heart in that way. His soul was simply unrepairable, and Marco was okay with that. However, his heart simply could not accept it; his love story was destined to end in a tragic manner.

So he made a deal to himself that no matter what, he would try his best to be the best he could to his future lover. The older he got, the more tainted his heart became, and the more he feared that he could not adhere to the promises he made himself. With age also came the fear that he would not find someone to love him; it would be pathetic to him at Twenty-Seven. He was still single and had never experienced love. All he ever hoped for in this world of spilt blood and shredded loyalty was for someone to breathe life into his cold rotting corpse.