In the face of the final, victorious shot, as the villains loiter over the fallen hero, the scene distills the villainy, so to speak; the Wisdom of the Villains. They think they are doing justice, getting the ugly evil, corrupt and injustice out of the world. They take a bitter pride in standing for what they believe in, but there's an emptiness there, too, and a sadness and guilt that they, too, might be villains.
Cloistering the dark aura that enveloped the scene could not be concealed by the greatness of the Greek-Hispanic library. This woman's anger is plain to see as she glares at Patricia with her brow deeply furrowed and her gaze stern.
"We're not villains," The pair intoned, their voice steady but betraying a bitterness behind all of it. "We're intellectuals. We are the only ones who have the moral courage to rid the world of its rot."
Patricia, blood running from the corner of her mouth, met his gaze. Her face, normally placid, features sharp and dignified, had gone defiant. Next to her, Tanya fought against her wheelchair, trembling but resolute, her eyes darting between fear and rage.
"Stop it!" Tanya's voice broke as she pushed herself forward, exploding through the flimsy wooden closet that had veiled her just before. She pulled Patricia into a tight embrace. "I love her! Do you hear me? I love her!"
The acoustics of the library made Tanya's desperate observation ring. For one fleeting moment, time stood still. The muddied outcome left the villains reeling, their sense of justice clashing with the raw humanity before them.
But Patricia's anger flared, stoked by her love and her anguish. the roasting continues as she hugs Tanya, her hug are getting tighter.
He looked at them with a ferocity I didn't know could slice through air. "You speak of justice," she spat, "but all you've done is dirty your hands with blood. Is your righteousness blinding you to the pain you inflict?"
With a flurry of motion, the villains attacked. The lovers tumbled with one violent kick, their bodies hitting the iron fences that surrounded the library's central sculpture. Patricia's laboriously chiseled work of art — the statue of two lovers embracing, the stone figures entwined in eternal love — mocked their predicament.
The battle was savage and merciless. Blood spattered the marble, running down the sculpture's blade — a finelike, ornamental sword that now shimmered red. The world shrank into that moment, the blood dripping like an elegy for love rent in twain.
Patricia and Tanya may be lying there, shattered, but whatever remained of their neurochemistry neuroplasticity was burning brighter than the glow of the stained-glass embedded rays of golden sunshine streaming into the hall. Patricia brought her head up to stare into the eyes of their opponents, whispering, " You will pay.
"You can crush us, but you cannot kill what we stand for. Love—real love—doesn't die. It lives in spite of everything you profess to protect."
There was a discordant silence in the room as the villains looked down at their shaking hands covered in the blood of their twisted sense of punishment. The statue seemed to have watched it all, those souls pierced through with the spike of passion now a monument to the frailty and strength of love.
The villains walked away from the library, the burden of indecision dragging each by the ankles. Their goal was to eradicate corruption, but in doing so they became the evil they purported to fight.
And thus, the lovers, entwined in agony and love, became martyrs — not only for their love, but also for a truth that neither reason nor judgment would ever fully comprehend.
A females student who was reading her book on her headset, saw the couple in a state squirmed in fear.
"Ahhhhh!~"