"Ladies, and gentlemen… we are gathered here today…"
This was a gathering, a get together, but nothing that he ever wanted. Not ever.
This was black and white, reds and pinks, but not the type of reds and pinks that coincided with happiness. These particular arrangments only brought about the very real, almost too tangible, pain to the surface. Bubbling over, spilling onto the ground beneath his feet, and it was so loud, it smelled rancid. He hated this empty, anguish that he felt, but what else was he supposed to feel in these moments? Since the moment that it all ended, it was a raw, dirty beginning of which would be a living hell.
"To celebrate the life of the dearly departed before us."
Was every part of his body numb? Was he even, really, there? God, it seemed like this was slowly dragging on, and there were so many sad faces. Why would anyone call this a celebration? This was morbid. Everyone around him was crying, and he had not shed the first tear. All of those seemed to be pretty much dried up by now. He cried endlessly when it happened, and he could barely sleep at night. When he did, it was usually only until he was summoned awake by blood-curdling screams. He didn't know he could sound that loud, that full of despair. Not until this happened.
"Because she was such a kind-hearted, nurturing soul. She is to be remembered, not by our tears, but by our faith in her through our memories."
Wait… he didn't even know her. Zack's mind was on overload, but hearing the man say those things… as if he had known her just as anyone else here, that actually knew her.
"How dare you say that."
"Zack."
But, really, how dare he!
"We… are laying her to rest today, and sending her off to a much better place."
"She was in a better place… already, old man. She was in a better place with me. Don't presume to talk like you know her. It's not sentimental, it's not comforting, it's nothing!"
"Zackary." Angeal would try his best to take care of Zack, no matter what the situation was, but this was different. He didn't like seeing Zack so broken.
"No, Angeal… He can't talk like that about her. Aerith… Aerith was mine, and now she's gone." His voice cracked at the dead end of the sentence, and Zack, visibly shaking, was looking at the casket as if it were foreign. As if it was going to fly open and attack him with the realization that… this was really happening. The latter, all the more true, because… it really had attacked him. His first love was in there. She was in eternal slumber, lost to the world of the living, and taken by the harsh grips of death.
"It's almost over, Zack. Let the man speak… he is doing his job; you are making a scene."
There were certain things that needed to be said, and should be kept in the mind, and that was one of them, but Zack would not further embarrass the name of the deceased. He couldn't formulate the words on his tongue anyways, because he was staring straight ahead, now. He was shaking, still, and he was trying to stand straight, but it felt so easy to want to succumb to collapsing. This was far worse than any physical pain he had endured. This was an empty, dreadful pain, that clenched his throat, and rendered him mute. This was the kind of pain that you would never wish on anyone, and that you often feared someone wished on you. It was the epitome of despair. It was just plain awful. Phobic.
"Good night, Aerith."
Good night, Aerith…