I Have a Sickness

     In this room, I could literally hear a pin drop. That's how silent it was. Each time I hit the white marble floor with my worn brown leather boot, I should have heard the familiar light pad of soft leather hitting ground. Instead, each step I made reverberated around the entire temple. I couldn’t help but notice the grime on my hands as my thumb rubbed my index finger. Even my lips tasted of dirt. My filthy body felt so unwelcome in a place so white. I felt as though I was leaving a track of uncleanliness behind me that would never wash off.

The building was so empty and quiet. I could hear my deadly disease creep closer and closer to my heart, which encouraged me even more not to run and never return. This man, or whatever it is, he could help me. I knew it. I went to the center of the room, with the white marble benches all along the walls facing me, like I was on trial, and placed the six ounce bottle of griffin's blood on the floor. If this guy couldn't help me, then all of that work I spent getting the blood would be wasted. If this man couldn't help me, then everything I've recently done would be wasted. The disease would get me, unless he helped. Thats if he could help, he might not even be able to. Even if he was able to, he might not be willing to. There was a very little chance of help, but I was running out of time. If this didn't work, I didn't know what else would. I clapped my hands three times to summon him. I heard a large inhale, but I couldn't see a figure. "Griffin's blood. The sweetest, the richest of liquids. What do you seek?" The bottle gradually evaporated.

      "I have a sickness." I said. "Once it reaches my heart, I will die. I ask for your help to get rid of it."

     "I see." The voice rasped. Suddenly I was in the air. My arms forced out, and my legs spread apart. It felt as if my chest was caving in. He was killing me. I closed my eyes and resisted death in a quiet, unexpressed panic. I got dropped to the floor and my eyes involuntarily opened. I landed on my chest and got the wind knocked out of me, but other than that I was fine. I was alive.

     "So, can you do anything?" I asked.

     "No" My breath caught in my throat. The answer was so abrupt, quickly stamping out the flames of my life. How could one syllable render an entire fifteen years pointless? No...that word haunts every man, but me more than ever. No. "But...you can do something...to stop this...sickness of yours." I looked up, afraid to show signs of hope.

     "What is it that I can do?"

     "You must kill one innocent person, or save ten. If you choose to kill, your soul will be damned, but your sickness gone. If you choose to save, your sins will be forgiven. You have ten days until your disease wins; whichever path you choose must be chosen quickly, and done quicker. Judging from how you got the sickness in the first place, I will likely see you in hell." And then he was gone. It had just occurred to me that a creature that belonged to hell, lived here. This was one of the many things that convinced me there is no such thing as purity.

      I rushed out the temple and into the woods. I needed to think. The bright green leaves covered the entire sky, but were thin. This allowed the sun to shine through. I came to a clearing and lied down, basking in the emerald light. My eyes closed, my hands behind my head, I worried over my options; actually, option.

     “Ouch!” I yelped.

     “Ya looked worried,” stated Garnen, as if it were a worthy explanation as to why he tossed a stick at my head. Garnen was a short, stubby looking old man. His thick, wrinkled skin made him look ancient, which he was. The curved nose and trademarked large pointy ears gave him a constant grumpy appearance.

     “Before or after I got hit?”

     “Y’always look worried.” He replied.

     “Maybe that’s ‘cuz I’m dying?” I responded.

     He looked at me sourly.  “I could end your woryin’ if you’d like.”

     I stood up and gazed off. “Yea actually, you could.”

     He continued on. "So, what'd Mr. Ghostie say?" He asked as we started walking home.

      I hesitated. Garnen didn't know how I got my sickness. He’d made a point not to ask, and I was grateful of that. "He said I had to save ten lives, or..."

      "Or what? C'mon lad, I may got all day but you sure don't."

      "I die, I guess." I looked down and started pinching the hard cotton of my shorts between my fingernails. It was never easy mentioning my death with Garnen. For a being who lived for hundreds of years, and had seen hundreds die, my being gone had always been a touchy subject for him. This never made sense to me because it doesn’t seem that my absence would bother anyone else.

      "Well that ain't too hard. How much time ya got until..." He trailed off.

I gave a sad smile. "Ten days."

His voice was upbeat but his eyes were somewhere else. "Well that's not hard at all! Not hard at all Red. Just be a superhero for the day. Save in large groups. We'll get this done, I've saved many in my time. I can be your own personal mentor." He winked at me and I gave a small chuckle, then grimaced. It sounded forced and unnaturally loud.

     “well that was a weird sounding laugh there.” Garnen pointed out. My heart was racing. I felt my grip tighten around the stick in my hands. It was a good thing Garnen threw it lightly, it could’ve seriously injured me.

     “Yeah” I half laughed. “Yeah it was.” I started hitting the stick against my thigh. Garnen’s eyes were focused on the floor.

      “Listen, I know you’re nervous about this, but it’s not some impossible feat, especially with help. I’ll make things much easier.” He assured.

       “Yeah, you will make things easier, and I really am grateful.”

   He smiled and started to look up. It took me by surprise just as much as him. “I’m really sorry.” I choked out as the stick swung again. He barely even fought back. He barely even resisted as he was clubbed to death by a stick. He didn’t even seem mad, just confused - really, really confused. As if he didn’t even realize what was happening. As if he didn’t see the blood running down his face, and his head, and his neck, and eventually there was just a pool of it, of all this nasty, disgusting blood and it surrounded him and I could feel some of the drops on my face and I couldn’t even wipe it off because my hands were covered. I dropped the stick and crouched down.

    I’ve stolen, I’ve lied - I did what I had to to stay alive. Garnen didn’t approve, but he always told me that I wasn’t a bad person. He said that good people are perfectly capable of doing bad things. This doesn’t make them bad, it only makes them human. I let him believe this made me feel better, that it took away the feeling I got in my heart that felt as if it were being disintegrated by a black acid, but it never really helped. It wasn’t the things I did that made me bad; it was knowing that if I had the choice, I would do them again.