-1The Void

There is a void in the human heart that slowly engulfs the mind and soul. A place where neither the seed of love can grow, nor the thorns of hate. It’s a barren desert filled with sand and blasted rock, a wasteland of enormous proportions.

And it’s where I call home.

My name is Demetri. I’m a six and a half foot humanoid with short black fur and tall, pointed ears. In the human realm, I’d be compared in appearance to a jackal. I live in a corner of the human soul rarely visited by anyone. It’s a lonely life, but a rewarding one. It is my job to turn back those lost in the void. Often times it is the wandering spirit of a teenager, or of a lover who has just lost their significant other. It’s sad to see them, stumbling through the blasted lands of the void. They seek compassion and support, but find only sinking sand.

It is these people I lead to a rest either in death or in a return to life. They come to me beaten, broken, and confused, but return healed and enlightened. I wish I could share more with them. To share the wisdom to help them with their difficult journey, but it is not my job to nurture them, only to guide them.

I remember one specific soul who struck me the most. A teenage girl, close to death, was stumbling across the desert, grasping at the sand as if it could help her. She clawed desperately, digging her way deeper and deeper into a pit, until she found she couldn’t get out. Desperation took hold of her, and she reached upwards toward the sky, her mouth open in a silent cry for help, tears streaming down her face.

She was the same as many before her, buried by her own doing, and unable to escape. I watched as her strength was slowly drained from her limp form, until the tears ran dry and her mouth dried out. Her eyes closed slowly in defeat, and her body slumped down to rest against the sand. Her right hand was clutched to her left wrist.

She was dying.

Under normal circumstances, my job would have been to collect her, heal her, and lead her to her death. But as I approached, while she lay dying, she mumbled something, half-drowning in her delirium.

She said, “God help me.”

I paused before her, watching her intently. She was young, in her mid teens. The color was drained from her face and blood trickled from beneath her hand. Dirt marred the flawless skin of her youthful cheek, marking where her tears had gone. Her breath was coming in slow, measured breaths, her eyelids fluttering lightly.

Unsure of what to do, I knelt before her and ran a soft, furred hand over her forehead, brushing back the sweat and dirt that had collected there. Her eyelids opened slowly, her emerald eyes staring back into my gold.

“Help me…” she murmured, before closing her eyes again. She breathed in deeply, and then quit breathing altogether. Her chest slowly deflated, and her right arm fell away, revealing a large cut slashed over her left wrist.

She seemed so peaceful. In life, it was obvious she had been outgoing, friendly, and smart. But in death, she was the same as all the others, a peaceful, sad, lost soul. What had caused her to slash her own wrists; to go so far must have been horrible.

A well of pity overcame me, and I brought my hand up under her chin, raising it enough that I could see her properly. A hint of a tear was still at the edge of her eye, threatening to fall. She was so sad…

I left a soft, tender kiss on her lips. Immediately I felt the life return to her. The wound on her arm began to heal; the color returned to her cheeks, the last teardrop fell.

Her eyes opened then, green meeting yellow once more. I saw no hatred, no fear, no demand in those eyes. Only a soft wonder.

“God…” she breathed. “You’re….you’re God…”

“I shook my head lightly and pulled her up by her arm gently. “I’m no God,” I replied softly. “I’m only a leader.”

But apparently, she didn’t hear me. Her eyes closed again as her energy left. I could not bring her back to life, but I could at least give her the comfort of knowing someone was there. Instead of that sad, lost look, her face now bore an expression of content tenderness. I had completed my job. She was where she belonged now.

Standing up, I turned and stared off to the North. There was a man there whose love had just died. He was clinging to the rocks, seeking nourishment. But even a fool knows a rock is not bread. My heart softened once more as I sat down to wait. The desert is harsh on those who stumble into it. And as I said before, it is my job to lead them.