Bed of Tears

Pull the blanket tighter.

Feel its warmth, like a

friendly reminder the world has not ended.

For it hasn’t.

Classes continue as if

nothing has happened and no one could

bother to notice if something had.

This room is safe.

Untouched by anyone uninvited,

it is the one place left to curl up and cry.

Dying could be an option

as well, considering how bleak everything looks

from the bed.

No one seemed particularly shocked

when it happened, when he gave up

with a curse and all capital letters.

His temper had been bound to flare,

but maybe that had been the goal all along?

Thousands of miles had been filled

with yelling, fighting, a green-eyed monster

over something that never happened,

and probably never would have.

And when the distance was reduced,

silence unforgivingly invaded and any

love felt, lost.

Turn the pillow to the

cooler side, for surely it has dried

by now. Let it soak up the tears that make this bed.

I have made it,

and until some saving grace determines otherwise,

here I shall lie, alone.

Eternal: Epilogue

Epilogue: Beginning Eternity

Years ago, Valetta had asked me how I imagined my dream life. When I had closed my eyes, I saw a life I wanted, but didn’t think I could ever have. And yet, here I am, with Drei, living in a two story beach house on a lake in a forest. Almost exactly as I had described.

Drei’s sisters had been buried in that single grave I had found. He paid to have them exhumed and cremated, bringing their ashes back with us. The urns had a room they shared with other memories, fond and painful. Pictures, news clippings, items that held special meaning—including the rocking chair Drei had found all those years ago, a maternal family heirloom of mine.

Another special place Drei and I had set up, though I had been reluctant at first, was a garden. It wasn’t like his original, left behind and untended at the original safe camp, but it was a close second. We didn’t have to build a greenhouse, as there was an atrium that essentially functioned as one. Together, we worked to find the right combination and proportions of flowers with the initial goal of replicating the scent still following him around. After a while, Drei and I both decided it shouldn’t be a replica because the original had been a solution to his pain and a gift to me, his love. He suggested I take more creative control over its composition as I was now in need of channeling pain. I didn’t argue, and it wasn’t long after I started feeling better. There was something about catering to life that balanced a loss of it.

Kneeling by the water, I set some blossoms floating into the center of the lake. My yearly ritual, because I didn’t have an urn or a grave to send them to. The lake is the second best thing to him, as it is where we first met and where most of our happiest memories were. It is also where he made his first sacrifice for us.

I brush the tears from my eyes, wondering, not for the first time, if I’ll ever be able to stop crying for him.

“Abriel,” Drei calls from behind me.

I watch the blossoms for a moment more before turning to jog up the stairs to the balcony off our room where he waits. Where he has waited every year on this day.

“Beautiful flowers you chose this year,” he says, opening his arms to me.

“Thank you.” The sadness dissipats again, waiting for next year. Tending a garden really minimized my sadness surrounding the event to the point I only felt it deeply once a year. And like clockwork, it’s back on this day; I wake up with it and that’s how I know to go to the garden and pick whichever flowers speak to me for my annual visitation. “Why does it feel like it hurts more every year?” I ask, gazing out at the small specks on the calm surface of the water.

“Because it is another year you have lived without him,” he replies gently, rubbing my back. “And another year you realize he will not return to say hello.”

There’s a truth to his words, more truth than I want to admit. It is the first year I have asked, and I can’t believe he’s hit on it so well. No matter what had happened, Nick had always popped up somewhere else, smiling, calming me, apologizing for something or another from the time before. Subconsciously, I think I’m still waiting for him to show up and apologize for scaring me so badly.

“Nick is not coming back this time,” Drei whispers. I appreciate his honesty; it’s the only way I’m going to stop crying on this day. And I know that. But some part of me, somewhere deep in my heart, doesn’t want to stop hoping, even if I know I should.

“I added the angel and the guardian to our memories room,” I say, changing the subject. Although they have been available for some time now, Drei has avoided adding them to our collection. I decided to correct the oversight.

“At least it is not a doll;” he smirks and I hit him lightly on the arm. He is never going to let that one die. Though he continues to smile, his eyes darken a little, growing more serious. “There is one thing you have yet to ask me.”

The sky begins to lighten with the coming dawn as I try to think of what he means. When it strikes me, I know why I hadn’t remembered. I haven’t thought about it in years, and now I might finally have the answer I have been wanting since Drei first mentioned it.

“Do you think you have fulfilled your promise to the Lady of the Moon?”

“I strive to deserve your love every day,” he says softly, holding my gaze steadily, his amethyst eyes bright and resolute. “And I will never deserve it until I strive every day hereafter.”

“There is no one else I would rather spend my eternity with,” I confide before he kisses me.

A light crosses the forest and we stop, stepping into our room and closing the French doors. It is my first sunrise since I had a pulse. Most of them before now I had slept through, but not today.

“You know, if we ever grow tired of forever, I could change that,” I remind him, resting my head on his chest.

“I do not imagine I will grow tired of spending my un-life with you, Abriel,” he says as the first rays of dawn fill the room.

I miss it, though, because I’m looking at him, and all of the promises that fill his eyes. Eternity is a long time, but he silently promises he will love me everlastingly; and by the way he kisses me, I can tell he knows the same is true of me.

Eternal: Chapter Twelve, Part 2

Within weeks of the march, Caroline had officially called for a complete removal of the government, as I had known she would. She explained, no matter what agreement they came to in negotiations, it wouldn’t be long before things reverted to the way they had been.

Initially, people weren’t sure what to make of it. They weren’t ready for something so radical, not when that would mean removing the entire governmental body in work and replacing it. In response, she explained Leirba’s Council—they left it in my name so not everything was changing—was already drafting possible temporary solutions. It was a huge country, they weren’t ignoring that fact, but this was also a huge problem. No matter what they did, it would take time.

When she presented her proposal for the new temporary government, a council instead of a single figure head, and larger councils below and at every level, people relaxed. This was her guarantee that not everyone in the most important positions would be regular or elemental, which even satisfied some of those still unsure about elementals and hell.

A few short years later, the existing government was dissolved. Every official had either been petitioned from office or forcibly removed when only a few remained. An online ballot was released and the first members of the Change Committee—the council that would lead the country in this exchange of power—were elected and met. Caroline and a regular were the co-presiding chairs, the other twenty members divided between elemental and non. Together, they decided to rid the government of political parties other than elemental and regular, so no one group had too much more control than the other. Other such decisions regarding the new government were made in those first meetings, and, slowly, were being made in each state by their elected Change Councils—the state-level equivalent of the Committee.

Last I had heard, things were running smoothly with the temporary government—though it didn’t seem so temporary as it had been in place for six years. There was, of course, plenty of chaos, but things were quieting as each Council grew stronger and reviewed their new respective constitutions for any amendments that needed to be made. Things were looking better. In another year there would be elections again for most of the Committee and Council seats, though many felt that almost everyone holding a seat would win it back so they could finish what they had started.

