Matthew couldn't understand what he was feeling. He hated him, detested him, and yet, he couldn't place the nagging feeling of guilt that laced itself around his back. The night was dead, not a glimmer of light in sky nor the soft sounds of the wind through the trees and Matthew couldn't deny how fitting that was; a night as eerie and uncomfortable as he was. The night was dead, and Jaffar was dead, but had he ever even lived? Had he laughed and loved and smiled?
He must have been so lonely. Always cheated, always run from, always feared and hated and blamed. Maybe misunderstood. Why are we so afraid of being taken away at all? It isn't so wonderful here. We are lied to and hurt, stolen from and blamed, cheated and hated and rejected and run from. Death is not so different from us after all. But we are what we hate, we fear what we don't understand, and what else is any more disastrously misunderstood than ourselves?
That's why he stood there, he realized, because he did not hate Jaffar, he could not. He hated the Angel of Death because he hated death, but the man he imagined to have killed the one he loved and the man who lay now beneath the ground were wildly different people. He knew that, though he tried to deny it, the moment Jaffar surrendered himself to Matthew in exchange for Nino's safety. And that's why Matthew couldn't kill him that day, because Leila did not want him to kill an innocent man.
He wished he could raise him from his grave just for a few moments to apologize for hating him like the rest of the world did; and to ask him just once if he was afraid to die, or even if he wanted to live.
But in the end there was only one thing Matthew could say to the man that could help him sleep and night and maybe help ease Jaffar's passing into where ever a person went when their life came to an end, and that was:
"I forgive you."
It was three words, three words he should have said long ago and three words that surely would have helped cleanse the man's soul, and three words he should be saying to him, and not a grave.
A/N: Hi, well first let me thank you for taking the time to read this. I wrote this because late last night a girl I knew died in a car accident and I wanted to write something about it and I did. Then, after I did that I wanted to make a fic about it that could some way correlate to how I felt. So I picked Matt and Jaffar. Two people who didn't really understand each other and never got the chance to. I dedicate this to her, and to all the one's that the people who read this have lost, I just hope it isn't an insult to their memory.
That being said, don't pull any punches. I'm not looking for sympathy and I would like this and everything else judged solely on my writing so if you have a free minute write a review and tell me what you think. Thanks again, and I hope this hasn't been to morbid.
(PS sorry if there's a lot of mistakes I kind of rushed this, hopefully they don't take away from the overall piece)