How could she know what was about to break out? In the back of her mind she knew it could potentially happen. But they both desired it. How could one moment have such a strong ripple effect?
He was safe, he was her best friend, and he was so inviting.
He desired her.
She wanted it.
It was the eve of a three-year battle, preluded by bliss and pleasure.
The battle started immediately, and he seemed completely oblivious to the fact that she was fighting anything at all. She killed her first enemy that night, her second the next night.
She cut them off as soon as they surfaced--she would not let them thrive.
But the enemies were like cockroaches, and for every one she killed, ten would resurface.
She fought strong, swallowing her fears, and though she grew weary she did not falter.
She had to fix this. There had to be an end.
Her injuries and the enemies’ splattered blood soon became her war paint as the battle increased, and she felt her body, soul and groaning spirit becoming stronger with every blow and strike.
However, it seemed she was fighting completely alone.
He had disappeared, and though she came to him battered with her war paint, he seemed to feel no emotion nor to take notice. He simply left her and walked out of sight toward the blood-red sky. He betrayed her, and nonchalantly shrugged at her, missing the enemies.
Two years into this battle she fled to the mountain, hoping her enemies would never find her there.
For a while
no one did, and she was, indeed, alone.
She sighed, surveying the battlefield and all the enemies she’d slaughtered. It had to end.
She could fix this.
A handful of miscreants followed her up, tracking her, and she severed their hearts and all connection to life.
There was a quiet moment then, when the air stilled, and she knew she had to face whatever end Destiny had for her. She bided time, regaining her wits and strength. The man never left her mind.
How could he not see? She tried to tell him time and time again, and he merely covered his eyes and walked away.
He had no heart, she resolved. She would fix this.
Year three. The time came for her journey down the mountain, to fight one last war.
She was ready.
Back in the war zone, she lifted her eyes under the splendid armor she wore, and faced her line of enemies. Her war paint glistened underneath her helmet; it was a scarlet victory, if only for the fact that she would fix this battle. She would take whatever end, and she would conquer.
Her enemy slowly marched toward her, and she thought back to the moment that started all of this. Her heartbeat quickened, she closed her eyes, and drew in a steady breath of freedom. Potential freedom.
Ripples.
The moment rippled; her heart sent ripples through her body; the enemy’s marching rippled through the battlefield; perhaps the man could finally feel the ripples.
She opened her eyes. ‘
This is it,’ she breathed through scarlet lips. She raced forward toward her enemy, catching them all off-guard. She would not shrink back anymore, she would not flee again. She would fight until every last enemy was dead at her feet. The first clash of metal rippled in the atmosphere, and the war began.
She fought like never before, yet more enemies continued to come. It had been three years of fighting, and she could feel her breath coming in shallow pulls now. The blood of the enemies was caked on her face and hands now, and she didn’t want the war paint.
She didn’t want any of this.
She wanted to be finished, to end this war, yet she lacked the strength.
Her sword slashed through the flesh of an opponent.
If only that moment had never come!
She stabbed through the belly of another one, his warm blood spilling onto her feet as she jerked her sword back.
What she would give to take it all back and return to her normal life! Enough was enough.
She spun around and swung one final strike yelling, “
I can fix this!”
The head fell before her feet as the body crumpled. She looked around her wildly. That had to be it, it had to be! She rested her head on the hilt of the sword, breathing heavily. There was no possible way there could be more.
Suddenly the ground began to shake rhythmically. She faintly whispered, “
No, no, not possible. Not possible,
please no.” She lifted her head, turned toward the setting sun and saw the largest foe she had yet faced. She feebly pointed her blood-stained sword at him and threw her helmet off, exposing her dirty beaten face, and long burgundy tendrils of hair tumbling down her back.
She would not take on this enemy with limited sight from the helmet. She set her teeth and they flung at each other.
Once his sword missed her smooth neck and cut a lock of hair as she threw her body back. She cut off his hand as he thrust the sword at her belly; he growled at her and picked up his hand still clenching the sword.
She saw his eyes for the first time as she looked up at him--they were fiery and merciless. She tried to scramble away, but in vain.
He struck her, sending her sword flying toward the blood-red sky.