Caroline, in addition to her revolution work, had also come to some resolution with her parents. They remained adamantly against the movement and all related things, but she finally had the backing and the proof she wasn’t insane, unhealthy, or freakish. Though they wouldn’t back down, she argued she was still their daughter, regardless of how they thought she should be, and she was going to live her own way, with or without their approval. When they failed to provide a compelling argument for her to continue visiting, both Caroline and Ian were freed from their mandatory meetings with them. This saddened her slightly, but she was quickly consumed in other business. I had a feeling, given a few more years, they might come around to accepting societal norms had changed and could figure out they really did love her—elemental, angry, wild, and all.

Ian was painting, as he had told me he would be. His murals and collages, portraits and scenes were gorgeous and many were available for viewing online or in various magazines. He also had current shows in a New York Gallery of his Movement works, and another in England of his Pre-Movement works. There was rarely a critic with a negative comment, though even those existed.

The one piece I had explained to Caroline, the one he said I was in, he named after me: Abriel. I read an interview in which he was asked why it was called Abriel, who was Abriel. His answer: “She is the bravest person I know, and without her, none of us would be where we are today.” Though this thoroughly confused people, especially the interviewer, I felt touched. The world would know my real name, even if they couldn’t match it with a face.

By far, though, his Movement works were his best known. They depicted everything from our early meetings to our commercials, Caroline’s local speeches to small group work, his picket signs to Nick’s death. It was the single greatest depiction of modern history in the world. I wasn’t the only one to think so, and I was biased.

However, he wasn’t just painting and making appearances; Caroline wouldn’t let him off that easily. Whenever she needed help or a second, outside opinion, he was on her speed dial. He didn’t mind it so much, though. If anything, he missed having her boss him around sometimes. Since they had gone their separate ways, he was suddenly making every decision, even about his exhibitions. Occasionally, when setting up a new exhibit, he called her so someone else could decide how it should look for once, especially since she had no eye for art and could therefore give a properly unbiased opinion. No matter what happened, they were stuck together. It was a good thing they didn’t mind.

Jake and Kora both returned to college, changing their majors to political science, the new version—Jake for a master’s and Kora for a bachelor’s though it meant an extra year of study for her. Both wanted to continue being a part of the change happening around them, and politics was the place to do so.

Kora was married on the two year anniversary of the march. We were invited—Drei received the invitation through Valetta. I went alone, but stayed to the back of the crowd, dropped off her present at the reception and left. She was stunning, the wedding was perfect, and Dan couldn’t have been a better match for her. The gift was the angels of love and hope, a note tucked into the box saying, “No matter what happens in life, love and hope will always lead you true.”

Jake was reunited with his mother. There were tears and apologies and promises made anew. When they went home together, his father apologized for his cruelty, and Jake finally found his answer. He wouldn’t forget, but he could forgive them. All of them.

With his new attitude and his family reunited, it wasn’t long before Jake was dating—and then engaged to—the girl about whom he used to tell me. And guess who? Natalie, the girl he thoroughly pissed off in his ethics class. They were cute together, and they reveled in the occasional heated debate.

Mikael and Xenia co-authored a memoir on their participation in those two years with me. It was a best seller and paid for them to go through college to become environmentalists. They were both working toward doctorate’s degrees.

Xenia eventually dyed her hair back to its original color and settled down. She could be herself, and that was all she had ever wanted. Her friends and her were all still single, no man (or woman) able to keep up with them. Someday that might change, especially as more and more people were becoming comfortable with admitting they were elementals or that they were okay with those who were.

Mikael’s parents showed up not long after he was interviewed the day of the march about his involvement in the movement. They told him they had made a mistake and wanted him back in their lives. No matter how much they apologized, though, Mikael remained silent. When they stopped fussing over him, trying to figure out if he was ever going to say something to them, he told them what they did was inexcusable, but he appreciated the apologies. Then he asked they never contact him again unless he did so first.

It couldn’t have been easy for him, but I think that’s what had been bothering him in those times he looked sad. He was trying to figure out what he would do if they came back. It couldn’t have been easy, but he had decided for himself what was right. I didn’t worry about him, though; Mikael had surrounded himself with a new family, both from our group and from his boarding school. He nurtured and cherished those relationships, but otherwise focused on his studies.

Occasionally, all of them gathered together in our old apartment, talking or plotting for old time’s sake. Caroline had kept up the rent and had given permission for the landlord to give weekday tours as an added bonus. I think they thought now that everything was going better, I might come back. While I couldn’t stop caring about them all, I couldn’t go to them. I was dead, technically, and I felt it was finally time I started acting like it.

Eternal: Chapter Eleven, Part 4

Screams engulfed the crowd; there was a flash in front of me, and I felt a bump, but I had no idea what was happening. It seemed impossible that someone had actually shot at me…again. But I was unharmed. Yet everyone was still pointing, their faces contorted in horror and fear. In the distance, I saw Nick’s team apprehend the shooter and quickly canvass through the crowd, searching for any other threats.

Everyone who hadn’t run was gaping, though, and when I looked at my feet, I saw why. Nick had jumped in front of me and took the bullet. I felt my heart break and my strength seeping away from me. How could this have happened? And now of all times? When everything was going so well.

Kneeling beside him, I smoothed the hair off his face. He was in a cold sweat and shaking. Glancing up, Ian was already on his cell phone, yelling that we needed an ambulance right away. The way Nick was squeezing my hand, though, I knew he didn’t have long.

“Abriel,” he whispered, holding on tighter to my hand. I could feel him slipping away and I didn’t want it to be true. It couldn’t be true.

“Don’t die on me,” I demanded, furiously wiping the tears blinding me from my eyes. “You aren’t allowed to die on me.”

“If you change me,” he murmured, “you’ll ruin…everything…you’ve worked for.”

I hated him for saying it because he was right, and it was what I had been thinking. Turning me had been Drei’s solution, and here it was one of my two options. But his words were true. Taking that route would undo everything I had put into motion; but I couldn’t just watch him die.

“But—”

“I’m dead…you know that.” He coughed, closing his eyes.

“Nick, don’t, please hold on,” I cried, squeezing his hand as his grip loosened.

“Finish it,” he said, struggling to inhale so he could speak. “I…love…”

“No, Nick;” I couldn’t stop myself from crying, or from holding him to me as he slipped through my fingers. Everything we had been through, everything we had done, and he was gone in seconds. “Don’t leave me like this. I love you.”

Drei knelt beside me, rubbing my back. It took me a moment to realize he was saying anything.

“—say something to them.”

