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It was that moment when they realized that they were about to die. For Lanie, this was what always stuck in her mind, and came back now, when she was on the brink of death herself. Usually, she became aware of the fate of her casualties before they did. Even when she knew they weren’t going to make it, she’d continue her work, doing her best to stabilize, reassure, and prepare them for the more skilled hands. Surely they would be able to fix whatever was wrong, no matter how bad it looked.
It was always predictable, the death of hope. To hope was to fall, after all. To love was to kill, and to trust was to die. It started in the eyes, when the attempt to be brave or laugh it off or remain stoic gave way to the tiniest crack of doubt. And then, that glass box of hope would bust wide open, unable to contain the mortal terror that burst forth. Sometimes, when the torrent had slowed to a trickle, there would be acceptance. But inevitably, whether spoken through words or eyes or the squeeze of the hand, there would be that plea that she could not fulfill: Save me. Don’t let me die. I’m not done yet.
It was bad enough when they didn’t see it coming.
It was worse when it was someone who had claimed to love her.
It was even worse when she was the one who had killed them. Whether she meant to or not.
For the first time, Lanie smiled. She smiled at her grandmother, and felt happier than she had in a very long time. She yelled to be heard over the chaos, struggling not to laugh with glee. “You have done more evil than all who lived before you. Do not repay evil with evil or insult with insult. For fools speak folly, their hearts are bent on evil. Everyone who does evil hates the light. For those who are evil will be destroyed. You use your mouth for evil and harness your tongue to deceit. Their evil imaginations have no limits. The tongue also is a fire, a world of evil among the parts of the body!”
Her cousin couldn’t stop her from pushing the detonator in her mouth. With that last word, he reached her just as the glow flared upward, and a shattering boom splits the air and everything around it. For a second, he was flying, and then he tumbled headlong through a searing, black heat.
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We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect.
― Anais Nin
Lidi 