My first language, the true language of the soul spoken only on our planet of origin, had no word for betrayal or traitor. Or even loyalty- because without the opposite, the concept had no meaning.
He was giving up on keeping me alive, letting nature–or rather mob justice–take its course. When he returned, and I was dead, he wouldn’t hold anyone responsible. He would not mourn. All this I could hear in those three words.
I wondered how long it could last. Maybe someday, years from now.If the pain would decrease to the point where I could bear it. I would be able to look back on those few short months that would always be the best of my life.