Nodding, I wiped the tears from my eyes and signaled toward Caroline. She came over to join me.

Pulling myself together, I started improvising, just as we had planned. And as miserable as it made me to realize it, I had been right about how this had to end. “This is…was Nick,” I said, my voice stronger than I thought it would be. “He wasn’t an elemental, but he has been a friend to me for years, and now he’s also a victim of this injustice. It needs to end.” Looking at Caroline, I raised my hand to her. “Caroline will show you how.”

A wave of uncertainty and some grumbled complaints met me. They were scared, but this was the right thing to do. To truly take down the government wasn’t something I could do. For that, it required someone more willing to lead a coup. Complete removal of the government was the only way to keep things from reverting back to the way they had been.

“I brought you together,” I said, catching their attention again. “That was my job. I brought you together, gave you information, motivation, and a voice. What comes next requires a different kind of leadership. Caroline I trust with my life, and I hope you will as well. She will lead us faithfully into the next steps of change, and our new future.”

Despite the shock and depression in the crowd, there was applause, there was excitement and anxiousness, and I knew they would follow her. Caroline hugged me, whispering into my ear, “This is your baby, though.”

“It’s yours now.”

Some people left, more swarmed the platform, or any of the groups of elementals, asking questions and trying to find out what Caroline would do next. She made a public announcement to the news crews that she would have to meet with her advisors to discuss how to go about the next phase, but they would keep everyone posted. All they had to do was be ready to act.

While everyone was distracted, Drei had removed Nick’s body and I followed him away from the site. Away from the place where Nick had died protecting me and our campaign. Away from everyone I had worked with over the last two years, and wasn’t sure I could even face anymore. But, mostly, away from the place where my past seemed to end, and my future undoubtedly began.

Eternal: Chapter Nine, Part 5

Smoothing the hair out of his face, I realized how much he had grown up from two years ago. His eyes and facial structure hadn’t changed at all, but the set of his jaw seemed more serious than playful. His skin was dark as if he had spent a lot of time outside, or maybe it was dark in comparison to my paling skin. He was already starting to show crow’s feet though, and laugh lines from smiling so much. It was almost like he was aging faster than most people did, or perhaps that was just in comparison to me.

“You’re the only one who hasn’t told me I’ve changed,” I said softly, sitting back. My fingers were still running through his damp hair—it was really soft and I found the repetition of movement soothing.

“I didn’t know if you’d want to hear it,” he admitted, closing his eyes. “That feels really good, by the way.”

Smirking, I asked, “So do I look different?”

One of his jade gems flashed up at me before he answered, “You’re paler, you seem more serious, and you’re cool to the touch, even when other people are hot and sweaty.”

Nodding, I thanked him. No one else had said how I was different, just that I was, and hearing how actually made me feel less worried. For a while I was wondering if I had a huge sign painted on my forehead saying “different” and I was the only one who didn’t know.

“You and Drei are closer,” he said, starting to fully relax, one of his hands dangling off the side of the couch now. At least one of us could relax. “Does that have anything to do with you changing?” When I didn’t say anything, he asked, “Aren’t you two worried about being found out?”

After a moment I knew I had to say something, even if it meant he would know both answers. “Things are different now.”

His eyes flew open and I felt his muscles tense. “What do you mean?”

“Just that,” I said, holding his eyes steadily. “Things are different now.”

He sat and spun to face me. “A—”

“Leirba,” I interrupted before he could screw everything up. To most of the public, Abriel had died more than a year ago, mysteriously disappearing from the hospital where they attempted a surgery to save her life after she had been admitted for a gunshot wound. Not to mention Abriel was supposed to have died before that, at the docks, after having successfully escaped one of the secret government “research labs” that conveniently doubled as an elemental prison. Leirba was safe from both death and the government—for a short while anyway.

Nick bit his bottom lip, holding back his frustration; he wanted to be straightforward about this and using an alternate name felt like a game. He was too easy to read when he was upset.

Before he could say anything else, I sighed and suggested, “We should go back to the room if we’re going to have this discussion.”

“Why? I thought things were different now?” he snipped childishly, his eyes watery. He even looked younger as his lips pouted—unintentionally.

“Because if this is going where I think it is,” I replied, grabbing my notebook and pulling him behind me, “then it still has to stay a secret.”

“Oh, so it’s a secret that he—”

Whipping my head around, I glared at him. He might have been taller than me, but I was more powerful and he knew that; I’d pushed him across a room once when he wasn’t listening to me. Nick shushed immediately and didn’t say a word until the door was closed behind us.

“He bit you.” It wasn’t a question.

“There were circumstances,” I said, staring out the window at the wintry sky. Halloween wasn’t too far off but it may as well have been the middle of February.

“What circumstances excuse him turning you into a…”

“I was dying,” I murmured under him. It took him a moment to realize I had said anything, thus his voice trailing off. He moved to stand before me at the window, one hand on my shoulder.

“What?” He forced himself to be calmer now so he would hear me.

“I was dying,” I repeated, my eyes following a few late birds through the sky. “The doctors had done what they could…so Drei did what he could.”

“You asked for this?” Nick asked, his voice soft with a note of betrayal.

“No;” his eyes were still watery but more from hurt than anything else. And it wasn’t hurt for himself. “I thought I was dead.”

“That’s why you’re going—”

“By Leirba, and it’s very important we stick to it.” I held his gaze a second longer before concentrating outside again. “It makes things complicated, but time is time.”

“You have more than time,” he said as though I hadn’t thought about it. “You have eternity.”

“So now you know.” When he didn’t move, as if waiting for me to say something else, I told him, “You handled it better than Mitchell and Valetta.”

Another silence enveloped us and I hated it. I wasn’t sure why, but more and more lately, I felt the compulsion to fill any silence in conversations. When I was alone, it was perfectly fine; but when I was with someone else, the silence only aggravated me and I had no explanation for it.

“Ready for tomorrow?” I wondered if he really knew that’s what I had switched to thinking about or if he was just trying to change the subject.

“No,” I confessed, still not looking at him. Some part of me felt like looking at him would reveal something he wasn’t saying. And if that was true, I was certain it wouldn’t be something helpful to my nerves or situation.

Pulling me into his strong arms as he had done before when I was scared or crying or both, I started feeling better. It wasn’t as effective as Drei saying a few words and touching my cheek or hand, but it still worked.

“If you start to get nervous, just remember I’ll be standing out in the audience,” he whispered into my hair. “I’m here for you.”

Wrapping my arms around him, too, I let him comfort me, allowing his confidence to sink into and fill me. Tomorrow would be great. I just had to breathe, stay calm and optimistic, and remember most of the people who would be there were already partially on my side. And Nick would be there if I started to panic.

How did I end up so lucky?

