Sacrifice

The worst part is, I didn’t even care about him. Not even after. Even after this boy made the word sacrifice mean more than it ever has to anyone in the world. I never understood the true meaning of anything, until he came along. I guess that now, looking back, he changed my life. How could he not have? What happened between us, so strange, so powerful, and yet in a way it did not include me. He was the one who felt all of these insanely powerful things, and I never even loved him. I disdained to even speak to him, and it seems to me that I have been the cruelest person in the world, and yet I would not change what I have done. I suppose now, I should tell you the whole story, from the beginning, of what happened between me and Edgar Allen Poe.
My name is Annabelle Lee. We were both young, we met in such a small, normal way, and looking back, after all that has happened, it seems so ridiculous to have met this boy who would be such a catalyst in my life simply at a party. I was bored, glancing around the room restlessly. My eyes landed for a brief second on a skinny, unremarkable young boy, with black hair and black, soulful eyes. He looked back at me as though he had been struck dumb and deaf and blind at birth, and now for the first time in fourteen years, he could speak and see and hear. He walked over to me, as if in a dream.
The very first wrong I committed, happens here. I looked away disdainfully, disgustedly. Pride has always been my sin of choice. He came up to me and I instantly acted bored and annoyed.
“What do you want?” I said, impatiently, “You’re making a fool out of both of us.”
He looked at me, stricken beyond my capabilities to describe.
“I don’t know why,” he said carefully, “I don’t know how, but I am in love with you.”
I laughed. It is sickening in retrospect, but that is what I did, I laughed, sharp and mocking.
“Don’t be an idiot.” I said pityingly. “There’s no such thing as love.”
He looked at me once, solemnly. He seemed to be steeling himself for something. I think in that moment he knew what his fate would be and he accepted it. He didn’t try to steer himself off of that careening deadly path. He knew where it would end.
He followed me like a dog. He would tag along after me everywhere he could possibly be allowed. He never declared his love again, but he would do my bidding exactly.
One instance of this obedience stands out for me. I remember that he had always been a very kind soul. He would stop to untangle a dog from a leash it had wound around itself. He would sit with the beggars and help them forage and beg for food. He helped up those who would fall. I hated his kindness. It seemed as if he was rubbing his goodness in my face. I knew I could never be good like that. Once, he stopped to untangle a bird that was caught in a tangle of fishing wire along the beach. He stooped down to help it, and I turned, angrily.
“Stop.” I commanded. He stopped as if he could not disobey. He looked down at his hands, and spoke softly.
“I think he is hurt.”
I saw what I could do, right that moment to cause him as much pain as I needed.
“Then end it.” I said, coldly. He looked at me, stricken. Disbelieving. He reached toward the bird, slowly. I wanted to see him become a monstrosity. Just like me. I wanted him to be a sinner like me. He went to snap its’ neck.
“No,” I said, the triumph clear in my voice. “Make it suffer. Slowly. Pull on the wires instead.”
He looked as though he was about to cry. He pulled on the tangle of netting, slowly. The bird was already so ensnared it could do no more than struggle feebly. I saw him choke out a sob as its’ wing broke under the pressure. You could see the pain in its eyes. You could see it knew it was doomed. I rejoiced in the look on his face. He was trying to bury his empathy for the creature. I saw his eyes go dull as the wires sliced through the bird’s wing, broke off its leg, and finally snapped the little creature’s neck. He stood up slowly and placed the broken creature in my hands.