"Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night."

Dylan Thomas (1914-1953)

The Mitigator

Altruism, people say it doesn't exist. Time, people say it's infinite. Love, people say it can't be defined. Life, people say it's meaningless.

People can say what they please.

They can coerce the weak minded and the rally up the naïve.

But people don't have the power to alter reality.

Not like my father did.

The unnatural scent of sterilized medicinal supplies overwhelmed my senses as I stomped through the hospital hallways. My hardened demeanor caused a nurse to stop me mid- rage. Her voice was tranquil but her strict grip symbolized she held every intention of ending my vicious trek throughout their facility.

"Honey, are you ok." The nurse inquired. "Do you know where you're going?"

I shook from her grip, my face hardened with a snub disposition.

"Don't touch me. You don't have the right." I continued my rage throughout the halls.

The nurse looked slightly disturbed, though her voice showed no signs of disdain. She shouted after me.

"I only thought I could help. You look fatigued, perhaps you should sit down, maybe have a rest."

I lifted my chin in her direction. I didn't turn around.

"Maybe you should do your job and stop pestering me."

"Helping is my job" She replied.

I turned around and stood there looking at her. My voice lost its malice and projected almost as a whisper.

"You can't help me. Really, what can you do? Nothing. You're powerless." I told her. "My father is sharing his last morsels of life with a sparrow outside the hospital glass, he's dying alone, can you help him?"

"I can try." She said softly.

I returned her manner of kindness.

"Well, of course you can, but trying achieves nothing."

---

October 2002

Struggling to grip the edge of the bathroom sink, I eagerly pulled myself upright. My heart was racing and my face was warm and pulsed with stifling pressure that cut my breathing short with each beat. In between gasps, I managed to look into the mirror. There it was - my reflection. Long wet matted hair draped across dark scarred skin with open wounds across my forehead.

CRASH

A stray bullet crashed through the bathroom's wall and shattered the mirror in front of me, sending glass shards ripping through my flesh. I'm thrown to the floor from this bombardment of rubble. Soon- the stray bullet became an array of bullets, and I found myself shivering in horror with the cement walls crumbling around me.

That was when he saved me.

My father leapt through the bullets, grabbed me and did a barrel roll into the abandoned building's corridors. He immediately assessed my injuries. He gently placed his hand on my forehead and gritted his teeth. His body began to dematerialize. His form became that of a blue glowing silhouette of a man. It pained me to see him perform Vita-Mitigation, because I knew the agony it caused the mitigator.

"That's enough father, I feel fine."

I tore his palms from my forehead. He immediately rematerialized.

"I'm sorry, Amelia, I only thought I was helping."

I stood up and brushed the dust, glass and rubble from my clothing.

"Learn to help your self, sometimes." I mumble through tears.

"Amelia..."

"Father, you cause me more pain and agony than my physical injuries ever will, when you use that power. Why do you do it if it hurts you?"

"It's because I love you."

"What about all the others you mitigate do you love them?"

My father sighed.

"In due time you'll understand."

"No!" I objected. "I want to understand now."

"You can't understand," he said softly.

"I can try." I announced my voice backed with vigor.

My father took me in both his arms, and looked me in the eye. His face displayed fear and pain, and his voice expressed urgency, but his gentle hold exhibited whole-hearted compassion.

"Trying achieves nothing." He told me.

---

I continued down the hospital halls scanning the number of each door.

301- 302 – 303.

"303..." I whisper to my self.

---

March 2003

I was on my way to the theater, walking along the sidewalk - like all the other pedestrians - when a large jet-black van with limosine tinted windows swerved onto our path. Immediately, five men leapt from the back of the van and just as quickly I began running. I was once more being persecuted by the very ones my father helps.

Cars were speeding along the roads recklessly and I found this to be the perfect opportunity to jaywalk. I ran through the people crowding the sidewalk, cut in between two parked cars, and jumped right into traffic. The city air erupted with the sound of car horns blaring and each cat managed to swerve from my path as I jetted across the street.

Looking back, I witnessed the five men experiencing less success in their heedless attempt to cross the street illegally. One bald headed fellow was struck in the gut by a convertible and tossed to the pavement. Another man, sporting a black beanie, halted a car with his badge just to be hit in the back by an oncoming vehicle. That left three in pursuit.

I dealt with this type of cat and mouse chase all the time. Though since my father has been missing for three months, this type of thing has become canon to my survival. The people chasing me are code named the Black Hand. They call themselves a secret government agency though that's up for debate. No one, not even the government, acknowledges this agency's existence. I applaud my father for not conceding to them, they want to make a commodity of his gift, and they don't even care that its something that hurts him.

I may never understand my father's altruism. But it's his life, I just don't know why anyone gifted with the power of vita-mitigation would waste it on just anyone, especially if it transfers the agony you relieve from him or her, to you multiplied in intensity. Perhaps, he was doing something noble in his own mind.

I kicked through the doors of a convenience store.

"Can I help you!!!" the surprisingly less than frightened woman behind counter shouted.

Just as she said that, the three men also broke through the doors. They stopped when they didn't catch sight of me.

