Caution: mentions of suicide

☆Glory☆ 

"I am too young

And I have loved you too much"

-The Brothers Karamazov, Fyodor Dostoyevsky

☆

The  girl in the picture set on Grandmother's lamp table, always covered with a handkerchief, is beautiful. Even though I can only sneak a peek at a time-- barely three seconds-- I can still draw the girl's face in my mind. Long, curly blonde hair, similar to mine, and a round face. I don't remember much about anything except her eyes. I don't know the color or the shape (I note to look it up later), but the eyes are something that erase everything about the face, only allowing a faint image of the eyes to linger. Perhaps there was something smeared on her face. Or pimples. But the eyes stare right at the six-year-old me, daring me to think of anything other than the world 'beautiful'. 

As I grow older, I wonder, what makes it so breathtaking? The eyelashes? The color? But I finally settle down on one conclusion: those are the eyes of a mad person. She seemed-- even then, when she was young-- to search for something, some bigger light. It was like she was staring at something, obsessed, unsatisfied. 

And I was right. She kept moving, following that perfect light, always searching for more.

She left Grandmother. She left her husband, my father, and then me.

☆ 

When I wake from my dream, I see Grandmother sitting by my side. Her hand is next to mine, but she isn't holding it, like she's afraid I will turn to dust if she touches me. 

Grandmother is an old lady. Living with her for a few years, there are a lot of things I know about her. The things that would never change. She is strict. She always speaks in a soft voice, because she knows her voice would be heard no matter what. She is old-fashioned. She used to have a picture of Anaconda in her room.

Her hands are so wrinkled, with veins visible underneath the skin that barely tops over it. I stare at it for a long time, thinking, remembering. Reminding myself, as I hold that beautiful hand, of what keeps me here. I realize that my list cuts off after a while. The other list goes on and on. 

Grandmother wakes at my touch. Her voice is lispy. "You should try to get some--"

I cut her off, because if she goes on, I know I can never ask her. "Grandmother, I want to ask you something serious." I grip the blanket. I'm sorry. I know I'm being selfish. Her eyes widen, and she almost seems scared to hear my next words. "Can I speak to you about it?" 

"Glory." She shakes her head. I can tell that she knows what I'm going to say. "Rest. It's been a long night, I don't want to..." Her voice trails off, breathing in shakily.

"Grandmother," I say gently. I grip her hand tighter. "I don't want you to be like this anymore. Always worrying about your granddaughter. I should be taking care of you, but I've never done anything in my life that was helpful. I want you to enjoy your life. Not this. I don't--" I'm choking on my words. "I don't want this situation to go on any longer, okay?"

"Is it because of your illness, Glory? Because we can fight through it, I promise. It'll be okay, I'm so sorry that you have to go through this, I'm sorry..." Grandmother is sobbing. Her fingers brush over my pulse almost unconsciously, as if she's trying, for the hundredth time, to convince herself that I am alive. 

"Grandmother, did you know?" I clasp her hands, holding it to my cheek. Did you know that Anaconda's husband has been injecting cancer cells into my body? Did you know he killed my father? And that Anacondra knew but never told me? Grandmother stares at me, her eyes questioning. So she doesn't know. That's when I realize, she must never know. "I've never wanted to die before. I loved my life." It's like they've crushed my soul into pieces. "But now, I'm not so sure anymore. Everything-- everyone-- they're so cruel, Grandmother." I'm digging my fingernails into my palm. So, so cruel. "And I'm so young. You know? I was just a little kid. I still am. But everybody is just-" I cover my face, ashamed to look at her. "-they're monstrous."

I'm too young, Grandmother, and I have loved too much.

"What happened, Glory? Talk to me." Grandmother presses her forehead against me. "Is it about your mother? If it is, don't take it out on yourself. Take it on me."

When I start to protest, she shakes her head. "Anacondra is that way because-- listen to me-- I was abusive when she was younger. My husband cheated on me, you know, and I was so desperate that I wanted to prove her perfectness to him. Even after he left, I insisted her on being beautiful and perfect because I didn't want anyone talking of me being a single mother. That somehow it affected Anaconda badly, that without that man, I wouldn't be able to raise her like I should. I hated it, and I demanded more and more of her, her reputation more than anything else. I never asked her about her feelings. The only important thing was what everyone else thought. And I realized much later, much too late, there was nothing more unimportant." She pauses, breathing softly, as if she can't bring herself to go on. But she does. 

