On the Precipice of Damnation

On the Precipice of Damnation By paradoxica

To the almost-villain:

Your sister was like sunshine. She heaved me up from the depths of whatever pit I buried myself in. She took the hand of an outcast—a monster, and smiled as she did it. In her eyes weren’t pity, but compassion. It was humanity— something I wasn’t used to, but I so greatly craved.

Your sister was my sunshine. I would have given the world to her. I would have pulled my heart from the cage it is in, and offered it to her had she asked. I would have died for her—happily— but I guess that’s out of the question now.

It’s all because they decided to take her. “How can you just take sunshine like that?” I didn’t understand—I won’t ever understand. How could they? How dare they! How can they stomach to spill the blood of someone so young—so pure?

I should be seeing her smile. I should be hearing her tiny giggles when she sees a dog wearing a tie in the supermarket. I should be feeling her soft hands tugging away at my sleeves as she pulls me towards the candy aisle. I should be taking in her flushed cheeks whenever I catch her playing house with one of her stuffed animals. I should be watching her struggle as she tries to put her hair up in a perfect ponytail, like all her other friends.

I should be with her, yet I am not.

59

60 On the Precipice of Damnation By paradoxica

Now here I stand, in a flatland, surrounded by people dressed in black— mourning the loss of someone who should still be in my arms. I should be with her, and so should you.

Of course it was just a joke. I knew it was a joke— but I also knew you didn’t want it to be just a joke. I knew you wanted them to suffer. I knew you wanted them to bleed as she did—die as she did. I knew you wanted to feel the blade of your knife tear through their skin.

Be it be brought about by the poison of alcohol running through your veins, or the need to crush the darker side of you; I knew how much you were hurting when you realized you could never bring yourself to hurt them: Not when you know it wouldn’t be what she would want. Not when you know how much it would break her heart. Not when you know that seeing you like that would destroy her. I understand that your morality means nothing to you now, but you were her hero.

So it’s okay.

As I hear their screams for mercy— as I feel how easy it is to drive a blade across their necks— as I write this letter with crimson-stained hands, I say to you:

“It’s okay.”

You don’t have to. Not anymore. I understand.