He looks at her, dumbfounded. She sits serenely staring at him, a hint of apology in her eyes. He’s never been one for needless chatter, but he can’t stop himself.
“How can this not bother you?” She smiles a secret smile, as if he were the child and she the old man.
“I’ve had time to adjust. Accept it. Hell, I’m lucky to have made it as long as I have,” she answers.
“You’re only twenty-three, hija,” Raul chokes. She shakes her head, staring off into the setting sun.
“I’ve felt like I’ve lived a million years,” she says.
“How? How did you get so sick?” he asks, staring long and hard at her, as if he could see the deadly mutations multiplying underneath her skin. She looks normal, almost healthy. A little pale, a little gaunt, but normal.
Beautiful.
“Radiation,” she says. “Back where I’m from, there wasn’t any clean water. Hell, Lake Mead is a dream compared to the Potomac. My father worked on a purifier, but the Enclave came to claim it. He sabotaged it, and when it came time to take it back, I had to turn it on.”
“You didn’t have to,” he says in a choked voice. She shakes her head.
“No. I did. I wouldn’t have placed the burden on anyone else. Besides,” she says, and her voice grows quiet, but he can hear every terrible word clearly in the silence of the Mojave night. “I wanted to die.” He opens his mouth to protest, and she places her hand up to silence him. “I’ve made my peace, Raul.”
“You know they’re going to suffer. Going to be distraught,” he says, looking at their group bustling in the distance. She shakes her head.
“I know. You’re going to have to comfort them.”
“There is still so much good you can do,” he says, knowing that he isn’t arguing with her, but her irreconcilable fate. She laughs, and he tries not to notice how much hoarser her voice sounds.
“I think I’ve more than paid my way into Heaven,” she says. “But you’re right. There is still more good to be done. There always is.”
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timeasmymeasure
More Good to Be Done 1/1 Microfill
Date: 2011-12-04 04:03 am (UTC)He looks at her, dumbfounded. She sits serenely staring at him, a hint of apology in her eyes. He’s never been one for needless chatter, but he can’t stop himself.
“How can this not bother you?” She smiles a secret smile, as if he were the child and she the old man.
“I’ve had time to adjust. Accept it. Hell, I’m lucky to have made it as long as I have,” she answers.
“You’re only twenty-three, hija,” Raul chokes. She shakes her head, staring off into the setting sun.
“I’ve felt like I’ve lived a million years,” she says.
“How? How did you get so sick?” he asks, staring long and hard at her, as if he could see the deadly mutations multiplying underneath her skin. She looks normal, almost healthy. A little pale, a little gaunt, but normal.
Beautiful.
“Radiation,” she says. “Back where I’m from, there wasn’t any clean water. Hell, Lake Mead is a dream compared to the Potomac. My father worked on a purifier, but the Enclave came to claim it. He sabotaged it, and when it came time to take it back, I had to turn it on.”
“You didn’t have to,” he says in a choked voice. She shakes her head.
“No. I did. I wouldn’t have placed the burden on anyone else. Besides,” she says, and her voice grows quiet, but he can hear every terrible word clearly in the silence of the Mojave night. “I wanted to die.” He opens his mouth to protest, and she places her hand up to silence
him. “I’ve made my peace, Raul.”
“You know they’re going to suffer. Going to be distraught,” he says, looking at their group bustling in the distance. She shakes her head.
“I know. You’re going to have to comfort them.”
“There is still so much good you can do,” he says, knowing that he isn’t arguing with her, but her irreconcilable fate. She laughs, and he tries not to notice how much hoarser her voice sounds.
“I think I’ve more than paid my way into Heaven,” she says. “But you’re right. There is still more good to be done. There always is.”