Fiction: Never Alone

NEVER ALONE

“I’ll miss you.” Pandora hangs her head, but her grip on Shadow’s hand is tight.
Shadow touches her hand. “You know I don’t want to go.”
She nods. “But you have to.”
Impulsively, Pandora throws back her veil. Shadow recoils, eyes flashing left and right, making sure that no one else is around to see.
“What are you doing?” he hisses. His heart is pounding in his chest.
“Kiss me,” says Pandora.
Shadow blanches. “Here? What if someone sees?”
“I don’t care. Kiss me once, before you go. So I’ll have something to remember you by.”
He turns away, shutting his eyes. “I can’t. It’s not right.”
“What do you care about right or wrong?” Her voice is laced with hot anger. She pulls her hand from his. “You’re leaving me. How is that right? After the promises you made?”
“Pandora, I don’t have any choice. You know that.”
“I don’t care.” She pulls her veil down over her face. “And don’t expect me to wait for you.”
“I never expected you too,” says Shadow.
He watches her spine stiffen and tells himself it’s for the best. They can’t be together. Not now, not ever. What’s the use of false hope?
Shadow places his hands together and bows, formally. “Goodbye, Miss Stringfellow.”
She doesn’t respond and he didn’t expect her too. Turning his back, Shadow walks away from her. Deliberately, he does not look back.
“You did the right thing, Shadow,” says his mentor, Aesop. Its voice resonates softly, feather-light within his ear.
Shadow touches the implant, at the base of his neck. “Did I?”
“You’ll be gone ten years,” says Aesop. “Would you really want her to sacrifice the best years of her life, waiting on you?”
“No.”
“Of course not.”
Shadow swallows. “She won’t get in trouble, will she? For lifting her veil.”
“She was upset. Allowances are made during such times. Her mentor is probably telling her the same thing, right now.”
“I wish I’d kissed her goodbye.”
“It’s better that you didn’t.”
Shadow hangs his head, stares at the concrete street beneath his feet. A tear slides down his cheek. “I feel so . . . alone.”
“You’re never alone,” whispers Aesop. “No one is. Not anymore. That’s why your ancestors made us. Remember?”
Of course he remembers. Shadow knows his history. A century ago when the pandemics reduced humanity to only a few hundred, the mentors were made. At first they were created to house humanity’s knowledge, but eventually they became more than mere librarians. They became treasured advisors, boon companions and, in some cases, surrogate parents.
“I remember,” murmurs Shadow.
He touches his neck again, reflecting on all the times that his mentor has helped him, offered comfort and guidance. “Thank you, Aesop.”
Tears still slide down Shadow’s cheeks, but the mentor, kindly, does not comment on them.