The Elementalists

DAEMON

                  

"What the hell were you thinking?!" I yell. Angel sits on the forest floor, arms crossed, pouting. I'm so tempted to hit him, but I don't. I never hit Lilly, no matter what, and I won't hit this boy, no matter how much he pisses me off.

   "I hate him," Angel says, and his voice cracks. But the boy refuses to cry, so I know he won't, no matter how much he may want to. His childhood was just as bad—if not worse than—my own, and I understand his feelings. But it wasn't Mark who killed his family, it was Alisha, and he needs to understand that.

   "Look," I say, and I sit down next to him. He immediately moves away from me, but only a few feet away. I move over next to him and try this again as I repeat, "Look, I know that your mom and brother were killed by a Fire Elementalist, but it wasn't Mark's fault. It was Alisha, not Mark. It was Agent Ralph's daughter, not the Wedge's kid. Okay?"

   Angel shakes his head. "It...it is his fault," he chokes out. "It is! He has pat of her inside of him! Her element of destruction is part of him! It is his fault!" Angel jumps to his feet and yells, "You don't understand! You don't understand anything, Daemon! I was a kid without a family! Do you even know how that feels? And because of that tragic event, I won't even age past twelve! I'll be a kid forever! At least you look grown-up! I'll be this," Angel motions to his scrawny, twelve-year-old body, "forever! So tell me now, Daemon, whose fault is it, huh?!"

   "It's still Alisha's fault," I say. "And, yes, Angel, I do feel bad that you'll always be twelve. But in a way, that's a good thing. People will underestimate you, and they'll believe you innocent, while I know you're a vicious little monster." A small smile forms on Angel's lips, but it quickly disappears.

   "You were nine, right?" Angel whispers. I nod, and he says quietly, "I figured it out myself. You taught me how, remember?" I nod once more, and he states, "You told me that at the age of the first true tragic event of our life, we would become immortal. I was six-years-old, and you were eight. So then, we grow that amount of years, as if we're reliving that part of our life that was messed up. So that's why you're eighteen and I'm twelve—because it's double the age we were when we experienced the first true tragic event of our lives."

   I smile. "That's exactly right," I say, and I ruffle up his shaggy white hair with my fist. "See, you're smart. Now you just have to realize that it isn't Mark's fault, alright?"

   Angel's eyes widen, and then they narrow to slits as he hisses, "No. It is his fault, and I don't care what you say. It's all his fault and I hate him!" Angel tries to dash off and escape to solitude, like he always does when something's wrong, but I grab his arm and pull him back to the forest floor.

   "Sit down," I tell him, and he sighs and does as I say. I look at him and ask, "Who took care of you after Alisha went berserk?"

   Angel mutters, "You did..."

   I nod. "And," I ask him, "what lesson did I teach you?"

   Angel looks up at me, eyes wide, and replies, "That not all Light Elementalists are good, and that not all Dark Elementalists are bad."

   "Good," I reply. "Now, you believe that every word of that is true, correct?"

   Angel nods. "Of course I do," he says. "Why wouldn't I?"

   "You're judging Mark for what another has done," I tell him. "You need to understand that not all Fire Elementalists are bad, and that not all Fire Elementalists are good. Do you understand now?" I look into Angel's wide eyes that are full of pain and—yes, he understands—understanding, but he shakes his head, and looks away.