Atlantis sat quietly in the middle of the den. There was a fluffy creature that looked very much like a miniature polar bear huddled at her knees, huffing and whining. Her features were pale, her expressive face dull, blue eyes drowning. Her hands coddled the small bear, Polaris, her shoulders shaking with the force of suppressed despair. She could still hear it. It rang in her ears and shook her from the inside out.
The door to the townhouse opened, and a blast of noise followed before the door clicked and everything became quiet again.
"Atlantis?" came a soft, worried voice. Into the den came the bear's real owner, Ivan. He had round, searching eyes behind oval framed classes, and a round face. He wore business casual, and a heavy, very worn leather jacket. He had come straight from work.
"Hi Ivan."
"You okay?" Ivan stepped over to the small girl and crouched down next to her, his arms resting on his thighs. He could see her face, and knew she wasn't. She had his heavy comforter he brought back from a trip to Canada wrapped around her, despite the warm temperature of the room. She was shaking.
"A very bad man was killed," she said as she wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. "He hurt many, many people. He is dead now, and everyone is very happy." Atlantis fumbled her words, a smooth accent slurring her consonants and vowels into a constant lulling sound, drawing Ivan closer.
"But you are not," he said. He sat down on the thick rug with her and let her hide herself away in his chest. He rested a hand on her back, moving it up and down to sooth her chills and fear.
"I am not," Atlantis repeated. "I am... sad, and scared."
"Scared?"
"So much joy in the loss of life. It is scary."
"Oh, Atlantis." Ivan pushed his glasses up over his hair and placed a loving kiss against her hair. Despite her adult manner and gentle ways, to him, Atlantis was just a child with the body and knowledge of a woman. "All you are hearing are those that are joyful, they are really quite loud. Not all are rejoicing, it is alright. They must have just been, much closer to the hurt people than most."
"It is still scary," Atlantis said. "To have killing be the only solution that they can see. That all of them can see. That they feel it is the only thing left for them to be heard, to make it right."
Ivan let out a breath, lost within the honesty of her words and the weight of her tears. He squeezed her close again, Polaris resting his big, awkward paws on Ivan's knee and nudging a little, black nose against Atlantis' stomach with another whine. He did feel relief at the news when it came to him, but then just dread, knowing that it wasn't the end.
"You really are just a force of empathy," he finally said, his gaze locked on the ceiling fan as it slowly spun. "It's like the world's pain is right in your blood, in your heart, and it is not your own. You feel it anyway."
"If no one else will shed tears for a death," Atlantis said, curling herself up into him as much as she could. "Then I must. The events that made all this come to be, the feeling of being cornered, of having no other option, to feel the need to be so extreme to be heard, or taken seriously. That he felt the need to kill so many, then others felt the need to kill him, to rejoice. Tears need to be shed for the dead... and the living."
"Then cry as much as you need to," Ivan said as he rested a big hand on her head and started to rock back and forth. "Feel all the sorrow that the world will not."
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