Eternal: Chapter Nine, Part 2

Ian stopped by later that day as I was preparing supper. Nick was helping me, but decided to run to the grocery store for some rolls when Ian arrived. I know he knew I was having individual conferences with people, so I wasn’t sure if he’d gone because of that or simply because he really wanted rolls at dinner.

“Hey, love,” Ian greeted as Nick ran out the door. He kissed my cheek and asked, “Would you like some help.”

“You don’t have to,” I said, washing my hands. “I can finish later.”

“What are you making?” he asked, rolling up his sleeves and washing his hands.

“Veggie fried rice with sesame chicken. Nick says he knows a great recipe for the chicken,” I answered. “I’m cleaning the chicken. You can cut it up if you want.”

“How big?”

“Bite sized chunks.”

He nodded, taking up the knife and working on the breast already on the cutting board. “So do you have a new tagline?”

“Of course.” I had been thinking about it for some time and decided to stick with miracles as the central theme. “The next set will be based around ‘miracles are unstoppable,’ because after that set airs, no matter what happens, no matter what people want to believe, they know,” I said, working on removing excess fat and bits of gristle from the next breast. “Most people won’t want to live with the guilt, and even if they can, someone else will step up.”

“You’re right about that,” he said, setting the knife down. “What do you want me to do with these?”

“There’s a bowl to your right;” I pointed to the ceramic bowl with the chunks Nick had already cut up. “The last set of commercials will be based on ‘miracles never die.’ That one isn’t aimed to the people as much as it is to the government. They need to know this won’t stop with just us. Others like us, and even unlike us, are tired. Tired of being lied to, exploited, mistreated in general.”

“I can do that,” he assured me as I handed him the next breast, starting on the last one. “Did I tell you how much I love designing your ‘miracle’ commercials?”

“Only a couple of times;” I smiled, unable to help myself.

“Well, I do.” His eyes darted my way for a fraction of a second, reflecting the grin on his lips. “How have you been doing?”

“Good, thank you,” I responded, not even thinking about it. It was one of those automatic responses hardwired into me; I would have said ‘good, thank you’ even if the world was burning to ashes around me. “Yourself?”

“I’m good.” After a moment, he added, “But you weren’t.”

He finished chopping as I finished cleaning. I handed him the last breast and then washed my hands; then I scrubbed the sink with hot, soapy water and bleach.

“I’m fine now,” I persisted, rinsing the suds down the drain. I checked the rice, though I wasn’t sure how to tell if the rice cooker was working or not; I hadn’t used one before, but Nick seemed to trust it.

“But you weren’t.”

I wanted to retort snidely about how that was obvious, but Ian wasn’t attacking me. I knew that. He was doing what Caroline hadn’t—though I had wanted her to. “Why does it matter?”

“Because I felt it,” Ian said, looking up from what was left of the chicken breast. “You’re my friend, Abriel—Leirba—whatever you prefer. Maybe it’s because you’re also air, but my connection to you is different from anyone else. When you hurt, I feel it as if it were my own pain.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, turning my back to him and going about cleaning up. I didn’t want him, or anyone else, to feel what I felt, especially not when I had been that badly off. But I couldn’t control that, and I doubted he could either. If he could have, I was sure he would have stopped after I almost died—well, did die, kind of.

“Did you want to talk about it?” Dropping the last of the chicken into the bowl, he placed the cutting board in the sink and ran some hot bleach water for it to soak. He washed his hands, saying, “I have time if you wanted to.”

“I can’t,” I said, trying to find something else to do and discovering the rest of it Nick would have to finish as he hadn’t left instructions for me to follow.

“Can’t…or won’t?” The way he said it wasn’t hurtful or mean, but it still stung. No one else had questioned me about that, and I had started to assume people wouldn’t. Now that someone had, I couldn’t remember how I had planned to reply.

“I’ve talked to Drei already, and I am feeling better. But I can’t really talk about it with anyone else because it would lead to a conversation about something I can’t discuss.” I knew it sounded terrible and pathetic, but I hoped it would sate some fraction of his curiosity.

“I won’t ask;” Ian walked around to the other side of the counter and sat down. “But I’m here if you ever want to, even if you’re not supposed to.”

Silence found its way between us for a short while before I decided to ask the question I hadn’t been able to ask Caroline: “Is something wrong with Caroline?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, leaning forward on his elbows.

“She seemed weird when she was here earlier. Like she was overcompensating for something by being less argumentative.”

Ian’s head bobbed slightly, though he didn’t say anything. It was like he was debating whether or not to tell me about it. I would understand if he didn’t—it was only fair. But I was hoping he’d find it decent to share.

“Her parents dropped by for a visit a few days ago and finally left today,” he said, almost as if that answered it.

A couple years ago, when I had met Caroline’s parents, they seemed like perfectly normal people who may have loved their only daughter a touch too much. However, appearances, especially in the world Caroline and I both hailed from, were everything but meant nothing about the real person underneath. And there was definitely something about her parents because, that entire vacation, even Ian had been stressed. It was the first time I had seen him stressed in a subdued, biting his tongue, way. And Caroline’s stress had been off the charts. I had never had the opportunity to know why that was, and I had been too preoccupied with my own problems to ask then.

“What is it about her parents she doesn’t like?” I asked, hopefully in a way that suggested I wasn’t forcing him to answer.

He opened his mouth to say something before closing it. Exhaling, his lips curling upward, he noted, “You never got to be alone with them. They are two real pieces of work.”

Eternal: Chapter Eight, Part 6

That’s where I stayed. It felt like an eternity that I lay there, my hand slowly bleeding—not fast enough to make a mess, just a slow, almost gelatinous, ooze—the carpet absorbing my tears, and me, suffocating, despite not even having to breathe. And the pain; the wrenching, burning pain clawing at my insides.

“Abriel, we will be late if you do not—,” Drei called as he walked through the door, stopping as he no doubt saw the mess I had created. He had run an errand and promised to be back in time for us to make it to the party.

He sat me upright, propping me against himself and holding me in his strong arms. I still couldn’t stop myself, even with him here. Nothing he said made any sense for a while, it was too soft and I was focused too much on what was happening inside me. When I wasn’t crying so hard, he lifted me and laid me in bed.

“I will be right back,” he promised, wiping the wet hair back from my forehead.

Drei spoke to someone in the other room, probably on the phone to tell them we weren’t coming. Caroline would yell at me for it later and Ian would probably tell her to shove it. Or someone else might. I tried imagining how it would pan out, but the distraction was useless; I rolled over, sobbing and crying again. I was coughing so hard my chest ached.

He was back again, propping me against his chest, rubbing my back until the coughing stopped. Then he cleaned and wrapped my cut hand. At least that’s when I suspected he did it; I didn’t actually know for sure. When he was done with that, he wrapped me in his arms and rocked me back and forth. I wasn’t sure how it was possible there were still tears left in me, but there were more, even if they only came quietly now.

