Waiting. That’s always the most painful part. Then your soul leaves the body, feeling lighter then air. But, this time it’s different. I try to let myself go, and relax. Let me die so I can live once again. I am suddenly in a black fortress. I sniff, earthy. A man wearing a black robe stands over me. His smirk drips abhorrence. “Abigail,” his voice says cruel and sharp, “I suppose you have an inkling abut why you are here.” “You want to say something,” he says,” Well you can’t! I have finally captured the infamous president of the Everlong society.”
The guard leads me to my cell. I look at him. He has pain in his eyes. Before I ask him to let me go he says,” I had to lead my own mother to her death. You aren’t going anywhere.” I deflate. The guard continues as if he didn’t see me realizing that tis might be it,” They’re going to torture you until you talk,” his eyes glinting mischievously. “You will get only a slice of stale bread a day until you do. The only people you can talk to are people who work for us. If you try to escape or socialize with other inmates, you will be killed. And if you want to talk about the Everlong society,” he says leaning in, “We’re all ears.” His breath smells awful, as if he has been smoking. He shuts the door and locks it. Tears well up in my eyes. The man comes back, “And change into this.” He holds up a white jumpsuit.
There isn’t much in my cell, just a toilet, a sink and a bed. Everything is gray or black. I lower my self onto the bed after I have changed and promise my self that I will never tell. I close my eyes and recall the memory of the start of it all.
It is 1408. The sun is glimmering taunting towards all of us in the palace. I am the young sorcerous. Normally I just make cures for colds and flees =, but I have secretly been preparing a potion that will let you return to life after death. The day passes sluggishly. It inched towards nighttime. At about 10 or 10:30, I sneak into the kitchen and grab a kitchen knife that I hide in the pleats of my skirt. Because there is just one more ingredient in my potion, a drop of royal blood.

I creep through the dark desolated hallways, gripping the knife. Then, I sneak into what I think is the princesses room. I grit my teeth, but know from this one loss, there will be many more lives gained. The princess has also came down with small pox. I walk over to the side of the bed and look for a person. When I find one, I make a tiny cut in the arm. The scream I hear is not the one of a princess, it is the one of my boyfriend, Jean-Pierre. I run. The princess is already calling guards from her real room, across the hall. I run down the hallways, and to my room. I take my potion and a cloak and climb out the window, down the ivy. I add the blood into my potion because I know that Jean-Pierre’s uncle is a prince. That should be good enough. Then I put the potion into my locket. Just then, a snake comes in the darkness and bites me. The pain makes me careless. I pull out the knife again, but before that, Jean-Pierre comes with a crossbow. He shoots it and the last thing that I can hear is, “I’m sorry Abby.”
I wake up sobbing. That type of memory is the one that can get me killed. But killed for real. I wonder how much time has passed. I wonder how much time will pass before I die. I wish that my mission to Paris had been successful. The one thing I found out about my potion is that you have to get royal blood in every lifetime. All I have to do is put it in my locket. I find it in every life before I need to be reincarnated. I have it now. That is my sign that I need to get the blood. I fall asleep remembering my favorite life.
Italy in the 20’s. I inhale and the aroma of pizza and garlic. I am only 15 years old, and I have a boyfriend. I have an older sister and she is about to be married. I will be the bridesmaid and I am very excited. My father says that I can go to Paris for spring break. I think that I will find my true calling. Because in 500 plus years, I have never found my true calling. I am very good at math and science, but those things bore me now. I know that someday, I will never be board. My mother walks in, and I flippantly sigh. She glares at me and says, “Abigail. You can go into the town, but come back by 10.” “Grazie mamma!” I say and leave immediately.
I wish that it was all so simple now. I abhor myself for being so flippant. In that life, I lived until I was 87. A guard bangs on my door and pulls me out of dreamland. “Abigail? You will be seeing your counselor. Come with me.” I wipe my hands on the white jumpsuit and stand. He leads me through a labyrinth of cells and doors marked DO NOT ENTER. Finally, we reach what I assume is the room. I look at the guard questioningly, but he only says, “I’ll pick you up in an hour.”
