A/N: My first fanfic, so easy on the criticism! Actually, no. Please criticize and tell me what I need to do better! : ) Just a short one-shot. And by short, I mean really short. Please don't judge me based on this… I understand that it kind of sucks. It's not really my usual writing style. I just had the idea randomly during Math class. Anyway, here's the story…
It rained the day my father died. It wasn't the sprinkling rain that does nothing, but a torrential downpour that leaves puddles in the streets and brings out the umbrellas. It lasted for days afterwards, but cleared up after the funeral. I think it was the gods' way of thanking him, for saving the world all those years ago. My mother cried, but I didn't. I remember seeing her tear- streaked cheeks, blond curls plastered to her face. That's about all that I remember about the day of the funeral, and the days afterward. It's all sort of a blur to me. I vaguely remember tight hugs from relatives and well- meaning people. But at that point, I really wasn't in pain. I guess it never really hit me until later. It took about a week to realize that he wasn't coming back; that he wouldn't come home again at night like he always did, tired from work, but happy to see his wife and only child. Then it really hit me hard. My father was my best friend in the world. If I was having a bad day, he always knew how to cheer me up. Just one smile and a flash of his sea green eyes, and I was happy again.
My mother and I had never really been close, but this brought us together. I could see that this was hard for her – she was keeping a brave face on for me, but on the inside, she was sobbing her heart out. But my mother was a strong woman. Although things were never the same after Dad's death, she still kept living as well as possible. I knew just how much she and Dad had loved each other; that they had defied their parents' judgment to be together. But that kind of love, it was eternal. Mom always kept Dad in her heart. Until the day she died, I don't think that she ever thought about any other man in that way.
I was never the same after my father's death. I was only eight at the time, but it still affected me greatly. People used to whisper about me, asking why I was such a serious child, too old for my years. Once they heard, they only nodded their heads sadly, pitying my pain. It hurt me, how they did that. Dad always used to say that I had my mother's independent spirit, and wouldn't take pity from anybody. He said it proudly, and I knew that he loved us both more than anything in the world.
Through the years, my memories of my father became fewer and fewer, dwindling away through time. But I still held some close to my heart – the way he would pick me up and spin me around when I was sad, and tuck me in at night. I remember trips to the beach, and splash fights in the water. I remember Mom laughing, and saying that I was just like him. And I cherished that. I felt that if I was as much like my father as possible, I neither my mother nor I could ever forget about him, and he would live in our hearts forever. And he did.
A/N: See that little button down at the bottom? Click it and leave a little note. Please? Thanks for reading, anyway. Sorry about the general shortness. :P