By Nami
As usual, the characters aren't mine. They belong to Rumiko Takahashi.
Sunday is gloomy
My hours are slumberless
Dearest, the shadows I live with are numberless
Little white flowers will never awaken you
Not where the black coach of sorrow has taken you
Angels have no thought of ever returning you
Would they be angry if I thought of joining you
Gloomy Sunday
--Lyrics by: Javor & Sam M. Lewis
She twisted the little gold ring on her third finger, watching as the sunlight through the window glinted off the smooth surface. It really was a beautiful day, from a purely aesthetic point of view. The sun was shining, the birds in the tree outside were singing, and the neighborhood children were playing in the street. But all the happiness and beauty rolled off her like so many drops of water off a duck's back.
She looked again at the ribbon-bound letters, the stack of photographs, the pocket watch, and the telegraph on top of it.
She remembered the boy who delivered it. He had seemed friendly enough, extremely uncomfortable with the contents of the telegraph and the full import of the news. She had been home alone that day. Her sister had gone shopping and then to visit some old friends and wouldn't get home until late that evening.
She went into a type of shock after she read it for the first time. She wouldn't believe it. He had just been there, hadn't he? Not three months previous, on leave. Gods.
Now, he was gone. And she didn't even have his remains to bury or burn. Just a telegraph and old letters and photographs. She shifted her eyes to the knife—the knife he had given her, ironically enough, for protection—as she twirled it again in its leather sheath. She knew that it was sharp. She had asked her sister to sharpen it for her just that morning.
Her face was tight, her eyes puffy from crying so long and so hard. She was out of tears now. And she was trying to decide whether she wanted badly enough to join him, her war hero.
Sunday is gloomy
With shadows I spend it all
My heart and I have decided to end it all
Soon they'll be flowers and prayers that are said I know
Let them not weep let them know that I'm glad to go
--Lyrics by: Javor & Sam M. Lewis
She pulled the knife out of the leather and smiled for the first time since receiving the news. It was a sad smile, though, and a resolute one. She touched the ring of dried flowers that hung on the wall beside her desk. He gave it to her the day of their wedding.
She smiled again, a sadder smile than the previous had been. She set the blade in front of her and, in an uncharacter-istic stroke of poetic inspiration; she placed the ring of red flowers on her head. She thought of a quote from her high school days. Shakespeare. "To die, to sleep, to dream no more." She whispered it as she picked up the sharp knife.
Death is no dream for in death I'm caressing you
With the last breath of my soul I'll be blessing you
Gloomy Sunday
And so, as the sun drifted lazily into her bedroom, she took the knife and pressed it to her throat she felt the warmth of blood against her skin…
And she jolted awake.
Dreaming, I was only dreaming
I wake and find you asleep in the deep of my heart dear
Darling, I hope that my dream never haunted you
My heart is telling you how much I wanted you
Gloomy Sunday
She put her shaking hand to her forehead and turned her head. There he was, in the bed next to her, fast asleep. She smiled and propped herself up on one elbow. She brushed his unruly bangs out of his face and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. The war was far away, the letters and photos and pocket watch were safe in her desk, and there was no telegraph. She looked at the gold band sparkling in the moonlight that bathed them both.
Nabiki Kunou wrapped her arms around her husband's waist and rested her cheek against his warm chest. Tatewaki mumbled something unintelligible and laid his hand on her shoulder as she drifted back into a sweetly dreamless sleep.