Drei held me at least until I fell asleep. I was still in his arms when I awoke. His eyes were closed and his head bowed over me. I felt exhausted—emotionally and physically. Closing my eyes again, I only wanted to sleep, or try to anyway.

“We should talk first,” Drei said softly. It was strange hearing his voice in the silence, more so because he sounded worn and weary, almost fragile. “What happened?”

I tried to bury my face in his chest, but he turned and lifted my chin with a hooked finger.

“Something is wrong.” Had I not been so exhausted, I wondered if I would have thought that was the stupidest statement ever. Of course, something was wrong. The last time I cried anywhere near that much was when he kicked me out years ago, and, even then, it hadn’t hurt quite this much.

Shaking my head, I attempted pulling away from him. I loved him, but he did this to me. And yet I didn’t want him to feel guilty about it. If I told him, that’s what would happen, but he might be able to help me work through it so I felt better; if I didn’t tell him—I didn’t really want to think about that. None of what was going through my head was making any sense.

Drei wouldn’t let go of me; he wasn’t hurting me, but he wasn’t going to let me escape and avoid this.

“I know you need rest,” he murmured as he lowered his face until his forehead nearly touched mine. “But we need to talk about this, Abriel. What happened?” he repeated, as if I had forgetten the question. I was only trying to avoid answering it after all. “Tell me.”

“No.” Part of me still wanted to pull away from him, but part of me wanted to fall asleep in his arms again. Either way, I knew I didn’t want to answer that question, especially not now. “You don’t want to know.” I buried my head in my hands.

“If you are hurting, Abriel, I want to know.”

“Why? It’ll only hurt you.”

“That means nothing to me. Your health, your wellness means everything to me.”

Glancing up at him, I found his face already contorted in pain, all because I wouldn’t talk to him. That was what I’d been hoping to avoid. “It sucks,” I said lamely, unable to meet his gaze. “I don’t have a reflection.”

His fingers ran through my hair and massaged my scalp, though his unease and worry snaked around me. “I should have told you.”

“It’s why you took down all the mirrors.” I didn’t need him to confirm it because I already knew it was why. He wanted to protect me from that truth, and as I had become considerably with other things—like sating my hunger and the movement—I hadn’t cared. “That’s mostly why.”

“Such a trivial thing?”

“No, Drei. It wasn’t trivial.” He didn’t understand. By the time he went out into the world, he was numb from what he had done. He didn’t notice the world moving on around him, leaving him behind. “It was the last thing I could stand losing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, Drei, I’ve been giving up and leaving behind so much. For my element, for my vampire…and it was just building on top of itself. One thing on top of another; something old would come up and add…and when I couldn’t even see what I looked like—couldn’t even prove I still existed—” My voice cracked as a new wave of tears pressed at my eyes. I had hoped my tear ducts were empty.

“I had no idea.”

“I didn’t want you to,” I admitted, sniffing, trying to hold back the tears.

“You do exist, Abriel,” he said, wrapping me tighter in his arms.

“How can I—”

“Because if you ever wonder, I will hold you. I will say anything you want. I will kiss you and do whatever you desire of me. I will stay by your side until you feel better,” he promised, his amethyst eyes pale and serious. “To me, you exist…and because you do, I am happier than I have ever been.”

Wrapping my hands around the back of his neck, I buried my face into his chest—breathing him in and failing to quell the tears now rolling down my cheeks—and this time he didn’t stop me. One of his arms was wrapped around my waist, his other hand lost in my hair.

Eternal: Chapter Eight, Part 5

It turns out, about a week.

Until the day the commercial aired, to be exact. I was told it was a wonderful success, and the party Caroline had thrown for everyone was grand fun. But I didn’t know because I wasn’t there.

While dressing for the party, I wanted to check my appearance in a mirror. I hadn’t thought about mirrors in a while. It seemed strange, that day, I hadn’t looked in a mirror for so long. But then, I hadn’t had a reason to do so. I hadn’t worn makeup since before my turning and I didn’t usually do much with my hair. But I was nervous, and I wanted to ensure I looked okay.

Nick had left an hour earlier because he had promised to help with set up for the party; I would have left with him but I was specifically told I wasn’t to arrive until the party started, and it would be even better if I was fashionably late. Remembering the vanity Drei had bought when we first moved here—that I hardly used—I went into Nick’s room. Sure enough, it was in the corner with a few cologne bottles, hair gel, and some other grooming things of his lined up in front of the mirror.

I could already see the dress in the mirror and knew it looked nice, but that wasn’t my concern. I wanted to know if it looked nice on me. So backing up, I looked again, and the dress was still there…but I wasn’t. I thought it was that I was too far away and my vision was going bad. But when I neared the mirror to just look at my face, it wasn’t there. My earrings were, but not my face.

Immediately falling into denial, I left the room, searching the kitchen for a pot, a bowl, a ladle, anything that was reflective. I pulled open the cabinets, grabbing everything that might have worked, and when I had gone through all of those, I went through the drawers, snatching up cutting knives and teaspoons, even forks. And in all of them, I wasn’t there. It was like I didn’t exist.

I swiped everything off the counter onto the floor, threw the mixing bowls in different directions—the sound of something smashing reached me though I didn’t care enough to know what; I slammed the drawers and cabinet doors, oblivious that they just swung back open with the force. My hands reached into the open cabinets, taking up plates and glasses. I didn’t care what happened to that damned kitchen with all of its reflective dishes and silverware that couldn’t find me; it didn’t matter if I broke a plate here or a glass there. It didn’t bother me I had cut my hand with a knife when I grabbed the wrong end, or that I was crying so hard everything was a blur. None of it mattered.

I didn’t matter.

I wasn’t alive, and that meant I didn’t have a reflection; I wasn’t able to prove to myself I still existed. For all I knew I really was a ghost. I had died back in that hospital room and was so in denial that everyone just told me I was somehow still walking upright and solid.

Stumbling from the kitchen, I couldn’t stop crying. I was crying so hard I felt sick and like I was suffocating. But I couldn’t stop; it wouldn’t stop hurting. I didn’t even know what was hurting. My knees went weak and I collapsed on the carpet.

Eternal: Chapter Seven, Part 6

“It is not yet time for that.” He reached out a hand to me, but I didn’t want to accept it if he was going to ask me to consider never doing so again. “We are not the choice you must consider. We are almost there.”

I stared at him for a moment longer—ensuring he meant what he said—before taking his hand. Drei pulled me into an embrace, holding me tight, and my doubts dissipated as I breathed him in, inhaled his luscious scent. Part of me was frightened by what he might ask of me, but I had trusted him this long. A little longer wouldn’t hurt.

