A Fragile Hope

The Fragile Hope

I lay there, eyes wide open, mind scattered like clouds in the wide, wide sky, heart thumping as if I'd run a thousand miles, and my fingers—numb!

What was this feeling?

A strange dread spread through me as I replayed every conversation in my head.

It kind of felt like a horror movie I never really wanted to watch again. My mouth was agape, the scream stuck in my throat, as only one thought passed through my mind: I wish I could express myself through writing; then I would win this war of words.

But alas, you never won unless you could slice through your vocal cords!

How strange it was that one second we were playing a simple game, and the next, I sat barely holding back my tears as she ripped through the walls I had carefully crafted around myself and only recently let down for her.

You see, I could never trust people. They felt like little scorpions, ready to sting the moment you let them close, but she turned out to be a hybrid.

A hybrid of a chameleon and a scorpion.

Biding her time every day, watching me unlock one more gate to let her in.

I should have seen it coming. After all, no one cares about anyone but themselves in today's world. But that little girl in me who always wants to believe couldn't help but hope!

Hope that someone would be different enough, kind enough, selfless enough, truthful enough to actually be a friend.

But in today’s age, you don't get friends; you get acquaintances to work with tactfully. You keep them close but never close enough to see through you, ensuring they never end up using you. And yet, after years of being stoic and unfeeling, I broke—all because I felt my ego clashing with her claim that I couldn't be empathetic.

Oh, I was empathetic enough, more than those who pretend to be friendly, and yet I couldn't convince myself enough to tame my ego. So when I met her, I got checkmated, with my head on the platter, and now… now I had nothing.

Nothing but regret and an unempathetic decision to make.

I was going to muster my courage and let the rumors die.

I was going to take the fictional path that was better, the high road as they said, for one thing con artists couldn’t bear was honesty. It made them tremble with rage.

At least that's what they portrayed in the movies and books. But the worlds they showed were a mere fantasy, and fantasy wasn't the real world.

One could hope to be saved by a sudden revelation of a magical power, but again it was just hope, and I wasn't going to let hope destroy me again!

Hope kept us alive, but that was that. You couldn't use it to get more, like you couldn't use a candle alone to cook food.

Hope was a candlelight; it could guide you, but other than that, it was useless.

But now, it is my turn to hold the candle.

You see, everyone wants something, even those who destroy you to get their way. And when you show them the candle to achieving these things, they get hypnotized.

I know what she wants, has always wanted, and apart from my life, it’s the conviction that she is innocent and gets to keep everything that's mine, for she was my best friend—but not so soon!

I feel my mind buzzing, and a sharp pain pierces through my head, indicating that my time is near. But I can't go before I right the wrongs.

I see the dark mist forming around me, and yet I carefully twist and turn until the knife she buried in my bones peeks through.

I know she will come to check on me, but I won't leave this room until the noble man finds it.

The noble man… oh, how ironic. I had never considered men to be noble until I had bumped into him one night on my expedition to the kitchen.

It was past midnight, and I wanted the chocolate some traders had brought in the previous afternoon.

It was delectable, almost an instant addiction. Everyone stared at me, including her, as I had it, for I rarely touched food.

But anyways, when I bumped into him, he had warned me: "Never show your likes," he had said, before pulling a leaf out of my hair that must have fallen in while I was out reading in the woods.

I had stepped back, almost in reflex, and he had smiled, amused, because no one did that anymore.

I had run then, feeling coy all of a sudden. A knight feeling shy was unheard of, and I felt guilty for the remainder of the night, the chocolate forgotten until morning.

Since then, though, I had observed him like a hawk, and therefore I knew he would bring me justice.

For one last time, I breathe. It almost sounds like a groan, and then the prince on the black horse gives me a choice.

I go with him immediately, or I let him stay and enjoy the show with me.

I know I can't trust him; he is a prince from the dark world, and yet when I see him, I see kindness.

Blinking rapidly, I remind myself of the consequences I have just suffered because of kindness and hear myself asking him to stay without interrupting me.

He nods, his eyes twinkling like he is laughing, and then he steps away into a corner.

Then he enters, running behind her and the maid, and before she can observe the knife, by the grace of God, he does and immediately keeps it in his pouch.

Grief pours through him as if he were my friend, while the one who pretended stands there, shocked and angry over the fact that he found it.

The medics arrive, and their tablet confirms her as the criminal.

Whisked away from her hope, just as she ensured I was from mine, I now feel at peace.

Not because she got caught, but because even though it was after I ceased to exist, I had a friend.

One to grieve, one to trust, one to understand my happiness.

He slipped a small bar of chocolate into my cold hands before they took my body away, and I found it appearing in my ghostly hands immediately.

I looked over at the prince, and he just shrugged before he took me away from all the worries of the conscious world.