What Memory Remains

It was time.

Zenapharr stood silently over his mother’s grave, a small portioned area of the large garden used as a cemetery. Cicadas chirped and owls hooted. The night was still and calm, very contrary to his nerves. He clutched his sword so tight his knuckles were ghastly white. Fear…for the first time in a long time he felt it. Fear…of himself.

The once invincible Zenapharr was to end his own life, so Shakespearean and romantic, yet the most logical possible thing he could think to do. To keep from taking so many others’ lives he had to take his own in order to save his soul.

In that moment, all doubts he had of a spiritual realm began to crumble. He thought back on his life, his actions, his connections to others…and things started to come into focus. All that he truly wanted in life was gone…a family…a connection. Once that glass figure of himself was shattered, the shards of his humanity lay in ruin, never to be mended. Instead, they melted down into a sword…his destiny.

“Live by the sword…” He said to himself, looking at his prized katana. “Die by it.”

He reminisced on these words spoken earlier to him by the chaplain of the facility. Shocked as he was, there had been a chapel there at the facility for many years which he never knew of. Equally surprising was how much he actually enjoyed talking about spirituality. Perhaps Sade stirred a curiosity in him, opening him up to the topic.

“People have two ways of looking at who they are,” the chaplain had said. “The first is who they are by birth, the other is by their actions. In reality, it’s both. No one’s identity and actions are fixed into stone, there are only predispositions. You are something, but when you take action you eventually BECOME that. You’ve killed for so long, it’s just seemed natural. Being exposed to a situation that’s unnatural even for killers, it really got you thinking for the first time. You’ve been asleep for a long time, Zenapharr. Now is the time for your awakening.”

“Awakening…I like that,” he’d replied thoughtfully.

“When you live by the sword, you die by the sword. Your actions become you, unless you change your actions. Do you understand? It’s never too late for grace.”

“I wish I could agree with you on the grace, Piotr, but I cannot.”

“What’s that?”

“Sorry…it means Father in elvish.”

“What do the elves believe in these matters?”

“I don’t know much, being that I haven’t been raised in an elvish culture. They seem to believe in a spiritual connection with the Earth, as it connects to the Heavens in a sort of cycle.

When they die they are sent into the heavens as stars…nourishing and watching over the Earth as a guide to everyone else. Needless to say, they find the North deplorable. Mostly they live in seclusion in the forests, and mostly in the South. There is a treaty that protects many of them so as not to cause any discord, but there is still hatred for us because of their relation to Seraphim…a bloodline I apparently possess.”

“Seraphim? Oh….” He had gotten uneasy at this point.

“What is it?”

“It’s just…I haven’t heard that word in a long, long time. Not in the sense that you’re referring to, anyway.”

“What do you mean? Do you know something of them?”

“Well, there are correlations between them and the Seraphim in the Holy Word, but their motivations are quite different. The word Seraphim literally means the ‘Burning Ones,’ or in Hebrew it means ‘serpent.’ They were the highest class of angels and caretakers of God’s throne. So, someone not knowing exactly what they were talking about, dubbed them the Seraphim that you know today as the origins of the elven race. They were most likely called that because of their angelic soft features, which you can see passed down to elves and henceforth called the Angels of Death. So there’s a great example of how the name of a heavenly order of angels is used to label a horrible, violent race that we fought a long time ago. Tsssk, tsssk.”

“I see. What else do you know about them?”

“Mostly what I know is of the Biblical order of Seraphim. But, I think it ironic that the bad ones here on the planet should be called that with the Hebrew meaning.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, they were very tactical, sneaky beings. Instead of declaring war directly when they came here, they mingled in with our population, mixing their races with ours. I mean, they weren’t all too different from humans. Generally slimmer, delicate but handsome features, very adept and skilled at all they did. They introduced magic to our world, you know. Instead of strange, they were fascinating to us. All the while, their charm and façade of peace was a disguise for their eventual plan to wipe out the human race and replace us.”

“How does the burning ones relate?”

“I’m not sure….but it’s an interesting relation…many people believe they were the second judgement of God, a cleansing of the Planet. Since there was a promise not to destroy the earth with water, many thought it would be fire the second time. They actually believed they were sent by God to do His bidding. Yet, many argued against that theory as well. ”

“I’ve heard the same of the Great War.”

“Yes many have said, but I don’t believe that one. The Great War was caused by our own fear and ignorance. It was not supernatural….just the same thing that happens when humans get together.”

“What is that?”

