SPEAKING OF WRITING.....
To think, in all his life, he had never dug a grave. Never in his life had he attended a funeral. Not for someone he was close to. Not for his father, or his mother, his stepsister, his best friend. Not even for Orson the first time he died.
The first time.
Death was a strange thing in this nameless city. It was unreachable, unattainable. People were brought in daily. People who should have been dead, people who were dead. People who should’ve stayed dead so as not to cause their loved ones the pain of losing them all over again.
No. He didn’t mean that.
“I didn’t mean that,” he repeated. His voice was weak. Shaky, even. A chill ran down his spine, but he refused to shiver, steeling his body against the elements. Against the pain. It was something Orson had taught him, after all. To deal with whatever came his way. To keep moving forward. To find strength from fear, clarity from confusion, hope from hopelessness.
He bowed his head, gritting his teeth to prevent tears from spilling out. He was stronger than that, damn it. Orson would be ashamed to see him cry, especially over him. Then again, the old man never did give himself much credit.
Danny stared at the grave, if you could call it that. Danny couldn’t. He wish he could’ve done more. Actually buried him. Maybe even held a ceremony. But no. All he had on hand was a couple of rocks and a tree, so that was Orson’s grave. A short pyramid of three rocks, piled against a young oak.
“Couldn’t even make you a proper grave, idiot.” He kneeled down in front of it, straightening out the top rock, his bottom lip quivering. A sharp bite stopped that. He had to stay strong for Orson. Live on in his memory. Do him proud. After all, that’s what kids did, right? Try to make their parents proud? It seemed like the right thing to do to Danny. After all, Orson was the closest thing to family he had ever had. The closest thing to a father he had ever had.
Danny stood, eyes fixed on the grave for one final moment. He opened his mouth to speak, and this time, there was no weak voice to lessen the strength of his words.
“I’ll miss you, dad.”
The first time.
Death was a strange thing in this nameless city. It was unreachable, unattainable. People were brought in daily. People who should have been dead, people who were dead. People who should’ve stayed dead so as not to cause their loved ones the pain of losing them all over again.
No. He didn’t mean that.
“I didn’t mean that,” he repeated. His voice was weak. Shaky, even. A chill ran down his spine, but he refused to shiver, steeling his body against the elements. Against the pain. It was something Orson had taught him, after all. To deal with whatever came his way. To keep moving forward. To find strength from fear, clarity from confusion, hope from hopelessness.
He bowed his head, gritting his teeth to prevent tears from spilling out. He was stronger than that, damn it. Orson would be ashamed to see him cry, especially over him. Then again, the old man never did give himself much credit.
Danny stared at the grave, if you could call it that. Danny couldn’t. He wish he could’ve done more. Actually buried him. Maybe even held a ceremony. But no. All he had on hand was a couple of rocks and a tree, so that was Orson’s grave. A short pyramid of three rocks, piled against a young oak.
“Couldn’t even make you a proper grave, idiot.” He kneeled down in front of it, straightening out the top rock, his bottom lip quivering. A sharp bite stopped that. He had to stay strong for Orson. Live on in his memory. Do him proud. After all, that’s what kids did, right? Try to make their parents proud? It seemed like the right thing to do to Danny. After all, Orson was the closest thing to family he had ever had. The closest thing to a father he had ever had.
Danny stood, eyes fixed on the grave for one final moment. He opened his mouth to speak, and this time, there was no weak voice to lessen the strength of his words.
“I’ll miss you, dad.”