To Give and to Take

In this world there can be no good without evil, and no evil without good. These two forces struggle against each other in an effort to snuff out their counterparts, but it is futile. A world without good is hell. A world with only good in it is just a lie.

It was always clear to me that I was one of the good guys. But I feel that I am no longer good. I'm not evil, I'm just, drifting between both sides. I suppose in order for you to understand any of this, I'll have to tell you my story.

My name was Emilia Bennett.

I was born on the day of the Winter Solstice, on December 21st, to both James Bennett and Christina Bennett. According to my mother, it was my father who chose my name. But according to him, it was Jack Frost who named me.

I was given the name Emilia Robin, Robin being my middle name. I wasn't much fond of the name Emilia, it sounded too proper, too girly. I would fuss about it all the time, that, eventually, my parents and those around me referred to me as Robin.

It was around this time, when I was barely a child, that my father would tell me stories of his adventures with the Guardians. Of getting Jack onto the nice list one year, painting eggs and saving children around the world from the clutches of Pitch. I eagerly grasped at every word he said, so entranced that I too, began to believe in the Tooth Fairy, Santa, the Easter Bunny, the Sandman too - and, most importantly, Jack Frost.

"Daddy, will I get to see Jack Frost too?" I asked one night when my father was tucking me into bed.

"Of course you will Emilia, if you believe." My father smiled and kissed me on the forehead.

I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep that night. The next day, I awoke and I saw pretty snowflakes etched onto the outside of my window. I didn't really doubt Jack's existence before then, but the snowflakes that day solidified my belief in him.

I was only five at the time when my father passed away. I didn't understand the concept of death, but I understood better than any child my age should that my daddy was taken away forever and there wasn't a thing I could say or do to bring him back.

The grief of losing my father weighed down on my mother's, and my own, shoulders, and eventually, I stopped thinking of Jack Frost and the other Guardians.

A few years passed by, and in the winter time I would spend as many hours as I could out in the woods. I wasn't supposed to be alone out there, I knew that. But the woods were big and quiet. They were a safe haven for me, and besides, I never really felt like I was truly alone out there. There were the owls, and the rabbits that would keep me company - or, I would keep them company.

I remember gliding across the frozen pond, brushing the heavy layers of snow off of tree branches and climbing up them as high as I could. I loved to sit on the highest branch and look up at the tree tops and breathe in the cold winter air.

I never knew at the time, that I was being protected. Maybe a small part of me knew. But for the most part, I was unaware of the boy in the blue hoodie who kept me from falling from tree branches and stopped me from slipping on the ice.

That is, until the day I remembered the stories.

I was sitting in my bedroom one winter night, watching the snow falling outside, when some of the flakes started to stick to my window. Observing them carefully, I noticed how each of them had a pretty pattern. I thought of how beautiful they were, and I remembered the etched flakes years before that appeared one morning. I thought of my father, and how he smiled when I showed him the window.

He patted my head, and said, "Jack Frost must have wanted to say hello to you."

I didn't see Jack Frost until a week later, on my birthday.

I stood out in the middle of the pond, and I waited until it was growing dark for Jack to appear. I believed with all my heart that he was real. And he didn't disappoint me.

Riding on the winter winds, he glided onto the pond, icy-blue eyes sparkling with mischief as he extended a hand out to me.

"Robin, you really believe in me again?"

I shook my head and smiled. "Don't be silly Jack. I always believed. I just forgot that I did."

My ninth birthday was the best and the worst.

Arriving home after a day of fun, I crept into the kitchen to apologize to my mother for being late, but I don't think she noticed me.

That day was the day my mother lost her job.

My tenth birthday I never got to see my mother, she had taken on four jobs to pay the mortgage for the house and keep food in the fridge.

At the time I was greatly upset, and didn't go to see Jack, as was my custom on snowy days.

But he came to my house, and we had a little party together. We had snow in my room, and we played until I couldn't stay awake anymore.

As the years passed, and Jack and I spent days having snowball fights and sledding and ice-skating, it came to an end when I turned sixteen. I stopped believing.

My mother was working too hard, she never had time to properly take care of herself. I took it upon myself to make some money to help out. I couldn't find any work, and I was growing desperate. Mother's health was deteriorating. It was then that a friend from school suggested something to me.

Pick-pocketing.

I didn't feel right about it.

But my mother needed rest, and she couldn't do that if we didn't have any source of income.

So I ignored my conscience and I tried justifying my actions, by taking only from the rich. It was only fair, I told myself, because they never gave a cent to the homeless, they just kept all of their money for themselves. They had so much, surely, taking a few dollars here and there wouldn't hurt?

And besides, I did give some money to the homeless, because, who else would?

I got too caught up in my business.

I became crafty, silent, mislead. I was at the top of my game, and then, people started to take notice. A girl with green eyes and brown hair, always around when someone loses their wallet? Someone reported me, and then, there were posters of me, saying that I was wanted by the police.

I didn't want to go to jail. I couldn't. I had my mother to worry about, and the homeless.

But no one knew that.

I was just a stupid, wicked kid to them.

I wasn't the only one who was pick-pocketing. There was someone else. Someone, who didn't want me around.

I remember running, and someone shouting.

And then, a cold sharp pain through my chest. And then, I was shoved into a ditch.

I'm not sure what happened after I died, but, I remember a voice prodding me awake. And I stood up, and looked at the moon. There was a voice. A voice calling me, from the moon.

He said to me,

Your name is Robin Hood now.