"We are looking for a dark- skinned woman seen coming in here. Where is she!?" One of the covert agents asked.

He signaled for his two buddies to look around the store.

I stayed crouched behind the counter.

" Shotgun..." I whispered to the woman who looked as if this was not her first rodeo.

She complied by pointing to an open compartment, across from where I was crouched.

I waited as the agent who'd initiated the search approached the counter.

"It's crucial that you tell me this information, where is the woman?" He asked.

I rose from under the counter. With one swift jab of the shotgun, I knocked him out cold. The other two men stumbled towards me from the back of the store but stopped when they caught the sight of my weapon.

Instead of surrendering, like nice little secret agents, they ever- so- promptly pulled out their handguns and aimed them right at me. Instead of dropping my weapon, like a compliant little fugitive, I fired two shots in their general direction. The bullets sprayed all types of muck into the air. Hopefully, enough muck to muck up their ability to pursue me.

I ran out of the store, threw down my weapon, and continued my sprint down the sidewalk while pushing pedestrians out my way. I snapped my head backwards and didn't see anyone chasing me. I rested my hands upon my knees and began a futile attempt to catch my breath. People walking along the sidewalk managed to bump me, until I lost my balance and fell over onto the pavement.

At that instant, a flaming black van raced in front of the crowd and collided with a few people as well as the building behind them. I couldn't even blink my eyes, let alone regain my footing before a massive explosion accompanied the collision.

I felt my body lifted from the ground and my insides shrieked from the mere helplessness of falling. The sensation dominated my thought and flooded my brain with thwarted pleas of help. The aching mental panic was incomparable to the pure agony the impact sent to every nerve within my body. I felt utterly dissociated from reality. I witnessed people with their flesh charred and clothing ablaze while desperately trying to stop- drop- roll. I witnessed the moaning of innocents clawing their way across the roads because their lower limbs had been severed. I witnessed those bleeding from their eyes because shrapnel had lunged into their eye sockets. Then I witnessed the most horrendous of all the sights before me.

...My father within it all...

He was not hurt.

He was as fit as ever.

He was the Mitigator.

Relieving their pain with a touch so that they could die free of agony, sacrificing his well-being and serenity in order to ensure them tranquil passage.

He was dumb, dumb, dumb!

"Stop it! Stop it, father! You're killing your self!"

I believe I thought these words more than I said them. I could feel the words leave my lips, though, I could only hear the words shouted inside my head as if trapped in a bad dream.

"Father please! Don't! Don't! Don't! Let them die! Leave them alone! Let them suffer! You're killing yourself!"

I continued to feel as though my mind was separated from my body, and as if I was drifting further and further from this world. I felt lighter than a feather, and everything was opaque.

That was when I saw the blue aura pulsing before my eyes it was so bright it caused me to squint involuntarily. This felt odd because I no longer felt as if I was apart of my body anymore. I felt as if I was floating.

SNAP

All the sensory information came jetting through my brain like a bolt of lighting. Screams, car alarms, shouts of desperation and my father's voice.

"Amelia... Amelia... Amelia..."

The mist blurring my vision slowy began to evaporate, and my father's form appeared before my eyes. He was just beginning to rematerialize. Upon seeing me open my eyes, he nestled me into his chest, squeezed me within his arms and began to cry.

I severed from his grip and looked at him in horror and betrayal. He began to cuddle me again and I stumbled through the rubble to escape him. Confused, he tried once more to comfort me.

"Amelia..." he began.

I burst into tears. He attempted to embrace me, and I violently thrashed my fist against his chest.

"Why! Why! Why! Why do you have to do it!"

"Amelia" He grabbed me again and I clawed into his arm drawing blood from his skin.

"Don't touch me! Let me feel the pain! Let them feel the pain!! I want to feel the pain!!!"

I struggled to my feet, though, after a few steps I collapsed onto the rubble. I gripped a near-by glass shard my with my right hand and aggressively sliced my left so deep the flesh dangled from my palm.

My father leaped to his feet, but before he tackled me I fiercely slashed my abdomen with the glass shard. I kicked him in the gut and made a feeble attempt to run away, after three steps I collapsed face first.

He tossed me over. My vision was hazy from the blood loss and my head pulsed and felt detached because of the piercing pain I endured. All I could see was his blue silhouette. Then I felt an overwhelming sense of peace.

I felt great, though he was suffering.

"I hate you..." I thought I shouted this with the greatest amount of fury.

"I hate you..." I repeated though my attempts were futile.

"I hate you..." I tried to say once more and believed this time it was at least audible because I felt the gurgle it made in my throat.

My father began to rematerialize.

Darkness.

---

I pushed open the door of hospital room 303.

The light from the open window was slightly unbearable, because I had been becoming increasingly weak as time went on. The doctors hadn't given me any real answers why. All the doctors could say was that my health was rapidly declining. I wouldn't tell my father that, because he was the one on his deathbed.

I hadn't seen my father in almost a year.

"How did you find me?" he said without looking in my direction.

" I did some searching...followed the mass catastrophes." I replied.

"But why are you here?" He questioned still staring at the ceiling.

"I came to see you..."

