After All This Time
Hey, back again! Bigger, bolder, and more tired! LOL. Definitely a more angsty and dramatic story, probably will pull on your heartstrings (unless it doesn't develop right or you are a descendent of Aaron Hotchner). Please review. Updates come as many days as humanly possible. This is a prologue-y type thing, just a teaser.
AS OF NOW, 15 DAYS UNTIL SEASON SEVEN BEGINS!
Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds, nor do I have one in the singular, except when I write FanFiction.
It was a grave. But it wasn't. The large slab of rock stood erect in a field of similar creations, and at first glance didn't seem to be out of place. However, it differed from its brothers because it had no name on it. No birth date, death date, no title. The only thing marked on it was a crude engraving of a lily.
It was a grave. But it wasn't. Over the years, it had become an object of great speculation among pedestrians who walked the cemeteries to plant flowers. Many were vaguely tempted to simply dig up whatever was buried under it, but the social stigmatism was too great. Several believed that no one was actually resting beneath, but this view was quashed by The Man. The Man who Cried.
It was a grave. But it wasn't. It was a place of a judgment sealed, a symbol of dreams lost, a reminder of deep regret and the why?-s that would never leave. For The Man who Cried, this rock was much more. It stood over sacred ground.
He would come to it at least once a month, The Man who Cried. And he would stand there, absolutely still and silent. Except for the tears. The little droplets of water seemed to scream of the anguish he felt. His head would lower, and he would touch the tombstone, trace his fingers along the lily. Words, words filled with grief, filled with an undying, passionate love, would spill from his lips, only to be heard by whoever rested below the solitary flower.
After a time, he would leave. But he would be back. No one seemed to know him, no one could recognize the haggard face, a face that had been contorted into a mask of all the emotions it had tried too hard to hide. No one could look into the depths of his soulless, haunted eyes, and say they remembered his name. He was considered as simply an oddity. Not as a human. Surely, if he were a person, he would've moved on, was the thinking.
For The Man who Cried had come to the grave for years, always in the same manner. Always with the same heavy heart. Always with tears in his eyes. Without tears, in fact, his brown orbs would've been completely dull and dark. They'd seen too much. Too much life. Too much love. Too much sorrow. Too much death.
And the lily, the only onlooker to his true pain, to his true torture, always remained silent, as though constantly mocking his anguish.
Because it was a reminder. A reminder of a gift The Man who Cried had given to the woman he loved. A reminder of the consequences after the gift was given. And a reminder why the stone was here in the first place.
Who wants more? Lemme know whatchoo think? Please and thanks.