Is it human to miss one person so much? I hardly know the meaning of the word anymore. Maes Hughes. You left. I'm here on my own. It's always raining. It doesn't ever seem to stop raining. I remember every moment, every second, you were in my company. And I in yours. I remember how many phone calls you annoyed me with. And how many times you insisted that I should get a wife. Did you ever see, that behind all of the anger, and flames, I didn't need a wife? I needed you. And it's a pathetic excuse for someone in my position to make. But it was the absolute truth, and it still is today.
What would you do if you were able to see me now? I'm attending a promotion ceremony tomorrow, to Fuhrer. Who would have thought, the unreachable dreams that I promised to achieve after the war, were actually achieved? You knocked sense into me, I remember. What would you say? Are you proud, in your place amongst the clouds?
I remember years ago thinking that believing in anything other than just life, and people dying as unscientific. There was nowhere for a person to go aside from into the ground, that was my logic for every day that I lived, and that I would ultimately result to nothing, but whilst I'm here, I might as well make a difference. But now I know why people want to believe in futile Gods, who ultimately don't make a difference. And Heavens that don't exist. They want to romanticise life, so that they have a reason for living another day. Without someone to knock some sense into them, as you did me, what would humans become?
We were hideous in the war. We are hideous today. There might have been reason in the insanity, but I can no longer see it. I hope you're proud. I'm proud to have known you, to see you develop. In the academy, in the military and in the family that I was infinitely jealous of. But I tried to keep it quiet; you had achieved the life that you wanted, and now I have mine. But you're not here.
And in my moment of weakness. In the one minute that I admit everything I've always feared to admit, I will give you this admission, if you are even there. If you are in some place that no one knows about, or understands, instead of beneath my feet, in the ground. I miss you.
There'll still be a chair there for you tomorrow. Though I know you won't sit in it. It'll be set out, like it was supposed to be. So if you do exist beyond the body, which as a scientist I don't believe, but my cold, hardened heart would like to think you would, then maybe you could watch. I'll take a step forward. But my heart will remain in the same place; the cold, blackened remains of it, at least. I'll go on being the Fuhrer, there's nothing to stop me from becoming that now. But I don't have the one companion that I needed beside me, nor the man who deserved everything so much more than I do.
Maybe if I close my eyes, whilst I'm standing up there tomorrow, Maes, I'll be able to see you. The image as flecked and worn as a photograph, but a memory never the less, and that's better than nothing. It'll keep on raining, even inside.
I see you in your daughter every day. She's growing up to be a fine girl, and soon a fine woman. You would be very proud of her. Just like you, kind as anything. And Gracia has bloomed as well, along with Elysia.
And me?
You can't water a flower that has long since withered.
Are you proud of me?
I hope so.
Because Maes Hughes? Where ever you are. Whatever you are now. Earth, or otherwise. I'm ever so proud of you. You'll be in ever step that I take forwards.
And maybe one day it'll stop raining.