Euthanasia

Chapter Seventeen- Euthanasia

Euthanasia (yoo-THen-azia; yo͞oTHəˈnāzēə): Also called mercy killing, is the act of putting to death painlessly or allowing to die; deliberately ending someone's life to relieve suffering.

It had been almost a month since our arrival back at the palace. Things had changed so much since the spring. It was colder, darker, the usual things that happened when the seasons changed. The once beautiful willow in the gardens lost its color, replaced with haunted memories and dying hopes. In fact, the whole garden seemed void of life.
I stood in an empty room. It was cold because the window had been open during the night. George’s doing once again. I was worried about his nightly adventures and sleepless nights that left him tired and uninterested in daily activities. He would often open the window too. Then when I woke, it had become a habit to shut in the morning, stopping the frost from travelling any further into the room.
I placed my hands on the window frames handles and carefully shut the glass, sealing the cold away. Then, I walked a few paces, leaning my hands against the wooden vanity between the window and balcony. A flower rested there. It was dead. The vibrancy was long gone, a reminder of a time from before everything went wrong, from that day I gave George something beautiful. A symbol of the things that would inevitably come. I picked it up and let it roll in my palm.
I could have let it continue to live, let it continue to wither. It would be in a miserable state, sure, but it wouldn’t be destroyed. Instead of doing that though, I crushed it in my hand. I let the thin pieces flutter back onto the surface of the table, leaving a small mess behind. It was an insignificant action, but it happened so easily. That satisfaction of crumbling something so effortlessly created a rush within me. I brushed the remaining petals away, losing them forever as they disappeared in the world.
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George was in the weapon room again. Dream didn’t know of his recurring journeys through the cruelly carved door and George liked to keep it that way. This time in the room, he found something new. A powerfully bladed sword, double edged and heavy. The hilt was the most detailed part of the weapon. The was embedded with what looked like diamonds. It was metal and cool to the touch.
George reached a hand out to test the sharp edge of the blade. He slid his finger down it’s length gently. Blood dripped onto the stone tiled floor, but he didn’t mind. He raised the sword high above his head, thinking of all the things he would be able to do with it. Although it was heavy, George was confident he would be able to wield it. This one was George’s favorite, he realized that.
He examined it, thinking about how familiar it looked. He searched his memory, remembering back to the first few times he met Dream. Then he pinpointed where he saw it before.
It was one of Dream’s. One that he carried often when they first met. He stopped carrying it long ago. George wondered why. Maybe it brought him bad memories. Maybe it was one he used to hurt people. It looked worn, but well maintained. He must have liked it when he carried it. George could picture Dream proudly wearing it against his hip, showing off the gem studded hilt and shining blade.
Maybe he would ask about it.
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“To George, the Blood Kings Frightful Second,
This letter will most likely not find you, but here I write to you as you have to me....”
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…The Blade…
Aerith seemed off since we arrived. Things were different, quiet. Many people probably left, if they could afford it. Those who stayed were mostly likely poor, people who didn’t have anywhere to go, who didn’t have anything to lose. It looked like Iaspis wasn’t the only kingdom to have fallen. Aerith was walking steadily on that path too. It was ironic, the two largest powers on the continent falling apart behind the scenes. Other rules were probably wondering what was happening, or they were just happy the competition was falling away. Others, however, might not be benefiting from the situation. Trade between kingdoms was going down drastically and currency seemed to be losing value because of the high demand and little money to meet it.
Michael and I found a small inn to stay in. We exchanged work in the tavern for our stay, but there weren’t a lot of people coming and going. Only a few stayed to drink away sorrows and wait as the afternoon sun dipped away to leave the world dark. A fire in the corner of the room kept the building warm, that was the only good thing about the place. It was an escape from the cold.
