Wandering

Try as I might, I never succeed. Standing at the edge of glory just to have it ripped away. I laughed. How had I been so foolish to think this world would be any different? My body shook from blood loss. After 78 lives, I would think I would be used to the feeling. Torture though never lost its unpleasantness. The light from the fire moved in time with my heart. I guessed it would only be a few more minutes.

One of my torturers shouted orders, “Get bandages! We need her alive.”

I couldn’t control myself, “no need to fuss. I won’t be here much longer,” I giggled, choking on the water still trapped in my lungs. The ropes holding me tightened. It was worth it, seeing the panic on their faces.

Only a week prior, I was on top of the world. Winning a war for the rebellion against a greedy king. The weapon of mass destruction, to bring peace and equality. It would seem equality meant stripping the mighty of their power, including their champion. Fair was fair. If everyone couldn’t have the power, no one could. That was the way of men, women, children too, all living things. No one to trust, but never knowing until it was too late.

At least this world has given me gifts. In this medieval time, I had beautiful wings. Soft white feathers, contributing to my name, Angel. Now I could stare at the remaining feathers on the stone floor, some pink. No more wings. Destroying the best ability I had adorned in many universes.

I glanced around, catching green eyes. The weight of hard decisions dulling them. My first friend of this time. She found me in the woods after my departure from the previous world. Months of caring for me, and teaching me the ways of society. Giving me my name.

That girl I first met is now a hardened soldier from years of war. A grown woman, who fell in love with a charming knight, and was to be wed in spring. All of it was possible because I won the war. It led to the feast where she drugged my food. Betrayal tasted sweet, one of the best honey buns I have eaten.

It still surprised me I had lasted this long. A winged woman that never aged, I had been called a monster for less. It was my curse. Be different, be unique, be the hero. It had sounded amazing. The appeal faded after the fourth death. In 78 deaths 16 ended in experimentation, 11 in torture, 23 in battle, 7 in illness, 3 stabbed in the back, 4 as a martyr, 3 miscommunications, 5 poisonings, 5 executions, and one of old age. After each one, it was the same thing in a new place. Waking up with a jumbled mind. Too many memories, to remember a single thing clearly. I had to work my way through the journey. Defeat the enemy, as I begin to remember until the moment where it all turns south. All the moments are revealed to remind me of the wish I once made.

I want to be a hero.

It had been so long ago now. That first life hardly even mattered now. It had been over 700 years ago. Names that lost all meaning, but those 6 words. Those held fast. Mocking my existence. The world screams, this is what you asked for. Don’t cry to me. And trust me, I tried. Begging and screaming, pleading with the forces of the universes to free me. Watching people die over and over again. It would have destroyed the strongest men. That’s why I made The 4 Golden Rules. One, never fall in love; it’s not worth the pain. Two, always eat the food; poison is better than starvation. Three, get back up; don’t give them the satisfaction of winning. Four, be the good guy; the regret will hurt more. I repeated them over and over as I took my last breaths. If I could only remember one thing, it would be those rules.

“Angel,” I could hear the sob that followed. The green eyed girl fought against the guards. Tears streaming down her face, she cried, “she’s dying. Let me go.”

Another second of struggling, then the armed men released her at the wave of my torturer. He had given up on saving me. A small blessing.

Small hands fiddled with the ropes, freeing my arms. It didn’t do much. I couldn’t move. I collapsed against her, catching the glint of the heart locket around her neck. Inside a picture of the two of us.

She sobbed, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve this. I’m sorry.” Over and over, as if it could fix everything.

Be kind.

“It’s okay, Maria. I forgive you,” I whispered, “these things happen.”

“No. They don’t.”

“They do.”

“Then make it stop.”

I smiled. Make it stop. Could I make it stop? Was it even worth trying? Maria seemed to think so.

“I’ll try,” closing my eyes, leaning into her touch. At least I wasn’t alone. Now I could try.

Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop…

Blackness turns to light. Flash of green, mountains, cliffs… make it stop. I needed to make it stop. Air then nothingness.

Make it stop. What needed to stop?

Ocean water sprayed my face. That should stop it. Cold then nothingness.

Make it stop.

City lights then nothingness.

Make it stop.

Booms of war then nothing.

Make it… stop.

I staggered to my feet. My head pounded. I needed it to stop. Anything to make it stop. That’s what I needed. Right? Even the six feet to the edge of the cliff, looked impossible. Apparently it wasn’t. My foot met air, then I dropped. And then I’m not. There’s a hand around my wrist. I looked up. The sun was blinding. It was too much.

I winced, “make it stop.”

I barely heard the quiet words, “you’re okay now. I’ve got you.”