☆Deathbringer☆

There are some moments when I'm reminded of the fact. That Glory is slowly dying.

That she has leukemia. That she probably doesn't have much left. And on some days I find myself being shocked, like I have just heard it. 

Just like that, I ignore it for months. Somehow justifying that Glory cannot die, just because I can't imagine a life without her. Thinking, she would pull off something that nobody has before. She would be the first patient to live a long life. The doctors would figure out something. 

And then death slaps me on the cheek. 

Because death is like that. Cruel. Barbarous. Brutal. Laughing as it snatches that thin veil away, telling me the truth. That Glory is dying. That she will die soon.

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Anger. Fear. Hatred. Disgust.

So many things I expected to hear from Glory. The one thing I didn't even imagine of is this calm girl sitting front of me. Her face is pale and her entire body radiates tiredness. And yet she speaks.

"Deathbringer." She is still. Undisturbed. But it is not the usual calmness that surrounds Glory. This is dangerous calm. Like how a disaster becomes silent just before erupting, destroying everything around it.

I'm staring at the floor. I don't look at her eyes, even when she waves her hand weakly. I nod my head. Go on.

Silence.

"I would," Glory whispers. She takes a deep breath, and her words are coming out short and brief. Her hand is on my shoulder, and it is so cold. I want to jerk away from her. Block my ears. But the next words come. "I would have done the same."

I can't say a word. I want to tell her to stop, but nothing comes out. I am choking, but no sound can be heard.

"People like that. I would want to kill them, too." Glory tilts my head so I have nowhere else to run. I have to look at her. "Those people don't know how much pain they inflict on others. How they break innocent people. Deathbringer, you saved other kids from going through the same thing."

Should I be happy? Relieved? Realize that I can tell her about what I did to her father?

"Those kinds of people." Her voice is so low that I almost can't hear her next words. "They deserve to be punished."

That is when I realize. No.

Glory's eyes are bitter. She's thinking of something else as she says those words. Everyone's beliefs are shaped by the things they went through. Maybe it's just my guilt that lives inside my conscience. But I can't help but imagine her father's death right away. I can think of it like I have gone through it myself. The days she spent right after her father passed away. After, she probably believes, he died in a car crash. The days she spent alone in her room, tears streaming down her face.

I stare at her blankly. Look into her tired eyes. Her pale, thin face. That is when Death decides to tear that veil apart. Making me understand something about the girl in front of me. 

She is dying.

I immediately know, right then. I can't stay here. I must run away.

That I can't be selfish anymore. I must let her go.

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Murderers don't believe in gods. They're gods themselves-- taking life whenever they choose, whenever they choose, degrading it, not viewing it as something of value.

That was one thing I figured out when Glory collapsed a few years before. Everyone was crying. Even Grandeur was crying. Tears were streaming down her face, although she was making no sound. I can still see her thin fingers gripping the hospital bed as if it would make Glory alive again. Another hand holding a cross. When she saw me, she whispered, "Pray, Deathbringer, pray."

I couldn't bring myself to tell her that I didn't believe in gods. That I couldn't have a religion.

All I, a murderer, could do was to convince myself that it's not today. That yes, she might die someday. But it's not today. Any day but today. It was a strange way of thinking, but it didn't stop me. I kept telling myself that she couldn't die just because I couldn't imagine a life without her. 

I kept thinking, she won't die. I know she can't die. She's that kind of a person who becomes a miracle. A blessed person that wins over everything despite what everyone says. The one that lives just to tell those bitchy life that she's even a bigger bitch.

Glory's smile kept getting blurred over by the sweat of pain. I wanted to kiss her or die with her. I wanted to do something.

Instead, I watched. Convinced that the ones left living were the real ones in hell.

Because, in that moment, I felt like I was.

But even now, I am convinced that Glory cannot die. She's too bright and too breathlessly beautiful to let go of this short, bittersweet thing called life.

In my head, the dying girl simply cannot die. Because she is strong. She has loved ones surrounding her. Even if she loves me, she'll forget someday, when she meets a better person. The pain will plummet after a little while.

So I decide on turning myself in. Running away from her, as I always do. But this time, I don't feel like running away. I feel like I'm turning back, facing myself. 

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