"You're dying aren't you?" He interjected.

A bit taken back, I regained my composure and sat in silence beside him.

"Must I remind you, father, you're the one on the death bed. And we both know why."
"You know nothing." he stated.

"And whose fault is that!!!" I shouted unintentionally.
"Mine..." He said quietly.

I didn't expect him to own up to it, and suddenly I felt bad for the man. Ashamed, I lowered my head.

"No need to feel ashamed..." He reassured me and looked me in the eyes.

For the first time in a year I looked into his. How did he age so much in a year?

"I didn't tell you." He confessed. "I deprived you of information that could of killed you - is killing you, and that has nearly ended both of our lives."

A warm tear dripped from my chin. I couldn't help it, I was obligated by a force stronger than I to love the man.

"Why did you do it? Why did you bother taking the pain away from the dying?"

My father reached over and held my hand.

"To survive..." He whispered.

"What!?" I gasp.

"We Mitigators are an evolutionary branch of humans who feed off of others pain, usually you'll find them causing pain to others or becoming your everyday street gangster. But that was not the life for me after I had you."

"What are you saying father...?"

"I'm saying you are a Mitigator too..."

"Father..." I burst out into tears. "Why did you never tell me this!?" I screamed through my tears.

" I couldn't. It'd break my heart to have to see you suffer with our horrendous lifestyle."

"It broke my heart to have to see you suffer! At least if we both suffered, we'd know the suffering was mutual."

"I was selfish, that much I'm sorry for. I'm sorry I confused you all these years. I'm sorry I made you believe my mitigation to be an act of sacrifice or altruism. When in reality it was more like biting into a cheeseburger, and that cheeseburger giving you an extremely bad case of heartburn afterwards. Our existence holds a curse, Amelia, and that much I just didn't want to reveal to you."

"What curse Father?" I asked full of determination.

"We need to relieve pain to survive but when a mitigator relieves another mitigator of it's pain it cancels out the effect. Which means they receive no benefit from the mitigation, but experiences all the pain and that kills them. It was basically starvation. I was feeding you though starving myself."

"You did it because you loved me be that I can understand... Thank you, Father."

"A mitigator may live forever, as long as it feeds. I stopped my feedings after I saw how much it hurt you and that is why I'm dying. The curse is that at a mitigator's last moments it experiences all the pain relieved from everyone it has relieved its entire lifetime. This is supposed to control the life span of the mitigator and encourage them not to become great liberators of pain as you believe of me."

"That's all you need? To feed off The pain of a human. I will hurt every soul in New York City to save your life, Father."

I pulled out my switchblade and walked towards the door.

"No!" He shouts. His heart monitor begins to race. "That is what I was trying to prevent... Let me die... in agony... kicking and screaming... Raging against the dying of the light."

My fathers bed began to rumble and his back arched. His veins became visible from all the stress upon his body. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, the only sound he emitted was a muffled, low grumbling.

"No! This will be the last time I see you suffer!!!" I scream through my tears.

And just as I'd seen father do countless times I placed my palm against his forehead and gritted my teeth. My clothes began to whip around my body and the air around us became a cyclone. Suddenly, my heart stopped pulsing and just as quickly, I felt as if the blood in my viens was on fire. The anguish was beyond unbearable; my mind couldn't register it, so it didn't. I couldn't control it anymore, I just stood there; I could see my massive bright blue glowing aura pulsing around my body. I was a slave to agony.

My father's words tore though the veil of pain.

"No! Amelia! It's useless, I'm gone! Its our cycle of life, Pain is a part of our life not our death! So therefore Rage! Rage against the dying of the Light! Wise men at their end know dark is right!"

I hear him, yes, though I wont let him go. I know that his life has just been endless pain. I know he starved himself so I could have a painless life. But I still felt the pain! I felt it every time he did! That is what he doesn't understand... I can try to understand his perspective and he can try to understand mine... but as he told me before....

Trying achieves nothing.

"Amelia! You taught me this! Let me feel the pain! I want to feel the pain! Remember! You hated me because of this life! Please try to love me in another! Death is coming for me! I see him! Let go of me, or he'll take us both!"

"Fine! I hate life! It's too painful!!!!"

"I know sweetheart! But don't you see what my attempt to give you a painless life has achieved. You still were hurt. And I'll be damned if I let you die along with me before you understand that! You will live your full Life I don't care if it hurts like Hell!!!"

My father slapped his hand down on the panic button.

I began to rematerialize as nurses flooded the hospital room. Two nurses grabbed me and tore me from my father's side.

After I stopped the vita-mitigation, my father's final shrieks of pain were unbearable. Time moved in slow motion, I fought against the nurses and a male doctor held me back and forced me from the hospital room. He slammed the door shut and I heard the door's bolt lock buckle tight. I rammed my shoulder into the hospital door, punched, kicked it and even knocked my head against it in desperation.

Who will save me from this pain?

Who will save me now that you're gone?

I sat against the hospital door while my father cried in agony behind within its walls.

No one is saved here only relieved.

And this is my Life...

The Mitigator

Fakx

I write new short stories everyday! Learn more about me!