"That's why she was obsessed with her surroundings, the people around her. Now, it's like a bad habit to her. She holds her reputation the highest. It's not about you, Glory. She really does love you, you know. I can see it. She just does everything that way, she hasn't realized it yet. And I hate it because I know how she will feel when she does realize her stupidity. Maybe she'll hate me even more after that. I would deserve it. It's all my fault." Grandmother sobs, clutching her chest. "Glory, take it out on this woman. Don't keep such thoughts to yourself."

What a terrible cycle.

Grandmother's insecurities created Anacondra, who married a monstrous husband, who ordered Battlewinner, who ordered Deathbringer, who killed my father. Who is it to blame? Whose fault is this? Does it end with me? Me, who Anacondra abandoned, who wants to die? Does it ever end? 

"Grandmother, why is everything so cruel to us?" Silence. Because she doesn't know, either. It seems to me that nobody does. "Why are we living like this? What have we done?...We only wanted a good family. A happy life. So why are we going through this? When will this end?"

"I don't know, Glory, I don't know." 

Grandmother, I don't want to live like this anymore. They have destroyed me. I am no longer the person I used to be.

"I want to go to Switzerland." The words are just silent and calm, like I'm saying them underwater. Tears are just slipping down my face, wetting my palms. And I feel so empty. And yet, I am heavy, dragging myself on this bed, sinking, sinking, without knowing why I am sinking, because I'm terribly empty. It's the worst feeling in the world. "I'm sure they would approve of my condition, and let me have a peaceful-- an unpainful--"

Death.

I just can't say the word out loud. 

☆

Letter #1

To Deathbringer. 

I know I promised to write to you when we went to college. Believe me, I wanted to. Maybe I'll write another letter, acting in that pretend game again. But even then, I would know that such a thing is impossible. So I write now, hoping that this letter would make you understand me. To make you, the love of my life, a little less miserable. Would it? I hope so. I don't know.

The truth is, I haven't written a letter to you since you turned yourself in. It hasn't been long since I heard the news, since I woke up in the hospital. I haven't even visited. I just don't know what to write to you. Maybe, a part of me wants to cherish our last moment together, the happy memories when we forgot everything and just loved each other. I'm afraid that if I go back, and say my plans to you, I will ruin everything.

I want to hear your voice, I want you next to me, but I know that would be too selfish. So I keep writing letters over and over again, hoping you'll see them someday.

Another reason is that I can't possibly tell you this in person. I am ashamed to tell you, when you are being so brave, that I'm running away. 

Deathbringer, I'm going to die. I'm going to Switzerland. After a long talk with Grandmother, we agreed to contact a hospital in Switzerland. They specialize in assisted suicide. Since I'm in the last stages of my leukemia, we're both pretty sure they'll accept.

Once, I saw a note you wrote for me. I read it so many times that I have it memorized by heart. 

You sad that on cool nights you look up at the sky and tell yourself that it isn't your fault. That it was written on the stars. You said something about us being in a strange play to satisfy some heavenly power. Concluding that it was the fault in our stars that made us this way. 

You were convinced that I would hate it, that I like to face things, even if it takes me a little while. In your eyes, I'm a girl that always turns back. A girl that never fails at facing things, because she's brave.

I thought so, too. 

But you were wrong about one thing. The bravery doesn't come from me. It comes you. From Grandmother and Moon and all my friends at school and the people that love me. From Jambu and maybe Anaconda. The ones that trust me. The fact that I'm not alone.

With them, I can fight through anything.

...Isn't it funny? Because once one person-- Anacondra-- turned away, everybody seemed to be okay without me. And I kept erasing everyone until I was completely by myself. Alone and helpless, facing the big monster that once seemed so small. Now, it is impossible to destroy.

And to be honest? I'm nothing without the people around me. I turn at the first chance and run away. I'm desperately closing my eyes, hoping that this isn't real. That this would all end.

Maybe you were right. Maybe I would have never felt this way, this empty, if I hadn't been Anaconda's daughter. If I had never been injected with cancer cells. If my father hadn't been killed. If the boy that killed him wasn't you, Deathbringer, the love of my life (see, this is why I can't show you those letters. Because then you would just blame yourself. I would hate myself if you did). Maybe, just maybe, if you were a normal boy, or if I was a girl that had nothing to do with your assassinations, I would just brush it off. And I would still have the last hope that I can go through this cruel world. Perhaps I would have lived happily, with my friends, with the people never leaving me. And I would be strong.  

Deathbringer, I have nothing left.

Maybe the fault is in our stars after all. Maybe I can control none of those things, and it's not my fault. This was my fate, already written by some hand I don't know.

It's the last thing I hold on to. Because it's the only explanation where I don't have to blame myself.

-Glory