"Doubts," she said and I nodded. She smiled back reassuringly. "We all have them. Even me. Remember what I said about limitations. We aren't just limited to how much we can help someone, but also how often. Every day I find myself wondering if I hadn't used The Gift to save one person perhaps I could've used it to help another."
"Then how do you decide?" I asked, my hand still hovering over Mr. Gilroy.
"Save those you can," she said, "and ease the rest. You can't save everyone but there are still ways to help those you couldn't save."
I looked back down at Mr. Gilroy, laying in agony and still I doubted. "What if this isn't what he wants?"
Mom put a reassuring hand on my head and messed up my hair just like Dad used to when I asked a silly question. "Well that's why we have mouths," she said and motioned with her head to the dying man.
"Um, Mr. Gilroy," I said. When he didn't respond, I repeated, "Mr. Gilroy," though this time a little louder.
"Ugh," he grunted, obvious that the painkillers given to him earlier by the nurse was wearing off.
"My mom said that I could help you, but I'm not sure if it is what you want," I said. Cowardice turned my eyes, fearful of making eye contact with a man on his deathbed. My body burned with shame. Then I spotted a lone vase sitting on a stool, flowers standing in the water. I picked one by the stem and held it so Mr. Gilroy could see. Then I focused and The Mercy took hold. The flower died. I looked back at Mr. Gilroy, the man staring back at me with wide eyes.
"Is. It. Pain. Ful?" he asked, needing to pause between every syllable.
My mother shook her head. "I don't believe so. I watched my brother perform The Mercy for several patients. From the outside, it appears that you will merely slip off to sleep," she said. She gestured to the machines and monitors. "I've never seen a spike in any of the readings either to convince me the body is in any sort of distress."
The man nodded weakly. Then, as if using the last of his strength, his hand reached out to the end of its chain and clamped onto mine. His eyes met mine and I understood.
"Don't worry, honey," mom said as she wrapped her arms around me. "I'm right here with you."
In her embrace I felt my body calm. Under Mr. Gilroy's reassuring gaze, I felt my confidence rise. I gripped the man's hand tight and willed The Mercy into action.
Mr Gilroy's eyes widened for the briefest moment and then slowly began to shut. The seconds between his laborious breaths grew longer, his chest rising less frequently. His grip on my hand slowly loosened. Next to me, the beeps monitoring his heartbeats never spiked as mom predicted. Instead it stayed constant, and slowly the silence between beeps grew longer until eventually letting out a single long, dull tone. Through it all, I did my best to keep my eyes on his, or at least on his face. This was his death wish, after all, and it seemed shameful to not be with him in the end.
Mom gave me a squeeze and I knew it was over, The Mercy having run its full course. Reverently I placed Mr. Gilroy's hand down upon the bed. I turned to her and she pulled me tight against her body. I don't know when I'd started crying but when I realized I wasn't sure the tears would ever stop.
"It won't get any easier, it never will and never should," mom said holding me tight. "But I'll be right here with you until you grow into your power and no longer need my help."
I pulled away, wiping the tears from my eyes. I looked into the mom's eyes and knew she'd be right there with me. I turned back to the man in the bed, Mr. Gilroy finally resting in peace. Though he probably believed me to have helped him, it was I that would never forget his name or his sacrifice to a young boy just trying to find his way in the world.
Using a really, really old Reddit Writing Prompt, something like "Your family's gift is to heal with a touch. You've been practicing on plants hoping for your power to manifest one day. Except, one day, the plants die." (Yeah, it was a really long one) Anyways, the actual prompt is several months old, I think, I'm not sure and I'm not going back to look. As it happens, when I'm running out of pages in a notebook, I tend to go back to see if there are any unfinished stories worth finishing. I remember when I first saw this prompt I immediately knew that The Mercy would be a branch from The Gift and of course you used it to kill people as the prompt suggested. But the prompt itself got a bunch of responses so I never got around to responding. A lot of them, if I remember correctly, were the "use your power to punish the wicked" type stories that I didn't care for (like they seemed really revenge driven). It was only upon rewriting that I decided to set the scene in a prison, as a way to address the "kill the bad people" types. And I know, I say this all the time, even though it's a conversation, there's a lot of dialogue throughout. Maybe I'm just not the talkative type but I feel like there should be more going on even when the scene is just people talking to each other.
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