Weight of a Soul

I had never seen him break down before.

He was a blasé person, to the point where he had become a being of pure apathy in my mind. If others began to panic, he would be the one to restore peace.

Yet, seeing him crumpled in a chair, it wasn't the case tonight. He was noiseless, but his eyes screamed. Tears became waterfalls as he fixated on looking at the floor. I edged my way forward.

"Adam?" Silence filled the air as I awaited a response. I could hear small, shallow breaths. He moved his gaze from the floor to his hands. Then, he spoke. Barely a whisper. A haunting whisper.

"I lost her," his voice cracked after finishing his sentence with shuddering gasps. I found myself at his side. My throat closed as I tried to find the right words to say.

"It's not your fault—"

"Yes! Yes, it was!" Nearly falling backward, I clamped my mouth shut. Regret filled his eyes. "It was. I told her that she was going to make it. I told her she was going to grow up and look where that got her!" There was nothing I could say.

"You can't blame yourself," I whispered.

"It's hard not to when you have other people's lives on the line," he snapped. "There is so much weight on you to get it right. If you don't, there's heartbreak, grief, and loss. You have to save them and it's your fault if they don't make it." The world became heavy. By some divine providence, we embraced. There was no word or warning. Short intervals of comfort made their way through the hug. Through it, I learned more about the soul of people especially those in life-or-death positions.

If souls could be weighed, theirs overpower the weight of the world.