Christmas time. The overbearing time for exhurburation and joy. Festive lights, twinkles, jingles, glimmers. The smell of ...burnt cookies...? My nose gave an indignant snort at the repulsive smell. Probably Tifa and her horrible cooking. She's good at starting fights and hanging out with, but she sucks at making anything with her hands. She could even burn ice cream if she had a chance.
"Burn ice cream?" I muttered under my breath, giving pause to that. Great. Now that's gonna bother me all day. My mind works in weird ways. It's like one of those old-fashioned spinning tops that you just give a little push, and it sputters away, opposite the direction you intended to. ....Smoke...? I shifted from my uncomfortable position long enough to look at the building I was leaning against.
"Yo, Spike, give me a hand, the freakin' stove's on fire!" Barret, of course. I had gotten used to the nickname by now. It's hard to corrrect Barret when he's on a fury streak, his hands raised up in the air, letting out a string of curses from his mouth, while bundled up in his winter coat of an odd shade of brown.
"Cough...ugh...damn, is Tifa burning the whole house?" I choked out as I struggled to get the oxygen flow back into my lungs.
"Whadyya mean, foo'? He gave me a glare that would've made the sun shrivel up and die. Like a prune. Zoom. My mind was off racing on the chocobo race track again, with its seperate thoughts. Some say I'm sarcastic, and full of grim wit. I personally think it's their own dead humor.
"Who's cooking in the kitchen?" I repeated myself clearly for his benefit, though I had an inkling who had suggested cooking in the first place.
"Um...well..." Barret inconspiciously looked at the ground, and mumbled a few a words in a quiet silence.
Pause. I let that sink in, before turning on my witty humor again. "That doesn't explain a whole lot, but judging by your face, I'd say the pot just jumped up and spattered onto the oven by sheer dumb luck all by itself." I stood firmly on my feet, giving him a wry smile. "Am I right?"
Just then, a small girl of 8 years jumped out of the cabin, her eyes sparkling with mischief and laughter. "Daddy, daddy! The stove's on fire! You've burnt the cake for too long!" She said in that bubbly way of small children. Barret gave Marlene a silencing glare that made her smile tremendiously.
"What, you're trying to cook like Tifa now?" I joked in a sarcastic tone, receiving yet another death glance. Barret shifted his weight experimentally from side to side, and I could see his brain working: he was deciding whether to try to kick my ass, but since Marlene was there, he didn't want to influence her thinking. Bang. I knew I had hit dead-center, because Barret just gave me a jarring punch on the shoulder instead.
"Hey, shut up and give me a hand, foo'." He grunted, turning back to go inside.
"Ow." I replied, rubbing my sore shoulder blade, which I presumed was black and bruised. "Of course. Be happy to help out." I walked inside, where a warm and toasty fire was crackling merrily in the chimney. I almost sat down in one of the chairs, before realizing it was still in my pocket. "Oh, yeah. Marlene." I said in a casual tone, so Barret wouldn't turn his head around, "I have something for you."
"Really? As in a Christmas present?!" She squealed in an excited way, her eyes big and round.
"Not...quite. But close. Very close." I smiled despite myself. Christmas was for children, because only they would believe in "Santy Clause" and "Rudolph." They hadn't grown up to see the horrors of the world, hadn't seen Meteor an inch away, hadn't seen her face...in the lifestream...smiling...yet......dead.............
Shut up, Shut up. Shut up with your self-pity, Strife. Shut up because you don't want to hear it again, shut up because you can't relive that moment and wish you had done something. Shut UP!
I had to close my eyes so tightly that my head began swimming in pink dots and circles so I wouldn't just burst foward with my my words, and run out the door crying. Barret would never let me live it down. But then again...maybe because crying wouldn't bring her back. Ever.
"Here." I croaked out in a raspy voice, my fingers jamming into the pocket of my coat, bringing out the object, half-crumpled, in my hand which was tightly wrapped around it. "I'm sorry. It's the only one I could find this late."
Marlene peered anxiously at my fingers, where I had placed what she had loved more than anything in the world; materialistic ways, of course.
A single, late-blooming white rose.
"Oh!!" She cried out happily as she took it from my hand, "oh!" She held it up in the light so Barret could see it, so everyone in the world could see it. She giggled as she sniffed it cautiously. Then, she turned her gaze at me in a silent seriousness, so startling that it reminded me of...her. And then she said something. Something that broke through the dams which held the tears back.
"Like the flower lady."
Like the flower lady. Barret turned his glance at me sharply, his eyes piercing yet sorrowful. I don't want your pity. Don't give me pity, because pity won't bring her back. The flower lady. Marlene's words echoed in a dull banging inside my head, over and over. Like the flowerlady. Shut up, shut up! Don't give me your pity, because I can't use your damn pity! I want her back! Like the flowerlady. Damn it, shut the hell up! I want her back, give her back to me!
"SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!" Hands flew up to my head as I clutched it in throbbing pain. Tears, so carefully hidden these past two years, ran unchecked.
"Stop it, Cloud! Stop it! You killin' yo'self!" Barret's voice echoed meaninglessly in my mind, and Marlene's, too, in the background.
"What's happening? What's wrong with Cloud, Daddy?"
Like the flower lady. ...a white rose...
"I want her back..." A soft whisper escaped my lips before my brain sunk into the the dark sea of oblivion.
"...Aeris..."