The sky was grey with despair over the New York City suburb. A graveyard in New Rochelle was the last place I wanted to be, yet it felt like the place I had to be. I hadn't been to the United States in five years, yet here I am as a freshly turned twenty-six-year-old. Thirteen years ago my mother died and five years ago I murdered my own father.
The February air was slightly humid, sticking to my skin uncomfortably like the sins I carried around on a daily basis. It smelled like dirt, the recently melted snow bringing the smell off mud into the city air. Funny how I could still sense New York City even when I was outside if it. Standing here made me realize I never really had a home after my mom died. She was everything to me and then she was ripped away. There was no kindness in a cold world like this. All of my faith in society had been beaten out of me long before I killed my first man. I can't give my father all the credit though. I was still hopeful enough to join the army to escape him.
What a fucking failure that had been.
War is what had beaten the hope out of me. Going into other countries and acting out an agenda for a higher power government I would never see the true effect off. I had seen horrible things happen to truly innocent people and then I watched my friends die at the hands of their government, which was supposed to protect them not murder them. But it's the CIA and the world economy that turned me into the monster I am today. I shouldn't underestimate myself, though. It takes a special type to become Satan himself.
Looking at your own gravestone was a weird concept only a few people would ever see. In a sense, I guess Athena Zelin was dead. The only difference is that I didn't have the same humility as Ashton that would propel me to take on a new name to protect my mother's honor. Then again when did Athena Zelin die? Ashton Naifeh's line was a lot less blurred then mine.
Watching my parents grave was a bittersweet moment for a plethora of reasons. Sweet because I was seeing my mother again after neglecting to pay my respects for so long. Bitter because she was dead and buried next to my abusive father. Sweet because my father was dead and I was seeing the payoff of my work. Oh, how much I wanted to stand here and laugh at how I finally won. Bitter because he got the honor of being buried next to my mother.
A tear ran down my cheek and I didn't dare wipe it away. "I fucked up, mom," I spoke with a quivering voice. "I've tried my best to make the best choices I can yet I've taken the worst ones. I'm a disgrace to you and I'm sorry. I wish you were still here to go ice skating with me in the park or to watch movies with on Saturday nights. I love you so much, mom. I just wish you were here."
She was supposed to be fifty one not dead.
I bit the inside of my cheek. Coming here was risky. Wouldn't it be ironic if I got shot right here? Killed at the resting site of the man I murdered. My mother didn't deserve that, though. Violence shouldn't violate her sanctuary of peace. I suppose the one 'good' part of this what that she was no longer suffering and withering away at the hands of disease and medication that wreaked havoc on her body.
As much as I would like to pretend I was only in the United States for my mom, that wasn't reality. There were numerous other reasons for me to be in the city of sin.
I blinked away my watery eyes with the intention of leaving when I felt the weighted watch of another person. Typically, I would think it would be an enemy but I knew this feeling. It was the careful and purposeful stare of a certain Palestinian. "Are we going to keep meeting like this? Playing tag across the globe? Monaco...Paris...New York... I'm thinking of Hong Kong next. What about you?" I spoke just loud enough for him to hear me. He couldn't be more than ten feet away. I could feel Ashton's proximity like he was breathing on the back of my neck.