She couldn’t fix this. It was out of her hands.
How foolish she was to think she could fight this alone! Sorrow came over her, and she laid with her face to the ground, her hands clutching the blood-soaked dirt.
The enemy rolled her over like a doll and pinned her down with his foot to her throat.
She couldn’t fix this.
She closed her eyes, if only to see the lovely image of ripples before she died instead of this hideous grimace above her. This was Destiny’s end and she fought strong. She didn’t shrink back or give up.
She tried to fix it.
She felt light, like she was floating in water. Rippling water. The oxygen must be cutting out from her brain. But her body shook, and she realized the enemy no longer had her pinned down.
Her eyes snapped open and she gasped. In a delusional state she saw a figure fighting the enemy with her sword. The figure rolled on top of the enemy, and thrust her sword through his throat and then his heart.
His hand flexed, and then went limp. She had killed enough people by now to know that this enemy was dead.
Her breathing came in shallow rasps. The figure walked toward her, and as her vision cleared (as fog does from glass) it removed its helmet. He knelt down and helped her sit up. Tears tumbled down his dirty beaten face, stained with as much war paint as her was.
It was him. Her best friend,
the man.
She could not believe he was there. Why was he as beaten as she? He’d run from the battle.
He began to speak and his voice rippled into her heart. At first she could not make out his words. But as she regained consciousness he was apologizing.
Sobbing and apologizing.
She asked him why he was sorry and he looked at her with compassionate eyes. They were full of love and sorrow; they were the most beautiful thing she had seen in three years of fighting. He did not remove his gaze.
“
I was fighting on the other side of the battlefield this entire time. I tried to get to you, but the enemy held me fast. I could not reach you.
They captured me for the first year, and after I broke out they never ceased to hunt me. I watched you fight relentlessly in the sunrise, and I longed for you.
I wanted to make it all end. I wanted to save you.
You are the reason that I continued fighting and didn’t give up.
You were never alone, Love. That last enemy slipped from my grasp and headed for you. I was finally free enough to run after you and destroy him before he destroyed you. I couldn’t let that happen. I was already angry at myself for letting this happen.”
He paused for a moment and turned his lovely eyes downward.
“
I could have stopped this, at the very beginning. It was never your fault; it was never your burden to carry.”
She felt her face get hot, which burned into her heart and through her fingertips. He let her believe she was alone, and he was on the other side for three years! She wanted to allow resentment, but seeing him now she had no strength left. She crumpled into his arms and allowed herself to
feel.
She sobbed and choked out, “
I tried to fix it! I tried so hard! But every time I killed an enemy more would come. Every time I tried to fix it the battle grew more fierce. I tried everything I could!”
She could hear his heartbeat, and he pulled her closer.
He moved his lips next to her ear and whispered,
“
It’s not yours to fix. We couldn’t pretend these enemies were mere illusions. What’s done is done. The war is over.”
She looked up at him, and he held her gaze. She could see her reflection in his glassy eyes. She was so worn, but strong. Her war paint was smudged and streaked, and her locks brushed around her neck.
He looked stronger too.
They were two different people now.
He offered a slight smile, kissed her forehead gently and helped her up to her feet. They surveyed the battlefield of fallen mistakes slaughtered on the dirt. There were no words passed between them for a time and their arms steadied each other.
“
It’s over,” she breathed. He simply nodded, and handed back her sword. She replaced it into her sheath gently.
So, the ripples had run their course and finally faded. They faced the setting sun and began to make their way home, retrieving their glorious helmets as they walked. He was the man, her best friend. And she loved him dearly. No war could ever change that. They would fight for each other to the end. The wounds would take much time to heal and likely leave gruesome scars, but the war was finished.
Their lives were free to start again.
-based on a true story-
That was it--after that answer I resolved that since she didn’t care about me; since God didn’t care about me; since nobody cared about me, I would be better off relieving them of their anxieties and take care of it myself. My intention was to numb the pain. I just wanted to feel something other than the emotional pain searing inside of me. I thought of a couple possibilities: I could drink away my sorrows or I could turn to drugs since they were easily accessible. However, I didn’t want to disappoint my family by drinking and if I turned to drugs I’d be just like her, this sister of mine.