I was putting off going to the palace, but I finally decided the day before that I would go in the morning. I shoved my meager belongings into a small traveling bag and tried to calm my racing heart. Nothing was working so I forced myself forward anyway. Michael was downstairs and ready for me. I tried to convince him to stay, to avoid as much conflict as possible, but he insisted. I felt like I had to protect him from the world. I felt like a father figure. Regardless, he successfully convinced me to let him go.
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I walked into the garden. The snow had stopped falling a while ago, but it coated the ground and left behind a crystal-like frost. I made it to the willow. It brought back memories of late spring and early fall. I remembered training George under the tree, and then, when the sun hung lazily in the sky above the distant mountains, we would sit underneath it, tired from training. The petals would fall, and we would catch them in cupped hands. He would laugh. I would smile.
Nothing like that happens now.
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“I have told you about the stories of the Blood King. A King who was fated to destroy. But those are stories that don’t exist. The real stories are those of a boy who lived in the woods. One who was fated to be the Blood Kings undoing....”
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George carried the heavy swords in its large sheath. He imagined Dream would be in the gardens. He often was in the early morning and afternoons.
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“The stories were never even about a king at all. They were about love. One that would burn too brightly, that would eventually burn out. They were all about a boy who becomes so loved that he becomes unable to love back.”
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“I have come to believe that you are meddling with dangerous things, people. I have been aware of some sort of plan that involves my superior. I sincerely hope you have made the right decisions. You and I both know that any misstep could result in something far worse than a war between kingdoms...”
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I watched the sun travel lazily across the sky. It would become afternoon soon. The sun made the snow look like fire in the distance. The mountain seemed to glow from the brightness. I let my eyes close for a moment, taking in the peacefulness of it all. Somewhere nearby, a bird sang in the trees. The bushes rattled from the breeze and distant noise surrounded me. From behind me, I heard someone approach, their footsteps were light and hollow. The figure neared slowly, and I knew who it was almost immediately. It was odd that he would be here, he hardly ever went into the gardens. I knew it was mostly to avoid me, but it could have also been because of the memories the place held.
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George hated going to the gardens. He felt unsettled every time he went. His stomach would turn, and he would feel sick just by being there. He would feel panicked, and his heart would race. He would remember the things that happened there, the things he wanted to forget. This time it was different though. He felt calm. His stomach didn’t turn, and his heart didn’t race from the fear of it. Though specific memories did resurface, he let them. His body felt light, like he was doing the right thing by being there.
He allowed himself to float above the ground like he was a feather carried by the wind. His footsteps were surprisingly quiet against the crunching snow beneath him, but maybe it was the snow that masked the sound.
He dragged the sword behind him as it rested in its sheath, begging to be used. It made a line in the snow as he walked deep into the garden. As he predicted, Dream was there. His back was turned the other way, his eyes closed as he listened to the mundane sounds of the approaching afternoon. George stopped to admire the view. It was all so relaxing. A smile attempted to dance at his mouth. Everything was perfect.
His fingers roamed along the swords sheath, feeling the heavy leather it was made from. There was a scratch on the leather’s surface, near the top of the sheath. Something must have run into it. He traced the scratches as he continued to watch, waiting to do something. He willed his feet to continue moving, but instead they stayed put. He was okay with that.
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“There is something important I must tell you. Though you may never receive this information, I feel an obligation to at least try and deliver my knowledge to you. Something filled with great power has been destroyed. I have recently begun to feel a wave of memories flood into me that have previously been stamped down. I must warn you that something grand is coming, far worse than any war this world has faced. I fear that we will become something else, something that was supposed to be sealed away. This may not make any sense to you, but with time, you will begin to understand...
“I have decided to cut this letter short, assuming it will never get to you anyway.
“I hope to see you in death.
-Michael”
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“This story was never about a king who was set to destroy his kingdom. It was never about a man called the Blood King who lost to his blood lusting father. It was about a boy who earned himself the name of King Killer. One born from the ashes of the one he loved. It was about the King Killer that saved a kingdom from a tyrant. A killer who burned out the flame before it had the chance to destroy anything more...”
