MARISOL IS ON ALL FOURS, gagging, grasping at her throat. Her face is soaked with tears. There's vomit on the ground in front of her.
"You need water," I tell her.
She vomits again and wipes her mouth with the back of her wrist. I help her to her feet, wrapping my arm around her. She holds tight to me, trembling.
"He almost killed me! He tried to shoot me! I couldn't breathe, and I—and I—I thought I was going to die!"
"But you survived. You're a fighter."
At this, Marisol bursts out in a fit of tears. "I don't want to be a fighter! I don't do well with... with blood, or pain, or death, or"—she waves her arms around—"any of this!"
"And the fact that you don't is something to be proud of. Do you know how easy it is for warriors to grow cruel, to revel in the sight of spilled blood? Stay like you are, stay traumatized by pain, and you'll stay human. Blood, pain, death—none of it is easy. But it's human. Take that away and you'll be as unfeeling as a god." I brush her hair out of her eyes. "Marisol, feeling is what makes us human."
YOU ARE READING
A Shrine to an Unknown God
FantasyAntigone Katsaros was born and raised in a cult. Now, at eighteen, she doesn't know what wifi is, but she's well-versed in the old gods. [A Wattpad featured story.]
