He Is Gone From Me
He is gone from me.
Gone.
Gone means "not here".
It's such an ugly word. I hate it.
But he's gone. Not here. Not anywhere. Did he enter a world of light? Or is he trapped in endless oblivion? What lies beyond?
I lay Piccolo carefully onto his new resting place. If I drop him, he'll break. He's too precious to break.
I stare down at his emerald face. Frowning brow ridges cast shadows over his closed eyes and high cheekbones. Boyish lips, not pressed together, but not parted either, gently touch together. My eyes move down to his hands. The long, tapered fingers and pointed nails. They rest inert on his unmoving chest. He does not move or breathe. His long body, so ravaged by the illness that took him from me, yet still strong, sleeps eternally on his white cape. Sunlight chases all shadows from his noble visage.
He looks like a sleeping king atop his royal bed. A bed made of wood about to burn him into ashes. He's almost too beautiful to destroy. Like a priceless art. Nobody can replace him. His time is over too soon.
Piccolo...
No, I have to do this, Piccolo wanted me to. I promised him I'd do this.
I touch his forehead and hold his hand one last time. The leathery skin feels too cold...I try to warm it without success.
Don't worry, Piccolo. You'll feel warm soon.
One ki blast ignites dry wood. The whole pyre is burning within seconds. It burns for an eternity, erasing Piccolo's body from existence. The smoke will show him the way to peace. I can see him again and again, he always looks so strong. So untouchable.
Now he is perfect, existing beyond the reach of any pain and visible only in my dreams.
Through the smoke I smell Piccolo's flesh burning. A horrid stench. Oh I hope he doesn't feel it! I also hear the fire spitting, crackling and shifting wood. I even glimpse a pile of bare bones. They will be gone soon, too, and it will be over...
Ashes, now Piccolo is just a little pile of gray ashes in the dust. I scoop up a handful...how can this tiny pile be Piccolo?! What have I done? I've destroyed him! I just burned that perfect, statuesque man who made me who I am now! He's...not here anymore.
No, this can't be real. Piccolo didn't really die.
But...it is real.
The ashes, Piccolo's remains, slip through my fingers like sand draining in an hourglass. I keep doing the same thing - picking the ashes up and dropping them. Hoping that somehow I'll reverse time and bring Piccolo back to me.
Piccolo doesn't come back. The wind whips the ashes from my hand before I'm ready. Almost as if Piccolo himself is smacking me in the head and telling me to wake up. No, I was going to save some!
Maybe it was a sign. Piccolo was never meant to be restrained. Not even after death.
I pick myself up and trudge home. Not saying anything to my mother. I even ignore little Doramu's gurgles.
The bed Piccolo died in is still in the room. It holds his dusty scent. His imprint marks the pillow and mattress. I'll never forget how quietly he passed away. Right in my arms, with me staring down at his ever-distant black eyes. They looked right through me into eternity. He wasn't afraid because he didn't die alone.
He'd learned love and how it felt to be loved. He left the world happy and at peace. He slipped from here after creating life in his own image.
Then why am I in agony? Why does knowing he isn't here tear my heart asunder? Why can't I accept the truth?
Why, Piccolo...why did you leave me?