This might be my last story for the meantime. But I'll still write! Not that often though. :[ It's a short story about Carlisle's first patient and he failed… I know… this little fic is a bit sad. And his prayers… He's such a religious man. I hope you'll like it. :]

19th Century France

There was nothing I could do. For over a century and a half… the feeling of helplessness devoured my entire being—clawing its way through every inch of my forsaken soul… squeezing my dead heart so tight it almost felt like it finally broke into thousand pieces. Invisible tears welled up in my eyes as if clouding my vision but there was none. I remained unchanged. The trembling of my balled fists became violent and a low painful groan escaped my lips.

The sound I had produced was too low for any human standing nearby to hear; the grandparents, uncle, aunt… I had witnessed as the young boy of only four took his final breath. I was his doctor… I could've given him the best care for the past week. But I had failed my very first patient. This innocent little boy died in my hands.

His mother wailed beside me. The sound of her agonizing cries made it much more difficult for my part. I could've made her happy by saving her child. Her tears would be spared. The guilt that was clawing inside me intensified as the woman wrapped her gentle arms around her own son. Her husband was not moving on the opposite side of the bed—as if we were mirrors. The frail statute of him was heartrending as his right arm took support from the bed post. I could not comprehend how painful it was for them… seeing the aftermath of this was already tearing my heart.

"Mon fils…" the broken sobs of the mother continued and I remained in my position for a while. The trembling of my hands ceased and was immediately replaced by a terrible numbness. "Je vous aime,"

It was then that I decided to speak. The silence was already too much to bear in each and every one inside this small room. "Je suis désolé."

My voice was barely a whisper as I apologized. The father was the only one who glanced at me with a sincere look in his grave dark eyes. I nodded and exited the tiny room. I could still hear the now muffled sobs of the mother from across the street. It was nightfall—the lamps outside were now lit… people scurried through the wintry night—all oblivious of the fact that an innocent life had just left the world. I was frustrated and heartbroken; emotions that were still eating my very core. With a final look at the window upstairs, I left and never came back.

I had no one to talk to—no person to speak about my guilt. The walk towards my house was the longest I had ever had. Pulling my mind out of the remorseful thoughts, I saw something that I had never come across for such a long time. An old chapel was isolated far from the home structures. Its stone walls were now covered in moss as if no one had been inside for years. Green vines traveled from the soil to the upscale roof. The pavement had cracks as if one step would send you down to the core. Taking a deep breath, I decided to enter.

The inside of the abandoned church illuminated no light but it was no hindrance for me. My eyesight was well beyond normal and I could see as if it was daylight—even clearer. I took deliberate steps toward the aisle where the dusty pews were still arranged from both sides. My footsteps produced no sound and I stopped right in front of the altar where a big wooden cross was hanging. Placing my bag on the ground, I kneeled, closed my eyes and started to pray.

I prayed for forgiveness for the thing that I had done or not done. The choices I had made affect so many outcomes and I had chosen the wrong one. I prayed for the soul of the young child that had died in my hands… hoping that the Lord will keep him, and that the boy will find solace. I prayed for the parents who had lost their child… that they would find peace and happiness in the right time amidst what had happened. I prayed for the lives that I would encounter… that may the Lord give me the faith, wisdom, and strength to save those people. I prayed for the soul of my father who had long left the world… that he was in the right hands. I prayed for forgiveness of my sins and that I would find the conclusion to my choices… that even I could find solace in this limitless existence. I prayed for my soul… never did I doubt that I had lost it. The Lord was merciful… and if I really did lost my own soul then why could I still feel so human? And I prayed for the future, that someday… my choice to be different amongst the usual would bring good things to others.

It took me a few minutes of reflection before I stood up and gathered my bag. With a last sweeping look at the holy cross, I turned to leave the church. The wind outside had become gentler as if whispering a music. The sound and feeling of the wind gently caressing my face took all the tension that was building inside me ever since. And with that, I smiled ever so tenderly.