by Mica
This story is dedicated to the people that died in the tragic events of September 11th, 2001. It was written soon after it and was a healing process to write it. I hope it helps you heal... My thoughts and prayers go out in sincerity to all that died, and all that survived. The entire country, and indeed the entire world, shares in your pain.
Mezz opened the door to the bedroom. "Raph?"
A deep grunt from the window. Mezzcal looked over and saw his form silhouetted against the red, polluted sky. She came over and wrapped her arms over his shell. He shifted his head back, looking at her from under the brim of his cap. His good eye was wracked with an emotion that she could not understand.
"What's wrong, baby?" she asked in a soothingly calm voice.
Another grunt, smaller this time. He dropped his chin back onto his folded arms, hiding his face from her.
She waited. She knew he would talk in time. She waited and looked out the window onto the remnants of New York City.
"You know what day Donatello told me it was today?" Raph said in a low voice.
Mez was confused, "What do you mean? It's the 12th day of Gathering, honey."
"No." Raph said quietly, solemnly "In the old calendar, the Roman Calendar."
"What day is it, Raphael?"
"It's September 11th." Raph's voice wavered slightly; "Do you know what that marks?"
Mezzcal stayed quiet. He knew she didn't know the answer. He knew she wasn't old enough to remember all that he did. He probably wasn't expecting an answer anyway.
Mez was surprised to hear Raph choke back a small sob. "September 11th, 2001.... about say...hmm... almost a century ago... It was the start of the Total World War..." Raph paused and his head sank down into his arms and Mez felt his shell heave with a silent sob. She gently tried to pull him up and lead him over to the bed.
He resisted her and stood up. He angrily wiped the tears from his eyes. He rested his hands on the windowsill, gripping it like his life depended on it. "Bastards." he growled, an edge creeping into his voice "Still don't know who started it. Don't much care anymore. It started the crumbling of our world."
Raph paused. Mez put her hands on his shoulders, hoping to soothe him. She hoped he was finished... She hated it when he reminisced. She hated to see him in so much pain...
A hard tinge of sarcasm entered Raph's tone "The great United States of Fuckin' America." he growled, "Stupid things... makes me mad... Nuclear war is the worst kind you know..."
"Honey, just forget it..." Mezz said to him, "Let's just go to bed."
"No. I can't." Raph sighed. He took Mezz into his arms. She was warm... Right now he felt so cold. So lost. He felt like the world was falling apart all over again. Too many people had died in that accident. Too many of his friends. A cloud of dust had settled, and had left him hard and cold. With a thick skin, a killing edge that had taken years of prodding to soften even slightly. There had been much death after it, but the first wave always hurt the worst to think about.
"You shouldn't forget either, Mez." Raph said quietly, the anger slowly dissipating out of his voice, "For a wise man once said, 'He who does not remember his past is doomed to repeat it.' .. Heh... If we ever can.. we just need to remember..."
During his patrol across the ruined city, Michaelangelo paused above the water, hovering in his Cyber-suit. A Bent Streetlight, long dead, ridden with seaweed and debris, a street sign still said 'Liberty Street'.
"Bah, Liberty." Mike said quietly, his voice hollow within his helmet.
A tear trailed down his cheek. The children hit him the most. He had spent lifetimes taking care of them, and the death of the ones he didn't know hit him hard. Why did Don have to remind them? The horror of the day returned to him, and he heaved a deep sigh. A bouquet of buttercups, white primroses, and daises, all picked from a rooftop garden was produced from a compartment within his suit. Mike sighed as he set the flowers onto the water and watched them float for a few moments. It had been years since he had done this...
All those kids would be dead by now... Humans didn't live this long... especially in the harsh world earth had become. However, it still hurt. Their lives had been cut tragically short. For no reason.
Michaelangelo took his helmet off and wiped his eyes. It had taken so long to forget. Now remembering caused him pain. Maybe forgetting was the only way to ease the pain, but there was no forgetting. And there shouldn't be.
"You are remembered." Mike said loudly and solemnly to the water below him. After a few moments of revered silence, Mike put his helmet back on and flew off into the dark city.
... Below him, in the dark waters, a small ghostly hand picked the bouquet out of the water. The ghost of a little girl looked up as the turtle flew away. She had seen him many times before; he had helped each of her friends leave. She was the only one left. She had waited a long time for him this time. But, he had come back. She clutched the bouquet in her hands, and as she faded away, she mouthed the words "Thank You"...
May all that died find peace, and may peace find all that have lived.
A Cracked Shell Production