(no subject)
This stupid idea does not wish to leave my head.
-----
On occasion she visits his grave, she is one of the very few who knows it is his as the only thing marking it is a small round stone. There is no name, there is no date of birth nor death, nor beloved daughter nor son imprinted on a nice tombstone. It is a grave, and a person, that the world would rather forget existed and the chaos they brought.
She remembers the last time she ever saw him alive, his normally pale yet healthy skin had turned to a rather sickly white. His hair was short and uneven, framing a thin face and two hollow eyes just staring at her as their vitality had long left them. It was unnerving to remember now to recall the face of the boy she once knew who was dying slowly right in front of her. But at that time all she could muster up to feel as she looked at that pitiful face was anger if not apathy.
She recalls the thought that finally, Karma had caught up with him.
That day, he cried. It was a pitiful display, he cried yet it didn't sound right nor did it even look right. He was choking on his silent sobs in front of her, clawing at his neck in an attempt to make them stop before the sob degraded into a violent fit of coughing. As if they had aggravated some sort of illness. Even then, she felt apathetic.
He had told her the same day of where to find Shirley, the girl they had all been searching for. It had taken her a day or two to figure out this as even then he could not help but be cryptic with his clues. Now that she thinks about it, she assumes that it was his way of apologizing. But then Norma did not notice, instead after he was through saying what he needed to she told him to leave. She wanted nothing to do with him then and then he just smiled, or gave her what could be assumed to have been one, at her and left on his way.
It still came as a shock to her when she read of the assassin who was killed several weeks later. Again when Norma thinks about it, he was probably planning such a thing all along rather choosing death than his imprisonment. The image she saw of what was left behind is still burned into her memory. A small and thin body curled up on a bed in a cell clutching something, papers of which she could notice the familiar writing of the groups on each separate sheet.
They could not pry those papers out of his cold hands, even then he refused to let go of what was once his.
A drop of rain hitting her face startles her from her musings. When it had started she does not know, but she knows she has been standing there long enough staring as his grave to have become completely soaked. She lifts the stone marker for the grave up for a couple seconds and places a ribbon under it. Attached to it was a bell she had found in his home. It was old and the shine it once had was long lost.
As she leaves the grave the wind blows suddenly with the rain, the bell rings several times. When ever she visits again the wind does not blow and the bell does not ring.
-----
On occasion she visits his grave, she is one of the very few who knows it is his as the only thing marking it is a small round stone. There is no name, there is no date of birth nor death, nor beloved daughter nor son imprinted on a nice tombstone. It is a grave, and a person, that the world would rather forget existed and the chaos they brought.
She remembers the last time she ever saw him alive, his normally pale yet healthy skin had turned to a rather sickly white. His hair was short and uneven, framing a thin face and two hollow eyes just staring at her as their vitality had long left them. It was unnerving to remember now to recall the face of the boy she once knew who was dying slowly right in front of her. But at that time all she could muster up to feel as she looked at that pitiful face was anger if not apathy.
She recalls the thought that finally, Karma had caught up with him.
That day, he cried. It was a pitiful display, he cried yet it didn't sound right nor did it even look right. He was choking on his silent sobs in front of her, clawing at his neck in an attempt to make them stop before the sob degraded into a violent fit of coughing. As if they had aggravated some sort of illness. Even then, she felt apathetic.
He had told her the same day of where to find Shirley, the girl they had all been searching for. It had taken her a day or two to figure out this as even then he could not help but be cryptic with his clues. Now that she thinks about it, she assumes that it was his way of apologizing. But then Norma did not notice, instead after he was through saying what he needed to she told him to leave. She wanted nothing to do with him then and then he just smiled, or gave her what could be assumed to have been one, at her and left on his way.
It still came as a shock to her when she read of the assassin who was killed several weeks later. Again when Norma thinks about it, he was probably planning such a thing all along rather choosing death than his imprisonment. The image she saw of what was left behind is still burned into her memory. A small and thin body curled up on a bed in a cell clutching something, papers of which she could notice the familiar writing of the groups on each separate sheet.
They could not pry those papers out of his cold hands, even then he refused to let go of what was once his.
A drop of rain hitting her face startles her from her musings. When it had started she does not know, but she knows she has been standing there long enough staring as his grave to have become completely soaked. She lifts the stone marker for the grave up for a couple seconds and places a ribbon under it. Attached to it was a bell she had found in his home. It was old and the shine it once had was long lost.
As she leaves the grave the wind blows suddenly with the rain, the bell rings several times. When ever she visits again the wind does not blow and the bell does not ring.