Lissa's Final Word

This is a little writing exercise to go with my one and only attempt at a novel. I don't think I'll ever finish that thing, but I still think it has potential. This is a confession/last word of the main character.

         I never gave much consideration to dying, not really.  Even when the situation demanded that my life flash before my eyes, I just trusted in Maddox.  And now...Well, I might not make it through this one, and I'm scared, but who really cares?  Who could care about a girl with creepy green eyes and creepy little powers?  One.  Just one person.  And now he's gone.  So maybe I don't want to live to tell my story.  Who do I owe an explanation to anyway?  My friends?  My family?  They're gone.  There's no one left.  Do I owe it to prosperity?  Maybe.  They should know of the wonderful boy, his mission, and how I couldn't save him...Or maybe I just want someone to know me.

        I consider the quote from Fran Lebowitz, "Your life story would not make a good book; don't even try."  You're wrong, Mr. Lebowitz.  Quinn was wrong.  I do  have worth. Goddammit, if there's one thing I learned from this....this monstrosity of a life, it's that I have worth.  Even now, as I sit here, wallowing in self-loathing, writing down a history that may never make it beyond this godforsaken cellar, I have worth.   No one will convince me otherwise ever again.

        So where do I start?  My birth?  Nothing special, except...oh yeah, I killed my mother.  Not two minutes old, and my father hated me.  Was it  my fault?  I can't be certain, I don't remember.  But carrying me to term had killed her, and my father....My father could not be reasoned with.  He shifted and pounced.  Luckily--for me, that is-- in his haste, he hadn't chosen a larger predator, but only a large black tabby cat, yet his ferocity was enough to tear into my soft, baby flesh, straight down my left eye to my chin.  Leaving me to die was not punishment enough, of course, oh no.  He rushed me to the local hospital, and left me there.  They saved me, obviously, but no medicine on the planet could remove the two long scars, a constant reminder of my father's hatred.                

        And so years in the orphanage blurred by. They said my name was Elizabeth Moira Dahl.  I don't remember much more than that.  In a life such as that, how do you mark the years?  BIrthdays, Christmases?  There were no such thing.  Oh, and of course, it was years in the orphanage.  Who would want a child who knew when you were lying to her? Whose striking gaze gave you nightmares?  Nobody.  Not until my seventeenth birthday, and no, he didn't want me, not in the conventional patronly figure way, oh no.  He just recognized me for what I was, something not even I was consciously aware of, and something that could help him, and only him.

        I ran away at eighteen and didn't look back, although every now and then, I peek over my shoulder and expect to find him there, seeking the power that--in his mind-- was rightfully his.  No.  It would never be his.  Never.

        And that's when I met....Maddox.  Why should it be painful to say his name now?   I met Maddox and he told me about the resistance he was forming, and he said he knew I could help.  I agreed enthusiastically.  I convinced myself that I was just happy there was somewhere I might belong, that my father had been wrong. But truth be told...I was...in love with him.  Why is that hard to admit, too?  Was it wrong?  Did I drag him down with me, into the spiraling black hole of my life?  I can't bear it.  Was killing my mother enough to sentence me, and anyone I loved, to....this....this....what?  Life?  Ha!

        Ella, Quinn, Maddox, and I--we were all so young.  We didn't know what we were doing, or what we had.  But we tried, oh God, did we try.  Please believe that.  Was it enough?  If someone can learn from our mistakes, then... maybe.  And now....Now Maddox is dead.  I watched him die, and I...I couldn't save him...Could I?  Was my own fear his demise?  If I had tried anything, I would have killed us both and maybe Ella too... Maybe I should have.

        And now...I'm waiting here, in this cellar that smells like mold and rotting flesh, for what?  To die?  Would Logan waste my gifts?  Probably not.  Should I take my own life, to keep my powers from him? It sounds so inviting, so easy.  Death.  It would be such a relief.  Could I be that selfish? 

        No.

        Then where do I go from here?

Reviews

[JuliePetunia]

This sounds like it could be an excellent preface to a novel, rather than an ending, if you ask me. The only thing that I could find fault with was that some of the ellipses could be replaced with commas. I love how you were able to engage me, and give lots of detail without giving away too much. Please write more!

[Adela Muresan]

Kowel.
I went trough this very quick, you have a great way with words, and this is by far the most interesting confession I ever read, and I think you did a good job at not making it excessively emotional.

A.M.