Sacrifice Theory

Some idiot once said the truth sets you free. I’d love to find them and knock their teeth out.
Was I supposed to feel relieved? Was I supposed to just leave it all behind?
That’s not how things work.
I’m not trying to sound like one of those pretentious philosophers, but life isn’t a sequence of scenes you can choose to erase, keep or edit.

As I said, ten years of guilt don’t unravel in an epiphany—one I wasn’t even sure I believed in.

I stood up, silent, still avoiding her gaze.
I just left the house—no theatrics, no drama.
My steps should’ve taken me home, to pretend again that nothing had happened. But you can only pretend so much, and honestly, I’d long passed that point.

I walked without thinking about where I was going, focused more on that faint envy I felt every time I saw groups of people just living.
You know, getting drunk now and then, visiting places just because. Completely normal stuff.
So why did that kind of life feel forbidden to me?
Maybe, deep down, I’d created that prohibition myself.

“This couldn’t be more cliché…” I said aloud to myself as it started to drizzle. “Guess I can’t stop screwing up, huh…” I muttered, realizing my steps had led me to the gates of the cemetery.

Why did I feel like I was doing the “right” thing for the “wrong” reasons?

As I walked, I couldn’t help but glance at the graves.
Were there others like me? Tangled in something from the past?
How many had chosen to end it all?

Lyse’s grave was toward the back, and by the time I got there, the rain had driven away the few people visiting their dead.
There was no photo on her tombstone, just a name and two dates.
The flowers looked fresh, and the grass around it was neatly trimmed—her family clearly visited often.

“Kept you waiting huh? I guess this is where I’m supposed to—”

“Mortals have an absurd tendency to talk to corpses…” I heard a familiar voice cut through my words from behind.

I turned instinctively.

“Looks like you changed your clothes… can’t say it looks bad,” I said, eyeing her up and down. “I don’t want to keep up today’s conversation either. I think you said enough… probably more than enough.”

“My clothes? Oh… I’m sorry, this is a clear misunderstanding,” she replied, cold, distant, strange. She buried her hands in her gray Montgomery coat, stepping toward Lyse’s grave. “I can assure you she didn’t explain much about us, did she?”

“She?” I saw it. As I asked, her eyes were completely black, so dark they seemed to swallow the light.

“Your Death… think of her as one of many employees…” she spoke slowly, brushing her hand over the grave, not even bothering to look at me.

“An employee? Then who are you supposed to be?”

“Mortals believe a lot of nonsense. A single being couldn’t handle all the deaths in the world… no one’s omnipresent… well, almost no one.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“How did you call her… Aranara, right? Odd choice of name… she’s simply the death of suicides…”

“I asked who you are.”

“Me?” she asked, leaning slightly toward me. She grabbed my chin and lifted my face, forcing me to look straight at her. “I’m the last thing everyone sees… before the lights go out.”

I tried to shake my face free, her fingers felt like ice—not because of the winter or the rain.
It was a cold I’d never experienced, one that terrified me in a way I couldn’t describe.

“Now then…” she continued. “What would happen if the death of suicides disappeared? It’d be chaos. Imagine someone who shot themselves in the mouth and can’t die… I can’t allow that, and a replacement isn’t an option.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“How direct, I love it. I’ll make it simple. I can make—”

“You can’t bring the dead back. I’m not an idiot.”

“…I don’t appreciate being interrupted. Make sure it doesn’t happen again, alright?” Her smile was too unsettling. “What if you went back a bit and, say… chose not to go to the river that day? Lyse would live, and you, probably, wouldn’t be the pathetic shell of a human you are now.”

“You’re talking about turning back time?”

“Oh please... I’m talking about moving just one piece. Don’t think you’re so important that one choice of yours would affect the flow of humanity.”

I’ll admit, I wanted to punch her.

“What’s in it for you?”

“It’s simple. Without that initial spark, your little death wouldn’t have a reason to stick around you.”

“And also no chance to resign either…” I replied.

“I see you’re not as dumb as your face makes you look. Correct.”

“Then, what you're saying is that I’m free to choose?”

“Completely.”

I looked at Lyse’s grave for a moment.
How much would’ve changed if she were alive?
Would we still be friends?
I’d probably have visited the town more often, maybe even moved here sooner. Maybe all the things that bothered me—people going out, traveling—maybe I could’ve been part of that.

“One of them loses, don’t they?” I asked, pulling away once her fingers loosened.

“No one loses… I assure you Lyse didn’t want to die.”

“But Aranara wants to resign.”

“Oh… I see. So that’s it? The difficulty of choosing between them?”

[There’s no such thing as a 'what if…']

“No, not really,” I said, standing up, brushing the mud off my pants. “Wiping away my guilt with a cheap trick says more about you than it does about me, huh…”

[There are no magic solutions.]

“I’ll keep carrying this weight.”

[I wanted to be selfish, just this once.]

“I’ll figure out how to deal with all this, my way…” I sighed as I spoke. “Besides... Lyse would probably knock a few of my teeth out if she knew I took someone’s chance away.”

“A death's chance.” she repeated.

“Aranara's chance.” I corrected.

“So…?”

“So I'll pass, but thanks anyway.”

“You’ll probably end up throwing yourself into the river when your head can’t handle seeing the memory replay over and over and over…” she said. Even through the rain, I heard her nails scrape the marble of the tombstone.

“Maybe you’re right… but for now, at least, I’m resigning too.”