A Rebel's Rebellion

People always tell me, when I'm here, that I did the right thing, that I made the right choice. I sighed internally, this was stupid. One side, another side, even another side, there were hundreds, and yet I still couldn't choose. So instead of choosing a side, I chose family. I chose the side that my father fought for, that my mother fought for, that my sisters fought for, and that my brother shied away from. And now I can't change, I can't be with my brother, he spat on our blood, and then spilled it across the stones.
I wondered for a moment if I really had made the right choice, and done the right thing. Everybody here said so, and yet everyone else said that I should have chosen them. I swatted through the dense overgrowth, they sent me on this mission, a mission that could end the bloodshed. I sighed, but it would have to succeed, and if it didn't then it would lead to even more animosity, hatred, torture, death, and bloodlust.
Maybe I should just join the large party, at least then I wouldn't feel torn up. A temporary truce though wouldn't last long, and it was probably better this way. A choice. A choice. A choice given to me ten years ago before I could possibly understand.
I neared the building, and none of their traps caught me, I almost snorted, their dogs didn't catch me either. A choice. A choice. A choice now, but it wasn't the right thing, and I couldn't make a choice.
(flashback)
"What are you guys doing?" A deep voice commanded, our commander was a rough, large, and powerful man, and they said he had been in his first battle at the age of seven instead of the normal fourteen.
I was standing off to the sidelines, the commander's voice had woken me from my slumber and I stood, and watched, wanting to know as well.
"We're going to get tattoos." One of them stated proudly, they were so young, only fourteen, and still glowing at surviving their first battle, when we had lost so many. I knew of course what they meant, and so did the commander.
"Good. Be prompt tomorrow, training will not decrease." They all know though that it will for them. It will for them and never for me.
The next morning on all of their arms, both of them, was a tattoo, a symbol, our Rebellion's symbol, it stood out, and they weren't the only ones. Most of this Rebellion have them. A show. A permanent piece. And the other Rebellions have them too. Some of the main forces have them, but it's frowned upon there. I know one rebellion requires that you get the symbol tattooed on your arm.
They realize that I'm staring at it, and they grin, it'll probably get infected.
I hope it doesn't. We don't need another in the sick bed, and losing your arm....
(end of flashback)
I stopped dead in my tracks, all I have to do, is one assassination. One little death and I am a hero for my Rebellion. One death and we take the claim. One killing, to end thousands. The words rolled around in my head, and I knew though there was no way to bribe myself into doing it. I wasn't a rebel, I wasn't a patriot, I wasn't any of those things.
Which is why my report said that assassination was impossible and would lead to negative effects upon our rebellion.
That is why.
This world hasn't ended yet.

This is the symbol

The quote is:

"Freedom is the ability of choice, not necessarily choosing freedom, but making your choice.

Letting Go

The earth shuddered under me, and I saw him back away, I hissed. I felt the quake build and build and build. The ground underneath him rumbled in anger. He shook in fear and for a moment I felt satisfaction, so that he might know a fraction of what I felt when he shattered the last remnants of my heart. The same as everyone who learned about my gift. Shying away, running away, leaving me. He gazed toward me, and the emotion I saw there stopped the crust from destrying him then and there, he pleaded in his voice that still sent shivers up my spine "Please, Mora, Please I was wrong!" The last word came out as a strangled scream.

I felt my anger return, he was wrong, and now he would suffer, suffer as I had suffered. I tried to unleash the wrath of the earth that connected everything, but for once, and it was almost a blessed relief, when it didn't obey. He held a look of gratitude and fear, fear that had once been love. I gazed at him, and maybe he saw something in my eyes change, because his hands, raised in surrender, lowered, and his beautiful green gaze held my brown one.

My heart raced, and I waited for a slow grin to spread across his feautures, but it never did. If my heart could sink furthur it would have, I remembered all the time that I wished for him, because he held my heart, and I couldn't tell if I could ever grasp his. Then he shattered it and the remnants scattered on the pits of my soul as I fed off anger. Gazing at him now, he only spoke with a slow monotone or distant voice " Thank You." 

The words held no promise, no glimmer of hope, and my eyes fell, I didn't know whether to feel ashamed, or furious still. Taking a deep breath I felt it hitch in my throat, there was nothing left of what we once had, the minutes stretched on, and I found myself no longer breathing.

It was gone. He was gone. Those love swept eyes of his were gone.

So I released the breath, and knew that my love, my anger, my hate, and shackles ro revenge was gone as well.

My brown eyes met his green ones once more, expecting to see him gone or this be the last time, instead I saw a glimmer of the future.

And I didn't smile, somehow beyond smiling, instead I simply replied solemnly " I'm sorry." 

He only accepted it with a dip of his head before strolling off the field as if nothing had happened even though between us a forest of invaders had been cleared for a strong native oak.

This is covering a subject that many of us face in our lives. When someone hurts us, it is customary or impulse to retaliate, though occassionaly this is limited. While this is a simple lesson to learn, and slmost impossible to do all the time (We all make our share of mistakes, and there are times when people simply cross the line), I believe it important to incorporate in our daily lives.

While it may seem extreme in these paragraphs it is true, most of the time letting go, and allowing something new to grow is better than revenge.