Grey. It was as if the world had turned grey. Or perhaps it was just him. The moment he had learnt of her death, his world had become void of colour, vibrancy and excitement.
Everything that she had stood for.
He struggled to rid his mind of the blacken shell where her remains had been found. Since that night a thought had often crossed his mind. That is was appropriate that it had been a fire that had gotten the better of her. For she herself was a fire. The spark that had ignited when fighting for a cause, a warmth that had the ability to comfort all that were around her and the flame that gave him a reason to exist.
It was morbid to think that way and he knew it. But he couldn't help but think it. Days passed and it was impossible to function.
He stared at his feet indented into the sandy ground. There was a wind blowing gently and he could almost convince himself that it was actually the feel of her breath on his cheek. There was a salty taste on his tongue, but he couldn't be sure if it was the sea air, or the tears that were streaming down his face.
He hadn't cried like this since he was eight years old. Like today he had been at a memorial service. A lost little boy who was old enough to understand that his father wasn't coming home, but not willing to accept it. How could anybody accept that fact?
Here he was, a grown man, reduced back to that lost little boy. Understanding that the woman he loved so dearly was gone, forever, but not willing, or not able to accept it.
He had so many plans for them. Santa Barbara was only a start- the beginning of what was to come. She would have said yes. He wasn't being arrogant to think that. While they hadn't yet uttered those immortal words "I love you", he knew that she felt the same as he.
She would have said yes and then nothing could have come between them.
Except fire.
It took a fire to douse the flame that existed between them. No. He shook his head slightly. The flame was still there. He still felt it and always would.
It would take something cold to make him forget. Something so icy cold that the flame within would be cooled. But that couldn't happen, could it?
Releasing her was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do. He didn't want to say good-bye. But as the grey ashes were carried out to the ocean by the wind, he heard her. Heard her sweet, soft voice as clear as day.
"I'm still here. You don't have to say good-bye."
It was comforting. Somehow he knew that she was there, her warm brown eyes watching him. He felt as if he could reach out and touch her.
But then reality hit him hard. Her touch was gone. Never again would he be able to run his fingers over her velvet skin. 'Never again,' he thought as a deep ache coursed through his heart. So what if he could sense her presence. She wasn't there and never would be.
The flame that he felt still existed, but the warmth of hers was gone.
He walked slowly up the dunes towards his car, his body exhausted. Up above he saw a non-descript van and felt an unexpected surge of anger. How dare it just sit there, imposing of his and their grief? It had no right.
As he put his car key into the lock, he though that perhaps he should confront whoever was inside. But, then, what would that achieve.
'Nothing,' a voice in his head said. His own voice not hers. 'But it would be a release.'
However, he didn't get a chance. A hand on his shoulder made him turn around and he gratefully accepted his friend's embrace.
The van was pushed out of his mind. She was gone. Ashes. And she was no phoenix; she would not be rising from those ashes to live another day. She was gone.
And he was alone. His only company a lone flame, burning achingly from within.