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My Warrior

I see him now. He is trying so hard not to look at the black pool of never-ending nothingness, but I know that the urges grow. I hold on to his hand, constantly willing for him not to look at the blackness, only into my eyes.


It has always been this way. I don't remember any other life before this. He struggles to free his hand, not because he intends to let go of mine, but because he wants to stretch his fingers.

I see that his gaze is pained with the struggle, so I hold his hand tighter. Does it comfort him? Am I able to hold onto him forever? Will he ever not need my help? I ask myself all these questions as he stares pleadingly at me.

"Let me go," he begs.

"Never," I spit, seeing as that no other reply was considerable.

"Let me go," he demands. "You can't do this forever."

"I can and I will!" I say, but I know it's to assure myself.

I see the doubt that flashes across his eyes. I look around the room, completely stripped of light and yet contains no darkness. How did we get here? How do we get out? But I at once know that there is no way out. Where is everyone?

I look back at the boy in time to see him turn towards the void. I slap him. Hard. He doesn't hit back, doesn't even face me. He just looks down at his feet.

I am his rock, his support. I cannot be scared, I cannot be doubtful. But I am. So so frightened. He might turn around and give in to the black void. He might finally let go of my hand, allowing his to slowly . . . gradually . . . slip.

It saddens me how he doesn't get stronger. I hold his hand, knowing that it gives him a piece of mind, a little faith. I see his eyes brighten every time he looks up and sees I am still here. Then I see all worries flee his mind, even for just a little while.

Is my love enough? Will I be enough reason for him not to give in to every other force in the world that threatens to break him?

Does he know . . . ? That only he has the power to resist the void? That any moment he can let go of my hand and turn from the hole, never to see it again?

I sigh, knowing that his whole attention is only on our linked hands. For now, my and his heart is set on this link. Our relationship. The urge to give up swells, and for what he knows, I am the warrior.

But I know better.




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