Most of the dead never learn how to forgive, or they just choose to forget. Almost all the people here have found someone to blame for what happened. I met a girl who blamed her mom over her drowning. A father who blamed his son for a car accident. I also met a man named Will. Will blamed himself for dying of old age. I thought he should be congratulating himself.
I don't like to assign blame. Maybe it's because I'm only nine, and therefore an adolescent, but I never understood why we blame others. Deciding who did what doesn't change what happened. It can't take back the act that has already been done.
Victims of murder are drawn back, untrusting. Come toward them and they shrink away. Make a sudden movement, and they coward. They shy away from the light, fall back from crowds. They're the most bitter, afraid. Of all of us, they lead the worst after-lives.
People say I'm a martyr. I suppose that's true, but I don't like that term. I'm not a fan of murder either. Those words are black and white. I like to think of war as a grey zone, war victims neither murdered in cold blood nor living out their full days. As a shadowhunter, I always understood death was a side effect of war, and dying in war was a honorable death.
I know Sebastian killed me, but I don't hurl bitterness at him. I'm dead, but I don't believe I was disposed of in cold blood. It was war, and it still is. I truly believe I was just in the wrong place, at the wrong time. I guess that's what makes me different from most people here. I believe in forgiveness.
When I first arrived here, there was a boy waiting for me. He had dark hair and pale skin. He approached me like he would a panicking horse, trying not to startle me. He spoke softly, cringing with each movement I made, as if he was preparing for a verbal, or even physical attack. He introduced himself quietly, ashamed. The boy was the real Sebastian Verlac.
His identity stolen, and then murdered by the person who would later kill me, Sebastian and I had a connection. We understand each other. Sebastian said he'll hate Jonathan Morgenstern enough for both of us. He's the closest thing I have to a friend here.
In all honesty, being dead isn't that bad. I mean, it's not living in Beaverly Hills awesome, but it could be much worse. I've seen the best and worst of people here, and I miss my family, but I'm not held back, either. Not held back because of age, not held back for fear of death- that ship has already sailed. I can do what I please, meet people I've only heard about. The other day, Jonathan Shadowhunter offered to give me a training session! Maybe it all depends on where your looking, but while it's not the same as earthly life, death is a life in it's own right.
So please, don't be sad I'm gone. I'm in a good place, and I've met good people. I'm not limited anymore, and I'm not shackled by bitterness the way everyone else here is. But even so, if you happen to run across my family, would you give them this letter?
