To Be...

Chapter 19

Now, I was equipped with a new plan. A plan I had from the very beginning that I didn't understand was to be used like this.

'Did Snow White die?'

'No, the prince kissed her, and she came back to life.'

I found an answer in a fairytale. How ironic.

I had a strange premonition that this would indeed work. If a kiss from a prince brought Snow White back to life, a kiss from someone who loved him should suffice... right? I mean, Snow White wasn't alive to fall in love with the prince, and all it took was his loving kiss. So mine should work.

There was just one problem. Leon had been avoiding me. To the extreme. He was doing it so obviously that even Nadia attempted to comfort me. Only once, though. I still didn't belong to her family, but I wasn't exactly an intruder anymore. She realized that there was no longer a threat, now that I had gotten beaten into a very unattractive pulp.

That hadn't kept Dillon or Harwin at bay. They were not below kissing my feet, and Harwin would probably ask if he was kissing them too hard. It was sweet at first, but after a week locked at home, it got agitating. They served me, fed me, got Rosalyn to dress me. They wouldn't allow me near a mirror to criticize myself, and didn't actually let me get onto my feet for three days. I wanted to do things for myself. That part of me hadn't been malfunctioning.

Susan had called me the day of the 'accident', and didn't believe Dillon's first explanation. Then he told her 'the truth'.

I had apparently gone to New York to find Leon, and gotten beaten by a gang. When she finally talked to me, we discussed rumors that would be going on during my absence.

She called me every day, and realized that I wasn't happy, too soon. I told her only that Leon was ignoring me, and she understood. Like she always did. Never to the full extent. She wanted to visit, but I told her that I would be at school the next week, that way Harwin and Dillon had a deadline for their overcompensation.

On Sunday, I went to the church service. The morning service. Now was the perfect time for more punishment that hadn't come in the form of words, yet.

Killing is wrong.

I wanted to be chided. I wanted at least a slap on the hand. God could provide me with that. It's the least he could do after all he's put me through. Put me through more. He had to. I was one of the sinners. It's one of the rules that I saw on a Christmas ornament.

'Thou shalt not kill.'

Now that I think about it, I've broken them all, haven't I? Except adultery.

We sang a few boring, monotonous songs, and I almost nodded off. When Pastor Seymour stepped onto the familiar stage, my energy returned. I awaited his unknowing punishment. He stood on the stage quiet for a moment. He stared down into his trembling hands. Dramatic effect? I believed it only added to my excitement. I needed someone to set me straight.

So you can imagine my surprise when a tear slipped down his face.

"The Lord giveth," he moaned in sadness. In unbearable heartache, similar to what I felt before, but his was massive even while being reined in. "And the Lord taketh away."

"No!" I shouted accidentally.

Everyone's eyes darted my way. Pastor Seymour smiled through tears, but his heart wasn't in his smile. His hands quaked worse than they ever had.

I was standing now.

This wasn't what I came here for. I didn't come to realize that someone was suffering worse than I was. Than I ever had. It was one of my favorite people. The closest human friend I had, and he was in anguish.