Spells and Memories
Isabel Night

The mortals say that sometimes the dead can help the living. Now I don't know if that's always true, but with Badamon dead, I have free access to all of his books. However, the books I am interested in are not the thick hardbound books that contain ancient wisdom, but the leather-bound books that hold all of his spoken spells, chants, and incantations. However, I still have not found what I have been looking for. Of course, when I do reach my objective, I'll be able to…

'Stop it!' the subconscious part of my mind tells me in a sharp, scolding manner. 'You've been through all of Badamon's Spell books at least three times, and you still have not found what you've been looking for.'

Of course, I know what I'm going to do when I find what I'm looking for, but so far, I have not been successful. Maybe Cale was right when he said that what I'm looking for doesn't exist; but then again, since when has that ever stopped me from pushing myself? Of course, Sekhmet only shrugs his shoulders and, quite bluntly I might add, told me that what I was trying to do is something that no human, mortal or immortal, should ever do. Sekhmet explained that the mortals would classify this as "playing God," which would horrify them to no end. Of course, mortals are strange beings to begin with; they would condemn my intention and the actions that would follow, but they would sympathize with my reasoning. After 400 years, I've given up on even attempting to understand these silly restraints; however, it only took a few months to single handedly…

'STOP IT!' my mind shrieks, 'you're only going to remember the pain. It's the good memories you want to remember.'

Of course, my mind is right; it is the good memories that drive to find what I'm looking for, but there are also...other memories…that push me forward. Memories of his frantic voice, desperate to save all three of us from that blasted floating head we used to call master…his calm, even voice, promising all three of us freedom…the day he mentally whispered his goodbyes…

'STOP IT, STOP IT, STOP IT, STOP IT…' My mind continues to screams at me, 'you keep this up and you'll never find what you're looking for.'

So I attempt to turn all my memories off, which, as it turns out, doesn't work. Seeing that I am getting nowhere with my overworked brain, I close the brown leather book, and rub my tired eye. The sun is going down, and I must get some sleep. But as I leave, I smile, knowing that the books in this room will be waiting for me tomorrow; I also know that what I am looking for will also be waiting for me as well.

I sigh inwardly; don't you think it's strange? All this pain and drama, just to find a spell, chant, or incantation that will bring the dead back to life.

THE END