Lonely Street of Dreams

[laZardo†]

((Continued from A Honeymoon Gone Wrong))

Roland was literally living on the edge.

Rather, he was sitting on the edge of a cliff that led straight down to the sea and some aptly jagged rocks, and sobbing. He didn't know who or what to be angry or sad at as he stared at the bottom of the cliff, at the jagged rocks and foaming, cresting waves below. There wasn't much else to stare off to. The horizon was infinite, and behind him were all the places he'd been to over the past week in purgatory.

He was specifically focusing on what appeared to be a severely mangled corpse impaled on a rock below. The tide didn't appear to have done much to dislodge it since it first ended up there, which Roland discerned to have been in the last two days. From this high up, it was impossible to tell how big the corpse was or even make out its face.

However, it was this corpse's blood trail that he'd followed all the way here and off the edge. There were also some rather gruesome albeit dried spatters on the ground close to the edge. But this was the end of the trail that God had left him, and the end of what he almost believed was the road to Paradise for defeating Damien, already thrice at the cost of an arm and a third of his face. Of course...that turned out to be a dead end, after all, and all he had now was his wounds and suffering...and all his anger.

"Is this it, God?!" he groaned, before repeating himself in a scream, "IS THIS IT!?"

Damien, as Roland knew him, was dead as a doornail. He had died running scared from God's grace and the messenger who delivered it. And that wasn't counting the other forms that Roland had vanquished, each in a different shape and form than the last, in a different setting. His mind, (pseudo-body), soul, and faith had all been tested and as far as he knew, he may not have passed with flying colors but the fact that he wasn't burning in hellfire and brimstone was proof enough that he was doing something right. Of course, the fact that he was here right now seemed to prove to him that he hadn't done enough right.

With a violent heave he took his staff and chucked it out into the ocean. He didn't seem to notice that it fell at an angle that it impaled and then dismembered the corpse's head as it hit the water. Then he got off from the edge and walked backwards a bit before he dropped to his knees and screamed into the sunset.

"God...what...do I do..." Roland whimpered as he rested on his elbows and knees, trying to figure out where he had gone wrong. He had killed Damien three times already, and he had prayed and lived rather modestly since then, although the latter was definitely forced. He had given thanks to God regularly and he damned well meant it (no pun intended) given the realization of where he was. And yet this could not be it, not by a long shot.

He then collapsed to the ground and turned face-up, looking up into the reddening sky and clouds, whimpering. He winced as he had to bring his injured arm around, the force tugging it in a direction that wasn't exactly comfortable. A tear had slipped onto his mangled cheek, causing the wound to sting like acid had been poured on it. Apt salt on his wounds...but for once, his wounds didn't seem to be the biggest thing on his mind.

There were a few wispy clouds, but nothing in the way of rain, at least for tonight. And yet he somehow seemed to see beyond and above the redness into the stars just starting to shine. There wasn't much in the way of light pollution on this island, so as soon as night fell, he could see forever. It was as he looked up into the infinite that he began to think.

I don't know where I'm goin,
but I sure know where I've been...
hanging on the promise and the songs of yesterday,
and I've made up my mind...

Forever...

He slowly sat up, and found himself facing the direction from whence he arrived. There was just so much out there, so much he had left behind. An entire island...maybe an entire world.

I ain't wastin' no more time,
here I go again...
here I go again...

"God...is this..." Roland put his good hand to his mouth, allegories to cutting off the other lest ye end up in Gehenna notwithstanding. As the scenery loomed in front of him he slowly realized that he had been so single-minded in following and slaying Damien that he had ended up on the wide path to destruction, and he had just stayed himself from heading off the path's end.

He slowly got to his feet, and as he did, the scenery inched just a little bit lower.

Though I keep searching for an answer,
never seem to find what I'm looking for..
Lord, I pray you give me strength to carry on...
'Cause I know what it means...
...to walk along the lonely street of dreams...

He tugged at his sling a bit, to adjust it, before he squinted back at where the trail came from, to get a better idea of what lay ahead (or rather, behind.) There was a lot of scenery around the horizon, including the residential district, a smokestack from industria, and a few landmarks he couldn't recognize. If he really wanted to find the way to Paradise...he would have to retrace his steps as far back as he could remember. And even then he'd have to stray from the path (per se) to figure out if his memory was selective.

This trail of blood was too good to be true, too easy a way out. If he wanted salvation, he would have to work and search for it, not just in this isle of Purgatory but in himself. Damien was dead (at least for now), but there was still a little more unfinished business.

Without another word, and what was left of his supplies slung around his good shoulder, he started to trudge into the advancing night. Perhaps he would find the keys to heaven, or maybe even a live Damien or Damiens to block his path.

I've got all eternity to find out where I'm going...

Here I go again on my own...
...goin' down the only road that I know.
Like a drifter I was born to walk alone,
And I've made up my mind...
I ain't wastin' no more time...

((Continued Elsewhere))