I open the door. Inside, the decorations are very modern. The desk is oak and very sleek. The chairs are a bright white and extremely cushiony. After examining the room, I am forced to look at the man in the desk. He looks about twenty and he has dark grey eyes. His hair is jet black, and he is wearing jeans, a grey tee, and converse. “Hello,” he says. He has an Italian accent. “My name is Raphel. You can call me Raph. So, I understand that you are the president of the Everlong Society.” I raise my eyebrows slightly and smirk. He won’t get anything out of me. Ha-ha Raph with the cute hair, I will be victorious. After about ten minutes he figured that he wasn’t getting anywhere. I smile, and he admits defeat. “So,” he says, “What do you want to talk about.” “Where am I?” I ask. He gives a knowing smile. “Well, you aren’t exactly dead, but you aren’t exactly alive. It’s like an in-between place. Right now, you are in the jail. See, most people here are not dead, and we can’t let them die in the real world because they would be too dangerous. So, we can kill them here. Or, if they could be useful, we keep them here.”
He looks at the notes on his desk. “So, how long have you been alive?” Any kind thoughts I had flew out the door. I sat still the rest of the meeting, solid as a rock, with my face plastered in a perma-smirk.
Days turn into weeks and I am pretty sure it is now October. I still meet with “Raph” once a day, and why they don’t just let me sit boggles me. But, I know about defeat. I was once a Confederate nurse during the civil war. I had to help men who thought and knew that they would die. I let only my favorite into the Everlong Society. Jackson A. Smith. He was only fourteen, one year younger then me. I remember when I was treating him for his final wound.
“Gail,” he cried out. “Yes Jackson,” I replied patiently. He coughed meekly. “I don’t know if I’ll live any longer.” He told me, “Gale, I think this is it. It shouldn’t count. I want to live.” He coughed again. I quickly gave him some of my potion. “Jackson, you need to listen to me. You’re going to die, but you will come back to life. Please, only use this once. I have enough blood for you to use it once. Jackson, please find me in ten years.” I notice that his chest stops moving. I let myself cry for a while, but then get back to work.
Just then, the guard comes. He leads me back into the labyrinth. I sit back down in my chair. “I’m ready to talk,” I say. Raph looks at me skeptically, but nods. “ Every life, I get reincarnated. But, I need just one thing, one drop of human blood. One drop of royal human blood. I put it in my locket and then the locket works for me. I come back every time, with full knowledge of what happened in all other lives. The Everlong Society, it’s just a fancy name for whom I let live one more life. The only long-term member is me. “
Raph looks stunned. Then he replies, “I knew you were up to something. Why would you let me shoot you?” He pulls up his sleeve. “Abigail, I took it too, after you died. You are not the only member in the society, I am in the Everlong society too.” Tears well up in my eyes, “Jean-Pierre? Why didn’t you tell me? You let me get locked for months on end in this dehumanizing sewage hole, and now you tell me?” He tries to talk again, but I cut him off. “And how come you live now, and Jackson didn’t? How come Palo didn’t what about the little girl with small pox that I saved? What the,” I say a word that can be substituted with bleep. “Happened to them. Except, why didn’t they live?”
Jean-Pierre looks at me. “I was them. Well, except for the girl. I kept coming back.” I look at him and know that I can now die. I take out the little vial of poison that I have been hiding for so long. The one that I always keep with me incase I am figured out. “I loved you Jean-Pierre. I still do. But Now, I have found what I have been looking for. I don’t need to stay anymore.”
“No Abby!” He says, “Please! We can live together! Please!” “I’m sorry,” I say and unscrew the lid of the vial. I see the pain in his eyes. I close my eyes and bring it to my lips. “No! “He exclaims, “I can’t watch you do this to yourself.” I take off my locket. His eyes widen in horror. Then, I drink the clear green liquid. It burns my throat, but I feel relived. I must have drunken enough, because the vial falls out of my limp hands. The burdens of living have been lifted off of my shoulders. And that’s when I realize that waiting won’t be as hard this time. It better not be, because that’s going to be all that I’m doing for a very long time. My vision is blurry, but I see Jean-Pierre crying I then see him pick up my half empty bottle. Then, my vision fades to black.