reflection ● jason grace

Poetry and death, among other things

    Daria was pretty sure she was dying.

    The Underworld was a lot more empty than she remembered. Her body felt sort of like it was on fire and she had a migraine, so the space she was in seemed to spin. She collapsed on the floor into a sitting position, too exhausted to stand.

    Okay, so maybe she ended up in hell. She'd gotten people killed. It wasn't too much of a stretch.

    Then she heard a sigh behind her. It was a dream, but Daria knew from experience that the dreamworld wasn't as imaginary as it seemed. But she couldn't bring herself to draw her weapon. She couldn't bring herself to move.

    "I know it's you, Atticus," she muttered, softly because her head was pounding. She hoped he didn't take it as an indication that she was weak. "What do you want?"

    He circled around her in slow, purposeful steps, crouching in front of her finally. Her knee was right below his gut. If he tried anything, she would kick him.

    "I knew you were going to take that knife, you know," Atticus's face wasn't as cruel as it was in real life. She almost found herself believing that this was the man she loved once. "You're so smart. The only way someone could ever kill you is if you let them."

    "Predictable."

    "Yes," he agreed, sitting criss-crossed in front of  her. "You're predictable to me. I am easily manipulated by you." He faltered, looking over her and wincing. Daria figured she didn't look great but, hey. "You know, until I did it, I wasn't sure I'd be able to go through with it."

    "Why did you?"

    "Duty," he shrugged. "Belief in this war? Something that overrode how much I cared, well still care, about you."

    "I shouldn't have kissed you," he said suddenly. "Probably. I do apologize for that. But it wasn't meant to be a manipulation tactic, if you're inclined to believe me. I think, I felt compelled, in some strange way. I loved you once, and you don't have to believe me. But you're dead, and I felt that I owe you an explanation."

    If Daria wasn't one step away from passing out, anger would be boiling through her like water on a low flame. He stood and walked away without touching her face or hair like he might have yesterday. As stepped outside her line of sight, he turned. "I'll see you in Elysium, Daria."

    Daria narrowed her eyes. If she was going to die, then she was getting the last word. "You're not going to Elysium, Atticus." She felt another familiar presence by her. An angel that had been with her since she was 10, stupid decisions and all.

"And you," Ryan said. "Are not going to die today."

    "Daria!" Nathan said urgently. "Wake up."

    Her eyes snapped open.

    She saw her friends huddled around her bed, worried expressions on all their faces. When Daria opened her mouth to speak, Clara shoved a water bottle into her hands.

    Michael shoved Nathan. Neither of them were wearing armor, but Daria didn't know if that was good or bad. For all she knew, they'd already lost the war and were hiding out in some underground bunker. She drank.

    "If you could wake her up with charmspeak before why didn't you?" Michael said.

    Nathan rolled his eyes. "Because I wanted her to die. Obviously I didn't know."

    Dakota clutched Daria's hand, lip quivering. "Your heart stopped," they said, telling Daria much more than she wanted to know. "I thought you died!"