“You will not survive a war with me.”

I looked into his eyes and honestly, my stomach had a few butterflies in it. I hadn’t expected to meet with him at all, let alone on a street corner. At night. Alone.

I took a deep breath, and he let me. “I had no intentions of taking part in any war, Luca, let alone one I might not survive.” The night air was cold, and I was glad I’d stuffed my hands into my pockets before coming out of the diner. It also helped by not giving away my fear as we stood there face to face.

He didn’t respond right away. Was he considering my words? Testing my resolve? Wondering if I was lying? I couldn’t tell. If there was ever a face that could not be read, it was his. Stone cold and almost always completely void of life, he continued to stare. But finally, after a few more unnerving moments of silence, he spoke again. “I want you to understand something,” he seethed, from behind clenched teeth, eyes narrowing slightly, “Whatever it is you want… whatever it is you’re searching for, you need to forget about it. Am I making myself abundantly clear?”

Gemini scrawled a single word on the nearly old chalkboard in all caps: RESISTANCE. To finish the word, he dragged the short stick of chalk the length of the word and placed it on the holding tray at the bottom of the board. Then he turned to face the few of us that were in attendance that day. “If we fight,” he announced with a loud, ragged voice, “it’s true, we might lose.” His eyes slowly surveyed each of our faces. I really think he was looking to read expressions, and he might have accomplished that in some. But his eyes never told the story if he did. I knew for a fact he didn’t see anything in mine. I’d learned, long ago, to cast expression to the wind. It gave everyone the wrong impression. Whether they be friend or foe, it didn’t matter. Sometimes, you just needed to keep what was in your head, in your head. Finally, after satisfying whatever desire had driven him to pause, he resumed his pep talk, if it could be called that. “But if we do not fight, we will have already lost the battle.”

I was the one who looked around then. Gemini made a good point. To fight was to risk a loss, but it was better to risk a loss than simply give up without trying. I could see on the faces of many that they agreed with him. Some nodded. Some had sheer determination in their eyes, with their jaw set, their temples throbbing. And still others gave a hearty shout of agreement, fists raised in the air, their voices becoming visible, as their breath turned into clouds of condensation against the cold. They were few and far between who remained timid-looking and doubtful. Of course, there had to be those that felt differently. Difference is what makes the world go round. But they cannot be allowed to make it stop. Especially for those of us that didn’t want it to.

It's quite simple really. So simple, in fact, that there's really no room for debate.

One believes in God. That salvation is an experience that can be realized through reading the Scriptures, which are Truth and a moral compass by which to live.

One believes there is no God. That "this" is all there is, and we're nothing but worm-food when we die, with a total end of consciousness.

If the one who believes in God dies, and the unbeliever's reality is true, he or she has lost nothing, having simply lived a good life.

If the unbeliever dies, and the believer's reality is true, he or she has lost their chance at salvation, with eternal damnation to come in the final judgment.

Only one reality can be true, but by the time the truth is fully realized, there will be no chances left for bet-placing.

Which gamble is safer?

They accumulate...and acclimate,

Those words I couldn't say.

I thought they'd come much easier,

As night gave way to day.

In darknest night they roll and climb,

They seem to make such sense.

But as the darkness flies away,

They seem so far and dense.

If I had only penned them down,

When once they were so clear.

I know they'd simply jump to life,

Those words I held so dear.

You think you will remember them,

As eyelids sink and fall.

And when the sun comes up again,

They aren't there at all.

Who knows the prose I've left to die,

In barren, sullen lands,

Of thoughts and dreams and memories,

But never to the hand.

Perhaps someday I'll learn and jot

Those fleeting words all down.

And words that I just couldn't say

Won't fade into a frown.

In essence, they're not really real,

Those words I couldn't say.

But I'm only just a writer,

So that's actually okay.

Today we are burying seeds for the third time. You wouldn't think it would be so hard. Years ago, it wouldn't have been. The dirt wasn't as hard. The air wasn't as stifling. And the sun...it actually came around often.

The first two times, we didn't know how to prepare. Wet the dirt and keep it wet, if you can find enough water. Those are my first and most precious thoughts. If the seeds germinate and can't find their way to the surface, what good is the attempt?

Now we pray. For breezes to sweep away the dust from the air. For the sun to make an appearance from time to time. It has to work this time, it just has to. We've searched the country side, again and again. There's nothing left.

The last meal may have been refried beans. Then again, it may have been dog food. It kept us alive, thank God. But today, we are burying seeds for the third time. Maybe this time, they won't stay dead.

You never know when you’ll be seeing someone for the last time. I thought I had seen Aiden for the last time, the last night he made me cry. When he took my hands in his and stared into my eyes. “Oh, my sweet, sweet Lily,” he whispered, rubbing his fingers over my scars, “you are so horribly broken.”

I snatched my hands back and wrung them together in my lap. “No, I’m not,” I whispered back, staring at the nothing in front of me. Shaking my head now, I repeated myself. “I’m not.” Was I trying to convince him? Or was it me I hoped would understand? “But what if I can’t wake up from the nightmares?” I asked, daring to peek out at him through stringy strands of black bangs, hoping for something to hold onto.

Pushing those strands back, he smiled an empty smile as he tucked them behind my ear. “Well, darling,” he mused, as he sighed and sat back, ” that just means that you were never asleep.” I had often wondered when I would learn: that sometimes, just sometimes, the one person you’d take a bullet for is sometimes the very one behind the trigger. “You see, that’s what happens,” he went on quietly, “when you let someone get close enough to destroy you.”

I wondered then if someday, someone would think to ask me, “Who were you before he broke your heart?” But what would I say? What was I, really, before that?

Aiden spoke again, this time as if having read my thoughts. “Some people, Lily, can go through their whole life never having need of a weapon.” As our eyes met, he drove his point home. “They were simply born to be one.”

As my tears fell, I still refused to let it be someone else who took the blame. “But, it wasn’t him that destroyed me,” I murmured, “because I’ve destroyed myself.”

He watched me for a moment, and I wondered what he must see. It wasn’t like him to withhold the truth, even if it hurt. At least he was honest. “It must be a horrible place there inside your mind,” he said finally, as more tears dropped and landed with a splatter on my scarred hands and arms. “You are far too young to hate the world as much as you do.”

Did I? Or was I just a little girl waiting for the happy ending I’d always heard about? The Princess, waiting to be saved? “Will it ever stop?” I asked, wondering if he would dare to lie or tell the truth.

His sudden laugh seemed out of place and I furrowed my brow, waiting for the words that would follow it. He leaned closer and caught my gaze, still smiling. “My darling, have you not heard the storms? The thunder, the lightning, the howl of the wind?”

“Yes.”

He nodded and blinked slowly. “Don’t you see? Even the sky screams sometimes.”