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George stepped closer. Dream finally turned around. His eyes lowered to watch the sword between George’s hands. His breath caught in his throat. That sword was an interesting choice to Dream. Why that one? He thought.
“Where did you get this?” George asked softly. The wind whispered in the air, the only thing that would cushion the sound of a pin drop. Dreams gently took the sword from his lazy grasp and took it from its sheath, dropping it into the snow. As it thudded to the ground, the fine powder sprung into the air, only to settle back down moments later.
“My father gave that one to me. The first one I ever received. I hate this sword, why do you have it?” The question hung in the air, pulled tight by tension. This was the first time since they arrived back at the palace that they were having an actual conversation.
George balanced a lie at the tip of his tongue. “I was exploring, and I stumbled upon it in the weapon room, I thought it looked interesting.”
“You’re lying. Why?”
George didn’t say anything. Instead, he took the sword from Dream hands carefully and admired the shimmering surface once again. The blank expression that was painted on George's unsettled Dream. He reached toward George's face, and the man let him. He cupped his face with his hand, but George didn’t look back at him.
“I l-” Dream began a sentence but was cut short.
“Don't say it. Please don’t say it. It will make all of this harder. Besides, it's not true.”
Dream looked confused. “Not true? Do you hear yourself? I told you that I don’t want to lie anymore.”
“Then why do you do it? Lie? I can't make any more promises with you, Dream. Especially not that one.”
George pulled Dream against his body. His arms went around his back. The embrace was warm.
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...The Blade...
I watched a terrible sight unfold in front of me.
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For a moment I felt comfortable. The cold of early winter slipped away and all I knew was that George was with me. Then there was pain. It was like something I had never felt before. A betrayal that I never expected but accepted with open arms. I felt it in my chest, the bubble of pain that travelled through my entire body. My lungs struggled to bring in air and for a while, as I attempted to breathe, a thick red liquid filled the place where oxygen was meant to go.
I couldn’t speak either. I never imagined that this would be an issue in my given situation, never thought it would be such a battle to stay alive or give in and slip away.
But it was so warm. Maybe it was George’s body against mine, or possibly it was the blood that oozed from my chest.
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...The Blade...
I watched as two bodies fell under the intense pressure of a passionate flame.
I wanted to look away, but my fascination pulled me in. I gazed upon a completed plan, one that took months to craft. I instantly understood my role: the inheritor of a lost kingdom.
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George felt calm as the blade pushed its way into Dream’s back and through his chest, then it travelled further, into his own body. He didn’t feel anything because he already accepted the pain. He already knew what was going to happen next. Dream looked shocked, but even so, George knew that Dream must have known it would happen.
With the energy he had left, he thrusted the sword upward, pulling it away and letting the blood spill freely from the wounds. He tossed the weapon away as he fell to the ground, meeting Dream on the way down. He watched as a thin stream of blood slowly appeared from the corner of Dream's mouth. Looking down at his hands, he realized he must have grabbed the sword on its blade because they were deeply cut and stung like a flame trying to escape his skin.
Dream tried to say something, but the only sound that managed to escape from his lips was a messy bubble of blood.
It was finally over. George turned the reliving words over in his head gratefully.
George felt his eyes begin to flutter shut. Dream swayed as his knees dug heavy into the ground. “I love you,” he whispered over the blood blossoming on olive skin, “I love you, George.”
George said nothing. He couldn’t find the words, even if he did, they would not be honest. Without saying anything back, he forced himself to die, to die as quickly as possible, to escape from the world. He supposed it was poetic this way, he supposed that trying to escape his kingdom was what brought him into the mess in the first place. He was fated for this moment, to run away for a final time, to kill his king and then himself.
And so, the last thing he ever did was force himself to die.
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Dream watched as George stopped breathing. With tears dripping down his chin, he began to accept his own death. He now had nothing to live for. No matter how desperately he clawed onto life, he knew he would not survive, not without George.
And so, the last thing he ever did was let George force himself unto death.

[This is the end of the story]