We continued and a knot started forming in my stomach. The further we walked, the more I remembered this place, and, if I was right, we were heading toward my old neighborhood. That meant the choice dealt with either my mother—my adoptive mother, my dad’s wife—or Dad. But the likelihood of my dad being home was slim; before I’d left, he was rarely home. And if this was for my mother…that wasn’t even a choice, really. I wanted nothing to do with her, and that I’d decided long before I’d left.

Sure enough, we ended up at the end of the drive leading to the gate of my old neighborhood. I was grateful we were here and not at the school; I wasn’t sure how I might have handled that, but this I could handle—maybe. There were a lot of good memories here, at least, even if there were some less than pleasant ones to wish me off.

“Your first choice,” he said, stopping at the bottom of the drive. “We can continue, or we can check into our hotel for the night.”

I stared through the darkness at the neighborhood ahead, contemplating the option before me. To go on might mean having to face one of my parents, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for that. On the other hand, I wasn’t sure I wanted to just disregard it all. Against my better judgment, I had bottled up the final events here years ago and avoided thinking on them when I could. The downside was I never found closure for myself, and letting go of my own emotions was much more difficult than helping someone else release theirs. So while I wasn’t sure if I was ready for confrontation or reunion—whichever awaited me—I wasn’t particularly keen on giving up a chance for resolution.

“If we continue, there will be one more choice for you to make,” Drei said.

“One more choice.” He nodded beside me. “We’ve come this far,” I said, “why not a little further?”

“Very well.” He turned to start along the outside perimeter.

At first, I thought to suggest we go through the front as I used to know the night guard fairly well; then I realized how long it had been and how much I didn’t know about this place anymore. If it was a different guard, he would probably call ahead to verify my identity and then whatever second choice I had to make would be made for me. Even if it was the same guard, many of my team hadn’t recognized me in my new state and we had lived together. Without a suitable alternative, I jogged to catch up to Drei.

“When I used to visit you at night, I took a back way in, never through the gate. They would have asked too many questions.” After a moment we came to a tall tree and Drei smoothly climbed up to the first set of branches. “Here.”

Though he reached down to help me up, after glancing around—mostly using my element to sense around us—I formed a block of air below me and was sitting on top of the wall in a moment. He smirked—probably at my ingeniousness—climbing the rest of the way and joining me.

“I take it no one is around but us?”

Nodding, I glimpsed over the wall. “Want a lift down?”

He nimbly jumped from the wall and landed in a low crouch on the other side. Slowly, using the air as an elevator, I joined him.

“Show off.”

“I am not the only one,” he said, smiling. “It is not much farther.”

“It’s just down the street.”

He nodded, a brightness to his eyes. I followed his lead out of this yard and onto the street.

In a couple of minutes, we were standing on the driveway of my parents’ house. I had never thought I would be there again—not this soon, anyway. It hadn’t changed from what I remembered, though it seemed larger and more intimidating now. Lights shone through various windows, mostly on the ground level.

“What’s my choice now?” I asked, looking up at him.

“I am not sure if you will take this opportunity, but I have felt for some time now that you left some things unfinished when you came with me,” he said, and as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t disagree with his conclusion. Maybe Caroline had rubbed off on me and now I wanted to disagree for the sake of disagreeing; I couldn’t be sure. “You must decide whether or not you’ll see your father.”

I had known that was coming. Despite my suspicions, I hadn’t given it much thought. Drei wouldn’t have brought me here if Dad wasn’t going to be home. But could I face him? After he had told me I was the only reason he could stand missing Mom, I’d left him without a word. There wasn’t a note. I hadn’t called, or written, or anything in the years I had been gone. Nothing, in all my experience, could suggest how this might play out. He could hate me for all I knew. Then again, he might be worse than before, and that would be my fault; no matter what anyone else said, it would be my fault, because I’d known how he was. He’d told me how bad he was.

A light came on in what I remembered as my old room. A backlit figure passed by the window and I wondered if that wasn’t Dad. My mind immediately filled with images of him wandering my old room, everything tidied and left in place like some kind of monument to my memory; I wanted to go to him, to show him I was okay and well and deeply regretting the hurt I must have caused him.

But what if he asked me to stay. Part of me would want to say yes, but I had Drei to think about; I had myself, and everyone else…not to mention my movement. I had to lead that; no one else could. If he asked, though…I felt obligated to say yes just thinking about it. Should I face my dad, I knew I wouldn’t have the heart to deny him.

“No,” I whispered, taking in the empty windows, the lifeless exterior, the cold building that once had been my favorite place in the world.

Drei waited until I turned away before he took my hand and we left. He didn’t ask why, though he probably knew; I had a feeling I was thinking loud enough for him to know anyway. But it was the best thing he could have done. As much as I wished I could see my dad again and make it up to him, now wasn’t the time. I wasn’t sure there would ever be a good time. Maybe after this was over, I could start to make amends.

Eternal: Chapter Six, Part 8

“I need your help,” I said gently, knowing there would never be a good time. “My movement is starting soon; our first meeting is after everyone’s finals. I want you on my team, for everything you can bring.” As I explained, I watched him carefully, not wanting to risk losing him to his own suffering right now. “School will come first. The only relative downside is we have two years.”

Jake didn’t say anything, which worried me. Everyone had reacted to the two-year limit and he wasn’t even batting an eye at it.

“Are we taking them down?” he asked after a moment.

Nodding, I said, “That’s the general plan.”

“I’m in.”

We sat there for a long while, me wondering if I should ask if he needed anything else, him wallowing in his own thoughts.

“Will I ever forgive them?” he asked softly, gazing steadily at the river. “My family?”

Sitting back on my hands again, I gave the only answer I could think of: “You’ll know in time, though I’d like to think you’ll be able to.”

Nodding, he admitted, “I have another question.”

“Shoot.”

“Can we save her?”

I almost hated the way he was looking at me, as though all of his hopes and dreams depended on the next thing I said. Yet it seemed fitting, as I had done the same thing to Caroline a year and a half ago.

“We’ll do our best,” I promised, unable to give the affirmative. There were too many variables, and how he meant saved may not be the same as just freeing her from whatever facility in which she was kept. “Did you want me to do anything for you?”

Jake shook his head, exhaling heavily. “You’ve done so much for me already.”

“It wouldn’t take much for me to remove your pain,” I offered, wanting to do more. I wasn’t sure if leaving him in this condition was healthy.

“I need it,” he said, holding my gaze. “It’ll make me better.”

“If you don’t let it consume you.”

“I’ll handle it better this time around,” he promised, offering a small smile. That hint of youth hadn’t been an illusion after all. “Besides, I’ll be seeing more of you now, and you can keep me in check.”

