I'm still sick, and I think DayQuil is messing with my head…

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Kiley sat outside until after full dark. One moon was already high in the sky, but not high enough to penetrate the shadow surrounding her. The desert slowly lightened as the other moons rose, an almost imperceptible brightening, a slow expansion of the horizon. It was too bad her mood stayed dark. She grabbed a handful of pebbles from the base of the spire, and amused herself by seeing how far she could toss them. She imagined that each one was a problem, bidding each trouble a fond farewell before chucking them out into the darkness as hard as she could.

She ran out of troubles before she ran out of rocks, so she merely rolled the last three between her fingers for a few minutes before letting them fall to the sand at her side. She felt useless here. Worse, she didn't even know if she could find a purpose. For years, people had either been telling her exactly what to do or she had a goal to strive towards. Kill this person? Ok. Save this one? All right. Try to enter politics and save the world? That was a good goal. Wander around aimlessly on a dusty desert world, where the only people you know treat you like some sort of talking dog? She just wasn't mentally equipped to handle this.

She had been powerful, strong, feared. Now, she was no one. Of course, she had been hated, despised, and betrayed, so why did she find herself wishing she was back there? Was she so driven by ego that she needed to be famous, infamous? Could she not just sit, and simply be herself?

Of course not. No one gets to just sit around simply being. How many people run around, working themselves to the bone, never having the time to examine their lives, let alone their souls? She knew that time to sit and think was an unappreciated luxury. It was just that she found as she examined herself, her life, that she really didn't like herself much. And how was that for a depressing thought? She gets a new chance, a new life, and what does she do? The same crap that messed up her life in the first place.

She rubbed her hands down her legs, forcing herself to not make fists. She should know better. She should just leave.

Maybe she liked Knives. Maybe she more than liked him. So what? She knew what abusive relationships were like, had lived through her fair share of them. Loving Knives was a recipe for pain. He was a bastard, cold, used to getting his own way, and too much like her. Of course, she wasn't a racist, but that was really just the icing on the cake. Even if he could get past the fact that she wasn't a plant they still wouldn't make a good couple.

A hand descended on her shoulder and she jumped.

"Lost in thought?" asked Knives as he sat down beside her.

"Something like that."

"You really confused the girl. She's sitting over there thinking about what you said."

"Good." Terse. Short. Maybe he would get the hint and leave.

"Why is it so hard for you to admit that we are superior?"

"Probably because you and I have different definitions of superior."

He stretched his legs out before him. "Humans can do nothing even half as well as a plant," he said easily.

"See? You confuse potential with actions, too. I swear, you are either dense, or have an ego bigger than a elephant."

"Hmm? Oh. Yes. They were big?" he muttered.

"Huge. Enormous. Like your ego."

He punched her shoulder lightly. "It's not ego when it's true."

She scooted out of arms reach. "But it's not true. So what you if you can do things better than humans? What have you actually done? Killed millions? Is that something to take pride in? What has your brother done? Drifted across the face of the planet, touching lightly on people's lives before moving on, a ghost that barely touches anyone through time? Any accomplishments you're particularly proud of, outside of murder and mayhem?"

He paused to think. "I'm rather proud of my murder and mayhem, actually. It was well orchestrated. A work of art."

"It was death and destruction. How is that supposed to make you superior to people who spend their entire lives striving to make a positive difference in this world?"

"Have you met many of these people who want to make a positive difference?" His tone mocked her as he repeated her words.

"Yes. I admit, most people don't try to make a difference. Most people just live their lives hoping for the best and dealing with whatever happens. But you're still not understanding my perspective. How is a human who strives to make life better, inferior to a monster who kills and destroys?"

He tensed. "I am not a monster."

"No? Millions Knives, destroyer of lives."

"I am a superior being."

"You're repeating yourself. I'm not saying you're a monster because you're a plant; I'm saying that you, Knives, the soul inhabiting that body of which you are so fond, you, the soul directing the mind that is so quick and so capable, you, Knives, are a monster."

"And you aren't?"

"I…I don't know what I am," she muttered, then raised her voice to continue. "I know I don't want to be a monster, but then I find myself acting in ways I'd rather not. I'm trying to be a better person. You don't even care."

"So, you believe that good deeds make you superior."

"I believe that a person who does the right thing is better than a person who deliberately causes harm. To anyone, or anything, living or dead."

"Saving my race is not an evil thing."

"I never said it was."

"You just called me a monster!"

"Your actions give you that name. You would destroy in the name of justice, but in the end, you have still destroyed."

"You were the assassin," he pointed out petulantly.

"Yes, yes I was," she agreed easily. "But I'm not anymore. You're still looking at genocide as an acceptable way to save your people."

"Humans are a plague. Killing you is a service to the universe."

"Nice to know that your views are set in stone. Talking to you? Always a pleasure." She stood up and brushed sand off her pants, preparing to go. Knives rolled over and grabbed her leg. "What?" she asked, irritated and trying to not show it.

"You're leaving so soon?"

"I can only take so many "vermins" and "plagues" before I want to go."

"I'll stop."

"You won't stop thinking it."

"Does that matter so much?"

She thought a moment, then sat down. "What do you want?" she asked flatly.

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