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“I merely don't see a point anymore,” Ezio breathed heavily before looking up towards the altar.
The church was corrupt, he knew. And yet there was a connection that even men like Rodrigo or Cesare couldn't break. One stemming from memories so distant they felt like a lifetime ago, of a different person's altogether. Memories of making comments about some girls' bodies with Federico as the two sat beside their parents at mass, mamma glaring whenever their laughs got a little louder. Faith wasn't important, until it ceased existing that is.
It wasn't the church's disciplines that he believed in, how could he? It was just the fact that it was something from his childhood, a familiar ground. It was why he only ever visited San Lorenzo here in Firenze. He still felt like that young boy when he sat on the benches here.
As the candles flickered, he found himself wondering…. Who was he talking to? God? Desmond? He didn't particularly care. It has become his usual attitude now, not caring. He was to leave for Napoli, track down Cesare. For what? There was never an end. Meaningless….
Uberto’s death hadn't brought with it any revenge. Seeing Rodrigo hungry for power as he crawled towards the staff shattered the image of a powerful… more than that, a respectable enemy. And yet sparing him got his city destroyed. Claudia was revered at her brothel. Mother still lived between the beads of her rosary. He had a brotherhood that respected him. “Il mentore,” he shook his head with disbelief. And yet none of them were Federico whom he could hug after a long day at the bank.
He had more money than he knew what to do with, had taken pleasure in women that met all his heart's desires, he drank, could eat lavishly now unlike those long nights spent on some haystack in the far outskirts of San Gimignano when his grumbling stomach and the moonlight above was all that he had. But it wasn't, he had hope, he had purpose, bad as those days were, he still believed that there was meaning.
Approaching the end of his life, and what did he have that gave him happiness. His life had purpose of course, many saved. Once it used to be enough. But was that all? What about his happiness? As much as he disgusted himself for thinking about it, there were days he wanted to end everything. Wanted a simpler reason to live, perhaps someone to love, a family. And yet thoughts of his mother being violated because of whom she married made him almost physically push the thought away.
He thought about how pointless this all was. We just keep going, keep fighting one day at a time for no reason, no happiness, like mindless slaves to our approaching ends rather than taking death by his reins themselves the way we so stubbornly do with life.
Getting up and turning around to leave, he whispered, “Meaningless…” Not that it stopped him from planning his route to Napoli. Because that's what we do, keep going for no reason…..