Smiling back, I assured him I would. He then excused himself, heading back to campus and leaving me by the river, promising he’d be better when I saw him next.

I watched him leave, not moving quite yet. It amazed me how this had gone from being a general action that needed to be done, to being personal for so many people. Ian needed it to happen so he could make his own contribution. Xenia needed it so she could be herself. Kora needed it so she could live a normal life without having to keep secrets—though I wasn’t sure she realized that yet. Mikael needed it so he’d know no one else would have to go through what he went through. Caroline needed it because it was her goal. Jake needed it so he didn’t feel like it really was his fault. And I needed it because I’d know I didn’t relinquish my dreams in vain.

Two years was starting to look like the least of my worries.

Eternal: Chapter Six, Part 7

It wasn’t difficult to track down to where Jake had disappeared; he had left in a terrible mood with a unique mix of emotions trailing behind him: disappointment, anger, hatred, self-loathing, and a touch of sorrow. The trail he left traversed campus and through the park nearby, down to the river on the edge of the field just beyond the park. He wasn’t much better off than when he’d left; if anything, he had just started bottling it all up again.

“Jake?” I asked, standing a few feet from where he was sitting on the bank. He stiffened, keeping his back to me and curling into himself. “Could you talk to me? Like a person who isn’t being purely defensive?”

When he didn’t respond, I sat next to him and waited a moment. He wasn’t running, which was a good thing, but something was definitely wrong. All of his bitterness wasn’t from normal circumstances. Something over the past few years had changed him. Never could I have imagined him so cold and hard.

“What’s wrong?” I tried, wanting him to open up to me. He’d feel better if he did, I was sure of it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, staring fixedly at the water as if it was going to give him the answers he wanted. I would have told him it wouldn’t if I had thought it might help. “I don’t even know you, Leirba.”

Leaning back on the heels of my palms, I sighed. True, he was being a pain, but it was also true he wasn’t necessarily himself. Besides, anger wasn’t going to help me with this; it would only worsen things. “You do know me, so don’t even pretend.”

“Then why are you going by a different name, Abriel?” His eyes met mine; the brightness I had seen before was just a trick of the light. They were dull and lifeless; I wondered if the hint of childishness in his smile had also been an illusion. It was difficult to tell anymore. “It’s sketchy.”

“Drei wants me to go by Leirba for now. It’s really long and complex and I’m not really supposed to talk about it,” I said, having to look away from him. I wanted him to trust me, but I couldn’t even give him sufficient reason to. “Now what changed you?”

“Why are you here?” he asked instead. “Why now? Why not before?”

“Before what?” I inquired, hoping he’d say something to let me pry further.

No such luck. “Before now.”

It amazed me I could even be talking to the same person from all those years ago. The others, I could still see them, who they had been beneath who they had become. But every trace of who Jake had been…it was like it had all been erased.

“Before now I’d been figuring things out. I’ve been learning about myself and my movement, and some other stuff—”

“That you can’t talk about,” he finished bitterly. I winced at the daggers in his voice. “Well, while you were off doing whatever it was that was more important,” he spat, facing me, his face red and splotchy, contorted in a nasty combination of heartache and fury, “I was shipped from relative to relative until I was dumped into foster care, and then shipped from family to family.”

I was speechless for a moment, my mind absent of any response. “What happened to your mom?” I asked, remembering how he had told me she’d sent him to the camp for his protection. In his relation of it, she had promised to be there when he returned to her.

“The fucking government happened!” he screamed, tears coursing down his cheeks as his bottled emotions spewed forth. I tried to clear them away as best I could while letting him still go through the sensations. He needed to; he needed to feel again. He’d been making himself numb for too long and it was alienating him. “By the time I got back they’d picked her up.  My dad blamed me for everything; said if I’d never been born she’d never have been caught. He told me get the fuck out before he killed me. So I went to my grandparents, who sent me to one relative to another and to another until the last one didn’t want me either. I was dropped in their fucking system!” he yelled, pulling his knees to his chest and running his hands through his hair. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to hide in their fucking system?”

I pulled him into my embrace, knowing it wasn’t the foster care system he was angry at; it wasn’t even me. He felt like his father had told him the truth. It was his fault; he was the only one to blame.

“Jake,” I whispered, cradling him in my arms, rubbing his back and trying to limit how much of his pain he had to go through. There was so much and it was still so raw, as if he had avoided feeling any of it before now. “It’s okay. You’re okay. It isn’t your fault.”

He pulled away from me, his bloodshot eyes revealing how unworthy of my help he felt he was. “But it—”

“Your mother loves you,” I told him sternly. “She told you that, and she meant it. Nothing changed that,” I said, taking his hands in mine. He stared at me blankly, unsure how to respond; he wanted to believe me, but he had also spent so much time believing he was to blame. What I said seemed only like a happy pipe dream. “Nothing changes her love for you. Okay?”

He nodded slightly, wiping away his tears.

Eternal: Chapter Six, Part 6

She grumbled and sat back. Jake didn’t look at her; he had unwound some but was still visibly tense. I couldn’t help myself; before I knew it I was chilling the air around him, circulating it in a way that was pulling his frustrations and hardness from him. He let himself become relaxed, sitting back and closing his eyes a moment before opening them and scanning the room. Though I had looked away, still working the air around him, I felt his eyes burn into me, trying to figure out what was happening.

“Jake,” Professor Rakins called, pulling his attention from me, “you’ve covered society. Now what about yourself? Where do you draw the line for forgiveness?”

He glanced up at me again before beginning to answer. “I think it depends on the offense. I can forgive someone breaking my heart, or emotionally hurting me with time. But I don’t think I could forgive someone who hurts the people I know, or even those I don’t, in a way that has lasting damage. I couldn’t forgive someone who forces me and others like me to live a certain lifestyle. It’s not possible. People shouldn’t have to live the way someone else chooses for them.”

“What if that someone is a person you love?” I asked, reminded of the decisions Drei had made for me, and the ones others had made for me my entire life.

“Someone who loves you would let you make your own choice,” he responded coldly. “They wouldn’t put you through pain like that. They wouldn’t endow themselves with the power to make your choices.”

“Your parents do,” a girl next to Natalie added.

“Spouses, too,” a boy next to her added. “People you love are always making decisions concerning you.”

“And they shouldn’t be forgiven for it,” he said forcibly, very near shouting.

“Even if that means deciding to put you through a surgery that might save your life?” the boy asked. When Jake didn’t repeal his answer, the boy stood up. “You’re messed up…a real piece of work.” And he left, the other girl and Natalie sharing a look before following him.

“Don’t forget the final,” Professor Rakins called after them before scanning the remaining people. “Miss, I don’t believe I know you,” he said, pointing to me. “It doesn’t matter, but give your name and your opinion on this.”