“Death and destruction. Sin within us…it darkens our soul. We as humans can be most defined sometimes by the fact that we can’t stop finding reasons to kill each other. You hear people say how the world is getting worse and worse…but that’s not the case. From wha I’ve seen in history it seems to come in cycles. When things are great, we humans despise and abhor each other. Yet time and time again, we will band together against something that is not of our kind. Hence the phrase, ’the enemy of my enemy is my friend. ’You take away that threat….”

“And we go right back to killing each other again.”

“Precisely. I don’t know enough elves to judge how they behave, but I surely hope it’s better than how humans do it. Many think my perception of all that is pessimistic, but as devoted as I am to my faith, I also look at reason and facts. We’ve come close and haven’t done it yet, but eventually…mankind is its own worst enemy.”

These thoughts reverberated through his mind all day, and only reinforced what he already knew. In an odd way, he was essentially sacrificing himself for the good of others. As long as he was around, no one was truly safe. If the power within him was as true as it was implied, there may be no limit to what he was capable of. Some other assassin would take up his reigns, one who was in control and decent…or as decent as can be in that matter.

Even as he stood over his own mother’s grave, he felt the Urge writhing inside of him. It begged and pleaded to be let out. It even spoke to him as if it were his own sword.

“Feed me, Zenapharr. I’m so hungry,” It said in a dreamy, deadpan tone. “Look at you, you’re so sad, because you haven’t killed. But feed me, and you’ll feel so much better. Remember how good it felt? The peace you felt? Please, Zenapharr….I’m starving. You won’t even have to keep doing it a lot. Maybe just this one last time…for old time’s sake…”

“No!” He said through gritted teeth. “This ends today…no more shall die by my hand. Mother, I’ve…” He plunged his sword into the ground and knelt at her grave. “I—I’m so sorry.” The emotions struck home hard, and he hated how it felt but it made everything so vivid and real. It made him feel bad yet….human. Salty, watery drops rolled down his cheeks, and it felt uncomfortable and so…wet. Yet, he couldn’t stop. He had to say what needed to be said and do the deed before he changed his mind.

“Mother, I-I-I’m sorry. I’ve failed you. What would you say to me if you knew…what I’ve become? I try to not think about it…you must be so ashamed…wherever you are. This guilt ….it’s too much. I’ve tried forgiving myself over and over, but it’s failed. It’s only been a week since I’ve decided this, but I must end my life and join you. Whatever little boy I was before is lost. Those stories, nursery rhymes you called them…I know that I’m the one who fell off of the wall….no one can put me together, no horse nor man. Sade is right…fate is fate and I will make this mine. Unless this hunger is gone, I can’t risk any innocent people being taken from me. I love you….and…I hope to see you soon.”

Shaking, he stood up and drew his sword from the ground. In a last-minute decision, he decided to sing to her one last time. He sang the words to an old song called “America, the Beautiful.” She always loved the tune, but it was her favorite only for another reason. It was random, but she loved it mostly due to one line…because it had her name in it.

“For amber waves of grain.”

As he sang the last lines speaking of God’s gracing shining on the lands, he thought of the irony from the grace he believed he could never have.

Raising his arms above his head, he turned the curved blade inward to plunge it through himself. Breathing deeply, he gritted his teeth and pulled his arms far above his head, and pulled the blade down and in towards himself.

“Mister?” A voice called. It was so sweet it was almost heavenly. Just as the blade was about to penetrate his body, he froze. He shook his head side to side, believing that he was hearing things when it spoke again. “What are ya doing?”

To his disbelief, he turned to see a young girl standing before him, looking at him with curious and innocent eyes. He looked back in a strange silence, the wind gently blowing around them. She was about four feet tall, a young blonde thing in a nightgown clutching a stuffed bear, with big round eyes that sparkled sapphire blue.

“Who…who are you?” He asked, hardly believing what he was seeing.

“My name’s Alice. This is Geno,” she held up her bear to signify his name.

“Oh, that’s interesting,” Zenapharr fumbled, not accustomed to talking to children. He always thought of them as smelly, loud things.

“Yup! He’s my best friend. Say hi, Geno!” She held the bear out and moved his head back and forth , saying, “Hello! My name is Geno!” Zenapharr felt himself lighten, almost laughing even. For so young, the pretend voice was extremely good, like an experienced voice actor.

“Um, hi there…Geno.” He said flatly. It was awkward, speaking to an inanimate object, but he thought it best to humor her.

“Hey there, Zenapharr!” She said in her Geno voice, then pulled the bear back and held her hand up to her face in surprise.

“Oops.” she said sweetly, turning bright red. Realizing that she had said his name without him telling her, Zenapharr perked up.

