That You Fight Again – 3

“I’m tired. I’m afraid,” she said, holding back tears. “Because I know I can’t fight forever.”

“Yes, you can!” replied Jace. “Ailith, you are such a strong girl. You can’t let them deprive you of your light.”

Ailith exploded with a cry of anger: “No, Jace! You don’t understand! I don’t know what I’m fighting for anymore.”

“For your world, for our freedom, and for what is right.”

“And what about what is right for me? How can I keep going when I have no more hope, just for someone else’s sake?”

At that moment, they heard something moving amongst the vegetation outside the cave. Perhaps Ailith’s cry had just disturbed a wild animal, but Jace preferred to go out and check.

Alone, Ailith tried to find a more comfortable position in order to calm down, leaning back against the rock wall. All her doubts didn’t matter, she had to find the strength to finish what she had started.

“I can’t,” she whispered; she felt the first tear running down her cheek. “I want this to stop.”

“Me too…” I whispered closing the book for the second time. I leaned back against the wall and tears filled my eyes. Why couldn’t I enjoy that book like I did when I was a kid?

I thought back to one night, not long ago. I went to bed crying silently, trying not to wake Aunt Fede and my cousin Matilde, with whom I was on holiday. Sinking my head into my pillow until I couldn’t breathe, I thought those same words. I’m so tired. I want it to stop. I can’t keep fighting.

It was supposed to be a fun, quiet holiday to get my strength back after a long university term. I wanted it to be! I needed to rest and forget that feeling of emptiness and greyness that filled my days. Like the dirty mush that snow makes, when it melts in the streets. Instead, after I escaped the routine, the feeling stayed with me. I felt guilty that I couldn’t enjoy the holiday the way I wanted. I pretended to willingly participate to all the activities that Matilde arranged for me, but truly, if I had been free to choose, I would’ve never got out of bed. The morning was the worst time: sleeping was the only thing that gave me relief from the boulder I was carrying inside, and I couldn’t find enough energy to make my legs and arms work to get up. And the guilt would grow.

The thought of going home, back to my routine, just cracked me inside. I couldn’t do it anymore; I couldn’t bear it anymore. I was so damned tired.

The only way to get away from those thoughts was to keep reading. And so I did.