The Art of Forgiveness

The Lantern (Past 9)

April 5th
Tonight is the night I die.
I awoke in my good friend's home, clutching his pillow tightly to my chest. It was warm, like him. I didn't notice that he left until I woke up many hours later. The sun was in the east corner of the sky, so I knew that the day was still there, but fading fast.
In many ways, I am afraid. Not just of the prospect of dying by the next sunset, but because I will be dying like this. Dying angry at the world and at the woman I love. I won't be able to go with peace in my mind and soul. How I wish I could let go of that resentment and anger before going. It doesn't seem fair to die still feeling that way.
Still, I can't force myself to forgive. I'm trying so hard, but I can't. I don't know if that makes me a bad person or not. How I wish to be normal. This is all my own fault. Perhaps if I was normal, I would have been enough for her. If I was normal, I wouldn't be dying tonight feeling as if I haven't even lived yet.
I don't pray often, but please Grambi, don't let me die while I'm like this. Please, help me. Help me, so I may learn how to find peace of mind. Help me so I may have the chance to learn.

"Writing a letter?" Merlon asked, walking in and brushing his cloak off. "I'm surprised to see you awake now. The sun is still out."

Marc waved his hand to make the paper he was writing on and the quill he was using disappear. One of the few things he knew how to do with his magic was teleport small objects. It was a talent he had become rather proud of, but to most, it was nothing more than a basic skill. 

"What is the jar of coins for?" Marc questioned. 

The complete randomness of the question threw Merlon off slightly. His eyebrows knitted together in confusion, his brain not having quite processed what Marc asked him.

"At the front door," Marc clarified, noting the confusion on Merlon's face. "You have this jar. I saw you deposit three golden coins into it when we first met. Since then, you have replaced the jar with a larger one, but the amount of money you have in it has been noticeably decreasing."

"Oh! Right, right. That's just because I like to give the money to people who need it more than me," Merlon admitted with a slightly bashful smile. He rocked back and forth on his heels and scratched the back of his head, his fingers getting caught in his slightly tangled hair. "The jar's for... it's just... it's kind of dumb. I've been saving up for a staff."

Marc raised an eyebrow. "A staff?" He questioned. 

"Yeah," Merlon awkwardly breathed. "I mean... I know most people in the tribe of ancients don't need or own staffs... but I've always thought they were really cool. They're really expensive though, especially since they're so uncommon here. Plus, I hear it takes a lot of work and power to manufacture them-"

"Uncommon?" Marc asked with a small chuckle. "In the Tribe of Darkness, they're gifted to everyone who reaches a certain age."

"Wait, really?" Merlon questioned with a slight look of awe in his golden eyes. 

"Yes. Every teenager gets one," Marc casually explained with a shrug. 

It was conversations like this one that reminded Merlon of how separated their two worlds really were. 

"So you have one then," Merlon said.

"I do," Marc agreed.

"Where is it?" 

"If I told you that, I would have to kill you," Marc stated. 

For a brief moment, Merlon thought he was being serious. However, the ancient knew he had nothing to fear when he saw that small, uneven smile creep onto Marc's face.