“Wait…how did you know my name?” The girl paused for a moment, her expression bearing that of one with their hand in the cookie jar.

“Um, well everyone here talks about you all the time…and I’ve seen pictures. I should have asked first, that was rude.”

“Ahh, I see.” A long silence followed, and Zenapharr wasn’t sure what to say. He couldn’t fulfill his wish now with a child in front of him. Thinking quick, he remembered how girls liked to be complemented.

“I...ahhh, I like your hair.” He meant it as a statement, but his tone suggested it as a question. Why is this so weird? I talk to women all the time…these children have a strange way about them.

“Thank you. I like your spikes.” It took a moment for him to register what she meant, then it him and he touched his hair playfully.

“Oh, yes! Thank you. It’s very….sharp.”

She giggled at this, “You’re funny.”

“Alice…how did you make it out here all by yourself? There are guards everywhere.”

“Well…there are things I can do…special things. It’s the reason I’m here.”

“Like what?”

“It’s hard to explain. I’ll have to show you.”

“Okay…then show me.”

“Okay, how about this?” Alice spoke, but her lips didn’t move. The words had resounded within Zenapharr’s mind.

“That’s amazing, Alice. So you can speak telepathically.”

“That’s not all I can do.”

The little girl paused for a moment, as if thinking hard about something. Her expression turned grim.

“Oh…you’ve been through a lot, haven’t you Zen? I’m sorry about your brother and your mom. That must have been hard. And that experiment they did…”

“…how do you know about that/”

“I read your mind. I can see thoughts.”

“Wow…so you must read guards’ minds so that you can sneak past them?”

“I do, but sometimes I use their thoughts to trick them. I can make them see things that aren’t really there.”

“You could just leave anytime you wanted. Have you always been here?”

Her eyes looked down for a moment, as if contemplating her answer.

“No…but it’s my home now.”

“Oh, okay.” He remembered how that felt back then. Now it felt more like it really was… a prison cell. “What do you do all day?”

“They bring me into rooms with machines and do tests. I’m very gifted. That’s what they tell me a lot.”

“I don’t doubt that,” he said, becoming more intrigued by her. “Where are your parents? Do they visit you or….”

“…they’re gone.”

“You mean, they just left you here?”

“Sort of….yeah.”

“Oh.” He felt regret asking so many things out of being polite, feeling he was only remind her of unpleasant facts. A tinge of sorrow washed over him. “What are you doing out here so late at night? Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping in your room?”

“Nah, I can come out sometimes. Besides, I couldn’t sleep.”

“Oh, you couldn’t?”

“No, I have nightmares a lot. They’re really bad, sometimes.”

“I have them too. What was yours about?”

“I see people. There were lots and lots of them, in lines and people standing around them. The people in lines were really sad and they had chains on them. Other times…I have a dream about a really mean man. He’s very big and wears a scary mask, sot I can never see his face…he’s really scary. I call him the Masked Man.”

“That sounds really spooky.”

“Yeah….hey since we’re both outside, do you wanna play?”

Zenapharr paused a moment to think about this. At first he only wanted to talk to her enough to convince her to leave him alone, but…he couldn’t do it. Not now, anyway. He was too curious about her, remembering how alone he was after his parents were gone. She couldn’t be any older than five or six years old, not too much younger than he was.

“Sure.”

“Can we play hide and seek?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Yay! Oh, before we play, can I tell you something?”

“Um…sure.”

“The lady you were talking to…that was your mom, right?”

“She was, yes. Why do you ask?”

“She wants me to tell you something.”

“She….she does?” Zenapharr’s breath caught in his throat, floored by her words. The look in her eyes such a deep sincerity that he believed her.

“Yeah. She says…” She tilted her head, seeming to think or listen. “She said she loves you. She likes how you wear her necklace all the time. She said she’s very proud of you, no matter what you’ve done.” Zenapharr dropped his sword, completely speechless as she continued. “Oh, and she said she liked it when you sang to her, before she went away. She really likes it when you visit.”

“Oh……is…she saying this right now?”

“She wants you to know that she’s never left you. She’s always there, wherever you go. She talks to you all the time…you just can’t hear her.”

The half-elf’s hands shook as tears welled up in his eyes. He felt like someone wedged a huge rock in his throat. Unable to speak, he turned his head to the side and focused on controlling his breathing. The little girl, having sympathy on him, walked over and put her arms around him. Instinctively, he knelt down and put his arms around her. A warmth grew inside him, something that he could not explain. The only thing he understood was that for the first time in a long time…he felt good.