Hiro can see half the people faking.
A smile.
Another one.
A third, fourth, fifth... more damn smiles.
Why are they happy? Why do they have the right to grin when Tadashi is dead?
In a kitchen corner there are some more disgusting smilers who can not quite keep solemn faces. And they are joking. Joking. Joking about bets they made, like how Tadashi would never get a girlfriend. How can they make light of his death? Why they cushion the blow when he is crushed by sorrow?
By the table, there are more people who have no right to be here. The ones filling their plates with pastries and cheeses, those who skipped the burial and came to the wake just for some food.
Then there are the many near the couch, the worst of the whole lot. The ones that Hiro had never seen before today, liars. They claim that have been Tadashi's friends but are unable to pronounce his name correctly and a third of the time can not even recall it. Their cackles can be heard from the staircase.
No. The ones who are faking sadness are the worst. The ones who have been mentally killing Tadashi for years. They keep their heads low, while grinning the widest. They act as if their tears are that of sadness over death instead of relief of having one less person to compete with. These are the people who should have burned in his brother's place.
No. No. The worst are those who keep insisting Tadashi is alive, that he lives in our hearts as long as we remember him.
Tadashi has a pulse rate of zero and is six feet below.
Tadashi is dead.
To hell with them.
The pretenders.
Everyone.
The whole world should just burn.