To live in the hearts of those we love is never to die
He would come to the graveyard everyday. Everyday, he would stand in front of the gravestone that no one else visited. He was the only one that ever went. That tall, masked man would spend an hour every day just staring at the lettering on the headstone. He always went alone; he would make sure that no one followed him; no one ever did anyway. I doubt the people of the village even know the whereabouts of this place. I wouldn't have discovered it if I didn't take a chance and stalked him one day. If he knew I was there, he didn't acknowledge the fact. I prefer to think of it as a trance… yes, that's right, he was in a trance, his mind so focused on whoever it was buried there.
I watched him come to the graveyard each day since then. Once, I arrived early and got a good look at the name carved on the stone. It was worn off, probably due to rain, or age. It didn't matter to me; it was seeing him standing there with that blank state of mind and emotionless eyes that chilled me the most. And, of course, the question of why. Why did he come, day after day, despite knowing the occupant of the tomb was long gone? Why did he come, everyday despite the weather?
I came to realize that this man was most likely the only family the occupant had left, and visited him out of respect for his ancestors. But then one day it changed…
I was still there, hiding in my usual spot by the bush, next to the grave. The man with the mask was sue to arrive any minute now… but wait! What's this…? A red rose, its petals still wet from the dew and fog, rested on the occupant's tomb. Had the masked man already made his visit? No, there he was, coming up the path now, the expression on his face ever the same.
The man also seemed shaken and surprised about the pure, single rose lying there. He seemed to stay shorter than usual that day, but left as silent as he came.
The nest day, two new roses were lovingly placed by the grave. The masked man only stayed for a short while, angry that someone else had intruded in on his own private ritual.
Day after day, it happened, each day brought one more rose than the last and the masked man stayed shorter and shorter. There was even a day when the masked man would run up the path, glance at the 55 roses lying in a row on the grave and ran back down again.
After 122 roses lay on the grave, the masked man stopped coming. Later, I saw some paramedics carry his body outside. They brought him to a freshly dug pit in the ground, next to the one he so often visited during his lifetime. The stone they placed on the masked man's grave read:
It is not length of life, but depth of life.
He jumped into life and never touched bottom.
There was no name mentioned. I remember thinking that whoever was placing those roses there surely beat the masked man now. I left silently, vowing to return tomorrow.
I waited all day by their graves; the masked man no longer walked the path to visit his fallen comrade, nor did 123 roses appear on the grave.
I discovered something great just then something my miserable life didn't have. The masked man and the occupant shared a bond which I discovered at last…
Love
By Maria-Lilly
Jan 26/2008; 11:29pm
Inspiration: My azn buddies from school! M. Zhang, V. Lee, A. Zhu, B. Wong... and another Naruto fic I was reading.
(A/N: The 122 roses thing... does anyone get that? The masked man leaves a rose on the occupants grave everyday until the day he dies himself. I don't know who "I" is, feel free to assume him/her to be anyone you please. Personally, I think "I" sounds like a guy, but the wonderful review I recieved, mentioned "I" sounds like a girl. Thank you Sarah for that review! You really made my day!! And to all those that favourited and didn't comment... for shame! You probably love reviews as much as I do! Ahem, anyways, thanks for reading, and have a profitable day!)