I regretted speaking earlier, it might have saved me having to debate against him. “Leirba,” I started, avoiding the hard stare Jake was giving me. He didn’t say anything to correct me, thankfully, but this wasn’t going to make things easier. “For me, I somewhat agree with Jake. It depends on the offense. I don’t know if I could forgive someone who murdered someone I knew, or tried to. But I can forgive the people I love. I can always find a reason to forgive someone I love,” I answered, meeting Jake’s gaze. “Yes, sometimes they make decisions for me I don’t agree with, but I love them, and I do so for a reason. And that reason is enough.”

“So what about them?” he questioned bitterly. Many of his peers started muttering to each other, trying to determine who “they” were—coming to many different conclusions—and how we knew each other. “Can you forgive them for everything they’ve done? For everything they continue to do?”

Swallowing, I had to think about it. I didn’t know off the top of my head. They—the government and the people working under it—had taken my mother, had tortured and scarred me, had practically imprisoned Nick—a former boyfriend and still good though absent friend of mine—and forced so many of us to live in constant fear of being found out. Exhaling slowly, feeling everyone’s eyes on me, I replied, “I don’t know. Maybe someday, I might be able to. But it won’t be any time soon.”

That sent him over. He looked to say something as he jumped up from his seat, glared at me a second, and then grabbed his bag and stormed from the classroom.

“From the sounds of it, I should be looking forward to the essays Tuesday,” Professor Rakins chuckled, trying to break the tension in the room. It wasn’t working. There was no chattering and most people couldn’t even look at one another. I hated it; I always hated feeling uneasy, especially when it wasn’t mine. “Well then,” he tried again, receiving no response. “Class dismissed. Remember: Tuesday, 12:30.”

The rest of the students, myself included, left the room; I felt rotten for not supporting Jake on that point, but I couldn’t help how I felt, and I honestly believed that someday, depending on how things worked out, I might be able to forgive them for their seriously misguided thinking and heinous actions. I hoped I would be able to do so. I would never forget their transgressions, but I didn’t want to hate them for the rest of my days.

Eternal: Chapter Six, Part 5

The ethics class Jake was enrolled in was filling up as I arrived. The classroom wasn’t huge—to be honest I was somewhat shocked. There were three rows of chairs in a semicircle around a chalkboard and a desk. From the chattering everyone was doing and the overall relaxed feeling in the room, I knew they weren’t taking a test and was grateful. A few people gave me questioning looks, shrugging it off a moment later. They had a right to be curious. I hadn’t been in this class, and I hadn’t been on this campus the last few months either; they had every right to question. I wasn’t concerned with any of them; the only person I was interested in was Jake, and I hadn’t seen him yet.

Jake walked in a minute to the bell, taking a seat on the middle row on the other side of the half circle. He hadn’t changed much other than he was taller and leaner. His hair was a shaggy gold and his eyes were a piercing blue, as though growing up had given him a harder edge. There was still a hint of youth in his smile, but it was small, hardly a glimmer. I wondered how much of that edge could be attributed to him having to hide. I couldn’t tell how much of the change was just physical either. For all I knew, he could be completely different.

The professor walked in, but the class didn’t quiet until he had settled onto the desk at the front of the room.

“Final on Tuesday next week. Twelve thirty. Be on time, or you won’t be allowed to retake it,” he began, immediately capturing everyone’s attention. “Today we’ll have another ethical debate. Two of the test questions will be essays asking you to argue a side on a major ethical debate applicable to today. They will also ask you to raise some points of an opposing perspective.” The instructor stood and divided a stack of papers into three, handing a stack to each person on the end of the row on my side. When the stack reached me, I passed it on, glimpsing over the sheet. I didn’t envy them this test.

Once the professor settled again, he said, “There are 15 possible issues up for debate. The only way to do well is to be prepared. Don’t expect to fly by the seat of your pants on this one. It won’t work.” The relaxed atmosphere of the room dissipated into tension as his students whispered to the people next to them, worriedly exchanging hopeful looks. “Today we’ll debate the issue of forgiveness. Where do we draw the line? As individuals? As a society?” he posed, leaning forward to grab a sheet from his desk. Reading, he continued, “How do we determine who to forgive and under what circumstances is it possible?” Tossing the paper back to the desk, he waited a moment as they started mulling it over. “Jake,” he called, scanning over the class, “begin.”

I watched him struggle to find the words to start his argument. There was almost too much to take into consideration with this one.

“Forgiveness is a commodity most often shown to those of petty offenses,” he began, slowly pulling together his thoughts into a clearer form. “Usually children or first time offenders of lesser laws. As a society, we aren’t so quick to forgive released convicted felons, murderers, or sexual offenders. But we’ll let rapists off for lack of evidence. We won’t convict a murderer on circumstantial evidence. Yet we’ll put a person caught peeing in public on an unforgiving list of sex offenders. We insist prisoners are ‘reformed’ but won’t give them a decent job; we can’t make people forgive them their wrongs and therefore are unable to allow them to live a decent life as a ‘reformed’ individual.

“So as a society, we don’t have a clear line of where forgiveness is. We’re more likely to forget than to forgive. Just as we won’t send the person who murdered in claimed self-defense to jail, and we’ll forget it happened eventually, but we won’t do the same for a person who murdered, admitted it, and shows remorse for the deed.”

“But if it’s in self-defense, it was kill or be killed,” a girl toward the center of his row argued. “A person is entitled to live.”

“And how do we know that it really was self-defense? It’s still murder,” he replied calmly. “No one can prove it really was self-defense, just like no one can really prove how sane a person is. But we forgive the claimed ‘insane’ as well, opting to pay for their institutional fees. And as soon as they’re deemed ‘sane,’ they either lose that forgiveness and are given a sentence, or they’re released once again on the world.”

“You’re attacking the institutions in place to protect us,” the girl continued. “They have to deal with hundreds of cases and maniacs and other people who would never dream of hurting another person. What do you want them to do?”

“I’m not attacking our institutions,” Jake insisted, remaining eerily calm and collected. “I’m pointing out that our institutions have a very inconsistent view of forgiveness, as does society in general.”

“But what else do you want them to do?” she fought, restraining herself. “They can’t look into every case and they certainly can’t solve everything. Unless you’re suggesting a Big Brother option where everyone is under constant surveillance;” she cocked her head to the side. “That would certainly solve the issue of who’s telling the truth or not.”

“Professor Rakins,” Jake asked, turning to the professor, “are we debating the issue as it is or how it should be?” His jaw was set tight and, though one of his hands was palm down on the table before him, he was shaking. I could see where he might have gained that hard edge. When you see things the way they are because you have to, it’s aggravating when others only think about how it could be worse.

The professor considered the girl and then Jake. “Natalie, he has a point. We are debating the issue as it is, not as it could be.”