The Ballad of Max Payne

Anmerkung: Bei diesem Beitrag handelt es sich um einen importierten Artikel aus meinem Blog bei der PC-Games-Community. Diese Ballade ist ein Kompositum aus von Max selbst geäußerten Zitaten an verschiedenen Stellen des Spiels und ein paar von mir dazugebauten Verbindungselementen.

We keep driving into the night,
we numb ourselves: hearing the radio playing that old song for the millionth time and having the air conditioning
system smother the air and our thoughts.
Ah, that old familiar feeling.
There are those moments, when the flash all of a sudden makes you see the road, where the world is illuminated
for just an instant, where things seem to be clear.
And then they are gone, and you’re on your own again.
We keep on going, aiming for something we don’t even have the slightest clue of.
We want it.
The trouble with wanting something is the fear of losing it. The thought makes you weak.
But you’ll never admit that the nightmare, the heart of darkness, the moments of shivering fear are merely your
own abyss. You’d rather die.
And we keep driving into the night,
it’s a late good-bye, such a late good-bye.
The past is a gaping hole. You try to run from it, but your only chance is to turn around and face it.
The past is filled with dreams, filled with wishes and unheard desires you were to cautious to even utter.
Face it: you’re falling down, and the scars in your back only growing deeper every day, the blood dripping down
and wrecking your whitewashed conscience.
Get a grip on yourself and challenge life. No matter how long you spent climbing up, you can still fall down in
an instant.
And we keep driving into the night,
it’s a late good-bye, such a late good-bye.
This is love.
More than anything, I wanted her.
I couldn’t live without her.
I have this dream every time I close my eyes, even if it’s just to twinkle in the bright, harsh sunlight.
My wife. My daughter. Dead. No tears to revive them. No fun in killing their murderers twice.
A bomb ticking in my head. Dead bodies all around me, myself flashing through the world, seemingly with a
license to kill.
Fun.
In a fucking, sick, terrible not-at-all fun way.
The odour of death in every corner, the sound of the innocent victims in every phone, their faces and looks
hunting you down to the deepest moments of the night.
And we keep driving into the night,
it’s a late good-bye, such a late good-bye.
Mona, the angel of darkness, the reason I didn’t wish to be dead myself.
A conspiracy theory you’d rather not bet on, meanwhile Mona being a fugitive murder suspect.
The showdown, bullets and explosion cutting through the air.
One too many for her.
And we keep driving into the night,
it’s a late good-bye, such a late good-bye.
All the time we got the fable of sleeping beauty wrong.
He kisses her to wake himself up

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *