2010 ACM GK Chesterton Award for Second Place to Elizabeth Chance 19 and up

Joe Keysor, author of Hitler, the Holocaust, and the Bible,

is proud to present the 2010

GK Chesterton Award

to

Elizabeth Chance

Warner Robins, GA

Second Place

(category: 19 and up)

Bio:

Elizabeth Chance lives in Middle Georgia with her parents, her sister Rebecca, her adopted cat, and two dogs. She is currently a sophomore at Macon State College and is studying to become a Christian counselor.

Elizabeth enjoys writing as a hobby and hopes in the future to publish a full-length novel. She also enjoys acting and singing, and is currently directing a homeschool drama group with her best friend, Hannah Lowie.

Elizabeth was also the winner of the JRR Tolkien Award, ACM’s first prize award for its high school category, in 2009.

To contact Elizabeth Chance you may request her contact information through the contest administrators by sending an email to director@athanatosministries.org.

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His Scars for Mine

By Elizabeth Chance

The walls of the sterile room glared down at her condemningly. The stark white of the high-gloss paint reflected the piercing light of the bare bulb that dangled from the ceiling, focusing the beam on Meiko Hoshimi. She squirmed uncomfortably on the chilly metal seat. The doctor had kept her waiting for close to three hours now! Certainly he would return soon with the report. She nervously pulled on her shirt, adjusting the burgundy fabric around her slender waist.

Suddenly the doorknob rattled. She jerked her body straight, attempting to calm the pounding of her burning heart. The door swung open noiselessly, giving her a momentary glance at the pallid hallway outside her examination room. Meiko swallowed anxiously as the doctor set down the charts on the shelf. Her last hope hung on the man who stood before her; he held her life within his hands.

The doctor flipped the pages on the chart, adjusting his glasses. He stared in utter silence at the black and white pages for what seemed like a painful eternity before he finally spoke. “Well, yes…” the doctor cleared his throat, “We have a match.” Meiko gasped audibly, her heart rate tripling. The doctor ignored her, refusing to meet her eyes as he continued, “…but only one match. You have an extremely rare blood type and your need is urgent. Unfortunately, both you and another patient were placed on the list the same day. He also has the same blood type, and his condition is just as serious as yours.” Meiko stared in horror at the doctor, knowing what was about to happen. “Wh—what about a xenograft?” she asked weakly, leaning back against the cold wall for support. The doctor shook his head, pushing her left sleeve up with his pen. “You aren’t worth the money for a xenograft,” he shrugged, “And honestly, you cannot expect us to let a perfectly useful human die for you, now can you? Please, Ms. Hoshimi, be reasonable…. This other patient is a senator; he has several children and three grandchildren. He’s worth three billion. You will just have to wait.”

She dropped her head into her hands, fighting rage and hurt. Why couldn’t this man understand? She needed a transplant, and she needed it now. Glancing up, Meiko realized that the doctor was walking away. ‘Stop him!’ her mind cried out, ‘Yell, scream, cry, threaten—just make him understand!’

With a start she pushed herself to her feet, fear thrusting her body into full speed. Meiko stumbled after him, but stopped as she reached the door. She clung to the metal frame, breathing heavily. Her heart thudded loudly in her chest, reminding her plaintively that it might not beat much longer. Hot, stinging tears dropped from her eyes; they ran down her neck, soaking into her collar.

The scars on her arm began to burn even as her heart began to ache again. She hated her life; she hated that doctor; she hated the senator who would steal her heart; but most of all, she hated herself.

Hours later, Meiko lay on her bed, staring despondently at the raised, white letters that sprawled across the inside of her left arm. The word emblazoned on her arm was the very thing that had damned her—it was the reason she had been denied a heart. Years ago Meiko’s people had abandoned their archaic systems of telling caste, things such as titles before names or property ownership. As the population exploded, property had become too valuable a commodity, forcing many former lords into poverty. So, around a century ago, the political and ethical leaders of Devorah decided upon a new method of proclaiming social status: engraving.

The process was simple, cheap, and potent. Around the age of two years, every child born in Devorah would be taken to an Engravement Officer. The Officer would examine the child, taking into account the toddler’s health, family life, personality, and physical appearance. DNA tests would be performed to determine if the child had any genetic defect or a proclivity to any illness. Depending on the results of these various tests, the Officer would then select a word that he felt described the child’s social worth. Next the Officer anesthetized the child and cut the word he had decided upon into the inner skin of the child’s non-dominant arm. The procedure was nearly painless physically, but whatever word the Officer chose became that child’s lot in life.

At first the practice—known as “engravement”—was widely disputed and hotly opposed. For a while many even wondered if Devorah would sink back into its former feudalism. But slowly the resistance to engravement faded as the older generation died off. The new generation of politicians and leaders, young and foolish, arose to power proudly displaying their flattering engravements. And over time the country eventually accepted what her people felt they could not fight.

And where did that leave Meiko? Her mother had not wanted to have her. In fact, she had attempted to abort Meiko, but the doctor botched the procedure and Meiko lived. Meiko’s mother, who was a prostitute in an upscale brothel, could not afford to keep Meiko around. A baby scared off customers, which cost the brothel money and could very well get Meiko’s mother fired. So before she turned one, Meiko found herself homeless. For a while she lived in an orphanage, but when the orphanage became overcrowded, she found herself moving into one foster home after another. Because of all the chaos, Meiko somehow missed her two-year appointment with the Engravement Officer. When she finally ended up in a home, she was already six years old. The family, who did not want the Officers to think they had purposefully kept Meiko from her appointment, decided it was best to let Meiko lay low. But when they tried to enroll her in school, she was immediately seized by the principal and whisked away to an Officer.

Meiko shut her eyes, recalling that day like it was yesterday, though it had been over twenty years ago now…. Confused and scared, the young Meiko cowered under the intense scrutiny of the tall, stern woman. The woman scowled angrily at Meiko as she grilled the six year-old on everything from her parents’ names to her foster parents’ occupations. After what seemed like a thousand questions, the woman brought out a tiny needle attached to a long, thin tube. The woman wrapped a rubber band around Meiko’s arm, and slid the needle into the pit of her elbow. Blood flowed from Meiko’s arm, down the tube, and into a little vial. The woman took four vials of blood, which left Meiko dizzy and nauseated. Then the surly woman stomped out of the room, slamming the door loudly.

Meiko huddled in the room, biting her lip and rubbing the bruise on her inner elbow. After waiting for a few minutes completely alone, she suddenly found herself surrounded by a swarm of nurses and doctors. They buzzed and whispered, pushing her one way and then the other until she was dizzy with confusion. Within minutes she was strapped to a white bed, flying down corridor after corridor. Another needle pricked her arm, and darkness swept over her.

Hours or days could have passed, she did not know; the next thing she knew was waking up to pain. Her arm burned, a living fire, and she was completely alone. She did not know what had just happened or why her arm hurt so much. Pushing herself up on her elbows, she rotated her left arm inward and stared at the dark blotches that stained her sleeve. Curiosity drove her to pull back the sleeve. The creamy skin was blotched by seven still-bleeding symbols. Meiko’s tiny pink mouth fell open in shock, her dark eyes widening. She couldn’t read, but something inside told her this was not good.

The letters scarred, and for the next twenty years of her life she had read the word plenty of times. It was there when she showered, there when she changed clothes, there every hour of every day. She opened her eyes from her memory and looked at her arm. Forever she and everyone else would know what Meiko Hoshimi really was: UNLOVED.

Meiko pulled her comforter over her head and attempted to block out the memories. In the darkness, all she could hear was the pounding of her heart. She forced her eyes shut, trying to calm her breathing and wishing that she could just fall asleep.

The next morning, Meiko did not want to get out of bed. What use was there in getting up? If she went out, no one would talk to her except the occasional outcast who had nothing to lose by talking to someone like her. And besides, the more she moved around, the more her heart ached. Better to just stay at home where no prying eyes could find her.

She sat up slowly, running a hand through her tangled mop of hair, her thirst calling her to get a drink. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, gasping as even that effort exhausted her. Sweat began to bead on her pale skin, yet another warning of what would ultimately happen to her. Moving slowly, she shuffled to her kitchen and ran some tap water into a glass.

Her heart thundered in her chest as if she had run a marathon and not simply crossed her house. Now she would never be able to fall back asleep…. At least, not without some help. She stood on tiptoe, rummaging through her sparsely-populated cabinet. Her fingers brushed over a dried piece of bread or something, an old flashlight, some unidentifiable, dusty object, and finally a smooth tube. Relief washed over her as she stumbled back toward the counter. She unscrewed the lid and shakily tapped out two white tablets. As she tossed them into her mouth, her heart began racing. The water could not run down her throat fast enough. All she wanted was to sleep, long and hard.

She gulped down the pills and water, tossed the glass aside, and half-dashed, half-stumbled for her bed. The instant her head hit the pillow, the tears came. ‘Why now?’ she gritted her teeth, shoving her face into the soft whiteness of her pillow.

Her arm brushed against her face; the sensitive skin of her cheek twitched as the hard scars on her arm touched her face. She refused to get up, refused to move, and refused to break down and cry. A few tears seeped out, but the pillow wicked them away in moments. She dammed up her tears, trying to distance herself from the painful memories. Then she lay in her mental darkness, waiting for the pills to take effect.

Minutes dragged by, and slowly her heart began to calm down. Drowsiness was beginning to consume her; exactly what she wanted! She just hoped that now dark, dreamless sleep would overtake her for at least several hours. But when she finally lapsed into a form of sleep, it was twisted and haunted with nightmares.

A knock interrupted her black dreams. She jerked off the side of the bed, crashing to the floor. “Ouch!” she swore angrily. Her head swam as she sat up. The sheet was twisted around her body, dampened in patches by her sweat and tears. The green pajama shirt she wore was pushed up above her elbows, exposing creamy tan skin that never saw the light of day. She pulled down her shirt, pausing for a few seconds as she pulled the sleeve down over her left arm. The word glared at her as accusingly as ever. Somehow she always hoped that if she covered it long enough, the marks might fade or go away.

Another knock interrupted her thoughts and reminded her why she had fallen out of bed. Her heart began to beat faster. No one ever came to her house if it could be avoided, which meant that bad news must be waiting behind the door. Unsteadily she pushed her body upright and shuffled through her room. Her house was an absolute disaster; clothes, dirty dishes, papers, broken appliances, and dust were everywhere. In fact, her bedroom was so cluttered that she had been forced to move her bed into the living room months ago.

She stumbled through the clutter, finally reaching the door. Pausing to take a breath, Meiko steeled herself and cracked the door open. A man stood outside, a warm smile on his face. She eyed him carefully. “Hello, Meiko,” he greeted her warmly. Shock shot through her body. ‘How does he know my name?’ she wondered. “Yes?” she grunted in reply, “What, are you here to tell me that you’re the Senator and thanks so much to me for dying do you can survive to ruin our country? Well, you’re welcome, now get lost.”

“I am not the Senator, Meiko,” the man said plainly. “Do I know you?” Meiko asked, “How do you know my name?” She sized him up. He was about average height, maybe around 5’10” or 5’11”, of medium build, and muscular. He had curly brown hair, dark brown eyes, and well-tanned skin, as if he worked outside a lot.  “My name is Yesha. And actually,” he corrected kindly, “I am here to offer you a heart, Meiko.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, giving a derisive snort. “Very funny,” she retorted, “Who put you up to this? Mr. Important Senator with his new, nicely-beating heart? Look, I’m really busy.” She began to shut the door, but Yesha stared at her sadly. His dark brown eyes burned with an intensity that caused her to pause. “I tell you the truth,” he said firmly, his eyes never once straying from hers, “My father gives this offer to you: a brand new heart, perfect in every way.”

Meiko blinked in shock, swinging the door open a few more inches. “How much will this cost me?” she asked suspiciously. “The price for such a heart is extremely high,” he told her, “but the payment has already been delivered in full. I paid it myself, because I knew you could never afford it.” Confused, Meiko took a step back from the man. He barely knew her! “Well, then how do I get this heart?” she frowned, “I mean . . . what exactly do you expect in payback, mister? You obviously know I haven’t got much money, and I’m not like my mother so you’d best put that idea right out of your head!” Yesha looked hurt, and immediately Meiko regretted the angry words. They seemed so . . . inappropriate.

“I ask nothing from you, Meiko, except that you accept my gift,” he replied. That was too much for Meiko. She knew a bad joke when she heard one, and this was no longer funny. “Look, we’re all very amused,” she snapped, black eyes sparking in anger, “but I really am busy. You’ve had your joke—now beat it!” She slammed the door shut with all of her might, sending a knife of pain slicing up her arm. “My offer is still open, Meiko!” Yesha called, his voice barely muffled by the thick wooden door. “Oh shut up!” she swore, trying to fight off tears.

He had really had her going for a few seconds there. She stumbled back to her bedroom, inwardly cursing her stupidity. ‘Who do you think you are, Meiko Hoshimi? Have you forgotten your place?’ She glanced down at her arm and the dark green fabric that covered her shame. She did anything possible to hide it most days, but it always seemed so visible. Several tears escaped one eye and trickled down her face before falling to darken her sleeve.

The pain in her arm was fading now, giving way to a more persistent pain. Her heart felt especially heavy today, as if blood was gathering in the chambers and causing the strained muscle to swell. Sometimes her heart only ached dully; at other times the pain doubled her over. This time the pain swelled exponentially until Meiko was forced to her knees.

“Meiko, you don’t have to go through this alone,” the man called to her. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her hands over her ears until all she could hear was the ominous thudding of her heart. In the studded silence, she was alone. He did not know what he was talking about.

She stood unsteadily and shuffled into the kitchen. Dust an inch thick covered every flat surface no matter how hard she attempted to keep the place clean. Wrinkling her nose, she stepped over a large pile of dirt and picked her way across the tile floor to the refrigerator. The pain was throbbing now, swelling in time with the faint knocking on her door.

Jerking open the refrigerator door angrily, she pulled out a tall bottle and stumbled to the counter. Her hands felt numb against the cold glass of the wine bottle as she set the drink next to a mold-covered newspaper. She poured herself a cup of the burgundy liquid, glancing down at the paper only half-interestedly. The paper was only two days old, but it had already begun to succumb to the dingy state of everything else in her house.

Meiko gulped down the wine, hardly even grimacing at the bracing flavor, and poured another glass. While she sipped her second dose of alcohol, she perused the paper. The headline article featured Senator Zadown and his simpering wife Maria; in the picture he held her close, but kept his left arm out to proudly display the engravement on his skin. ‘Powerful’ sprawled across his muscular arm. Anyone who read the article no doubt felt a pang of sorrow that such a well-like, attractive man might die of cardiovascular disease. ‘I guess now all of his constituents are cheering that he’ll live,’ Meiko thought glumly, tossing the paper to the floor.

The newspaper spilled across the floor, its pages falling open to another article. At first Meiko did not notice, but as she stepped over the papers to put up the wine, a headline caught her eye. She froze, her dark brown eyes widening as they scanned the words. “Senator Zadown Introduces Bill to Purge Devorah” the title read. After reading the first few lines, Meiko felt nauseated. If this bill passed, Devorah engravement Officers would have the right to kill any child with a poor engravement, and the parents could be forbidden from receiving another child license to procreate.

“The stain of unwanted leeches will therefore be removed from the fabric of Devorah,” Meiko read aloud, “Those worthless sub-beings are scars on the fair face of our country. This bill is the scalpel to remove them.” Bile rose from the pit of her stomach to the back of her throat. According to the article, the Senator had almost enough support to pass the bill. A small black and white box was present just to the right of the article, displaying the poll results of almost 10,000 Devorians. They overwhelmingly supported ridding their society of the parasites with bad engravements.

Meiko put a hand to her forehead dizzily. She could hardly believe that so many others, possibly even her neighbors and friends, could just agree with this . . . this murder of so many people! “I need another drink,” she mumbled, pushing aside the paper. She tossed the glass into her sink, barely even registering the crash as it shattered. She grabbed for the bottle of wine and sipped from it as she limped into her living room. She sank onto the side of her bed, swallowing from the dark bottle and staring at nothing.

After a while her head began to buzz as the wine took effect. The bottle eventually slipped from her hands, spilling the remainder of its contents across the floor. The world spun around her crazily, and she followed the bottle onto the floor.

Over the next few weeks, her heart grew worse and worse. She visited doctor after doctor, but to no avail. Her favorite Senator had pushed his precious bill through, and now all he awaited on was the President’s approval. Meiko had to find a heart and get the transplant before the bill went through, or she was condemned.

The hardest part of going from doctor to doctor, though, was dodging Yesha. He followed her everywhere, it seemed. She spotted him in waiting rooms, outside store windows, and even in alleyways when she went to the rougher spots in town. And then, anytime she was home he was knocking on her door!

His incessant presence was beginning to annoy Meiko by the end of three weeks. The stress of trying to avoid Yesha along with her distress over her inability to find a heart were keeping her awake more and more of each night. No longer could she take a double dose of sleeping pills and expect to sleep peacefully. Now three or even four times a normal dosage barely made her drowsy.

One day, four weeks to the day after Yesha’s appearance, Meiko was at her wit’s end. He never stopped knocking, calling her, or following her! He was knocking on the door again! She dragged her head off her pillow and gazed dully at the door through red, swollen eyes. Each knock stabbed at her heart, bringing more tears to her eyes.

“Go away!” she wailed, jerking a pillow over head. The knocking ceased. She dropped the pillow and pulled the comforter over her head. “Just leave me alone and let me die in peace,” she begged, choking on her tears. “Meiko, I love you,” Yesha called through the door softly, “The offer still stands.” She sat up, shoving her fists into her ears to block out his voice.

“What do you want from me!?” she screamed angrily. In a fit of rage, she snatched the closest thing to her, an alarm clock, and heaved it at the door. The clock crashed against the doorknob, breaking into dozens of pieces that trickled to the floor in a plastic rain.

Meiko flew from the living room to the bathroom, throwing open the door so hard that it crashed against the wall. With stiff, deadened hands she wiped her raw face of its tears and grabbed for the first pill bottle she could get her hands on. He was knocking on the door again, just as he did all day and all night! “Stop it! Just stop!” she yelled frantically, “I will never let you in!”

She fumbled with the plastic bottle, desperate to open it. Apparently she would get no peace unless she drugged herself into unconsciousness, so that was exactly what she intended to do. “Meiko, I still love you,” he called out, his voice fainter than ever, “No matter what you do.” She viciously kicked the bathroom door shut, not even noticing the crack of her toe breaking.

Finally the bottle lid popped off and fifteen or sixteen white pills rolled out of the bottle into her palm. She tossed the pills into her mouth and dry-swallowed them quickly, then poured the rest of the bottle into her hand. Tossing those into her mouth, she splashed a handful of water into her mouth and gulped them down. “Now maybe I can get a few hours’ rest,” she huffed, furiously chucking the bottle into the trashcan.

Meiko roughly jerked the bathroom door open and stomped back to her bed. She fell across the downy comforter, but the soft blankets now felt like shredded glass. ‘I just have to relax until those pills start working,’ she told herself, squirming uncomfortably, ‘Relax, relax, relax….”

But the longer she lay there, the more restless she became. Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton—no doubt the result of the pills. Almost without meaning to, she got to her feet and began to wander aimlessly around her filthy house. She could not calm down; she could not find any peace!

Eventually she got so dizzy that she was forced to her knees where she stood. The room spun around her, but she did not feel as if she could sleep. She felt sick; very, very sick. She bent over, pressing her hands to the tile.

Bottles surrounded her, and she briefly wondered what would happen if she took every pill she could see. Suddenly the floor wobbled beneath her, pitching in time with the heaving of her mind. She shivered at the cold feeling that swept over her, but she knew that she could not stand up on her numb legs. Her whole body felt strangely numb.

Finally she realized that the pills were taking effect as blackness began to creep around her vision. In relief, she collapsed onto the floor and let the darkness carry her away.

Meiko lay slumped in her bathroom floor, surrounded by dozens of half-empty pill bottles. The stench of her own vomit assaulted her senses as she sat up. Her stomach pitched and she bent over to heave the remaining contents of her stomach onto the floor. The room spun around her as she rolled onto her back. She did not have a clue where she was.

‘How many days have I been unconscious?’ she groaned to herself as she looked around. Her surroundings were unfamiliar, and yet she knew that she was in her house. This was her bathroom; these were her pill bottles. Her bleary eyes fell on her left arm and the reminder written there. Nothing had changed.

Slowly Meiko sat back up, frowning in disgust at the putrid smells surrounding her. Pain shot through her like she had never felt it before. Her heart ached as it attempted to pump blood throughout her body. Gripping her head, she tried to focus, tried to think.

She had nowhere else to go; nothing relieved the pain now. Day and night she lay awake, unable to forget and unable to escape her reality. She was caught on the brink of a bottomless chasm, unable to back away and unable to fall. The man had not knocked on her door yesterday—or maybe she had been too drugged to hear him. Right now she would give anything to hear that knock; at least when she heard his voice she felt something other than this deadness inside.

Nothing she had done ever eased the pain for long: the pills always wore off, she always woke up, and people would always deny her their acceptance. Nothing she could ever do could change her failing heart. Meiko pushed aside the bottles, curled into a ball on the linoleum, and began to cry softly.

Then, ever so softly, she heard it: a faint tapping sound. Desperate for anything to change, Meiko called out quietly: “Come in.” The door opened and Yesha stepped in. Meiko felt a rush of blood coming to her face. How embarrassing for anyone to see her like this!

“I—I’ll be out in a minute,” she stammered, trying to shut the bathroom door before he could see her. But he was already beside her, lifting her to her feet. Meiko was beet red with embarrassment by the time he helped her limp out to her living room. She started to apologize for her appearance several times, but she could never find the right words.

Yesha did not say one word until Meiko had washed up and they were both sitting in her living room. “Meiko, are you tired of trying to fix your life by yourself?” he asked softly, his brown eyes gazing at her steadily. Meiko stared back at him for a few seconds, tears pooling in her eyes. Finally she looked away and managed to nod.

“My offer is still open to you, Meiko,” he said, gently taking one of her hands in his larger one, “All I ask is that you accept my gift.”

“But—but I don’t understand!” she said desperately, “Why are you doing this? I’m nobody—my own mother didn’t even want me! You won’t offer that once you see this, so . . . look.” She jerked her left sleeve up roughly and shoved her arm into his face. The scars had never looked so scarlet before.

“But I love you,” Yesha responded, tears filling his own eyes, “These are the only scars that I care about.” He held out both of his arms, palms up. Across each of his wrists was an almost-circular scar. Meiko stared at his arms, wondering what awful kind of thing he must have been through to have scars like that.

“Come, Meiko,” Yesha smiled, standing up and offering her his hand, “Let me give you a new heart.” Meiko stared at his hand, then at the scar that marred his wrist. How could that matter more than the marks on her arm? Why did this man think that she had value to him?

She let her eyes travel upwards until they met his. The depths of his eyes held sorrow and love, but no deceit. She began to cry as she reached tentatively for his hand. “Please help me,” she whispered, her lips trembling, “I’m just so sick of being alone.”

Yesha pulled her gently to her feet and smiled warmly. “I will never leave you,” he promised, “Now let’s go get your heart.”

What seemed like mere moments later, Meiko found herself on yet another pristine white bed. This time, the faces that surrounded her were friendly, but she was still nervous. The doctors and nurses buzzed around her, pushing her from one room to another. Finally she ended up on a stainless steel bed, surrounded by bright lights.

A doctor leaned over her, pressing a button on the pole that held her IV drip. She felt sleepy almost instantly, but before she drifted off, she saw a man with blood-stained hands approaching her. He held a lump of flesh in his hands—a heart?

‘Why am I not asleep?’ Meiko wondered. But surprisingly, she was not scared. She was actually tired! As her eyes drifted close, she felt something wet trickle down her left arm. And then she slipped into a peaceful sleep. “It’s finished,” the doctor whispered above her.

When Meiko awoke, it was the first time ever that she felt rested. She sat up in her bed, laying a hand over her chest. Her heart beat loud and firm within her body now. “Yesha?” she called out, looking around quickly, “Yesha?”

Her eyes fell on her arm, and out of instinct she began to cover her scars. She paused and did a double-take as she realized that the mark on her arm had changed. Her eyes grew as she read the words again then again.

Large, white letters stretched across her arm still. But now the letters read LOVED. “Wh—what happened?” she asked in utter confusion, “What’s going on!?”

“Good morning, Ms. Hoshimi,” a nurse greeted her as she swung into her room. “Wha—what’s going on?” Meiko demanded, “What did you do to me? What happened to my arm?”

“What?” the nurse asked, frowning in confusion, “Oh, you mean your engravement? During the operation, some of the donor’s blood splashed over it, but we cleaned your arm up. Is something wrong?”

Meiko’s mouth opened and closed several times, but nothing came out. “Who—who was my donor?” she finally forced out. “Um, well we’re not really supposed to tell,” the nurse hedged, “But let me see if they somehow made a note of it on your chart…. Oh, wait,” she frowned down at the clipboard in her hands, “Apparently this was an open donation. Yes, your donor was a Yesha Melek. And there’s a note here for you . . . from him?” The nurse handed a piece of white paper to Meiko, looking extremely perplexed.

Meiko opened the note shakily, her mind spinning in fifty different directions. She swallowed hard, and read the note slowly.

Meiko, I am giving my heart to you. I am willing to die so that you can live, because I love you. You have accepted my gift, and it can never be taken from you.

I will see you again one day. Until that day, treat others as I have treated you.

To the lonely show friendship; to the hopeless show my hope; to the unloved and unwanted show compassion. And to those who are at the end of their ropes, show them how I can exchange their shame for love.

~Yesha

“There’s a book here, too,” the nurse interrupted, handing a large black book to her. Meiko turned it slowly in her hands, allowing her tears to fall onto the dark cover. “It’s the story of His life,” she whispered as she opened the first page, “The story of how He kept His scars so I wouldn’t have to bear mine.”

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