Got bored, typed this up in one afternoon. :P
This is a little headcanon of mine where, after Menma gets her wish fulfilled and disappears, she's reincarnated into a flower with all her memories and a lot of time to just think about everything's she's done, and about all her friends. So yeah, this fic is just a piece about all her thoughts, doubts, and secret fears, so if Menma seems OOC it's probably because she is and I just can't write.
(can you tell I ship Jintan and Menma haha sorry if it's a little too obvious)
There wasn't much to do now.
Menma missed a lot of things. She missed having long, lazy summer days with the Super Peace Busters, the sharp sense of ice cream on your tongue after spending time in the heat. She missed Anaru, with her thick framed glasses and collection of manga and video games. She missed Yukiatsu, with his constantly sullen expression and fiery eyes, and Tsuruko, whose lilting voice was soft and sweet. She missed Poppo and his toothy grin, with enough energy to run laps around the sun before burning out.
She missed Jintan. Oh, there were not enough words to describe how much.
Swaying in the breeze silently, Menma – although she didn't really have a name anymore, now did she? – stared out, hoping to see something new. The scenery around her was all the same; a field of flowers, all different shades of pink and red and even some blue ones off in the distance. The sky was clear and the heat a bit unbearable, but Menma didn't mind. It was a beautiful day, after all – not a cloud in the sky, can you believe it, Jintan? – and she didn't want to spoil it by focusing on the negative.
(Her friends never liked her in the first place, a voice from deep within her would say, its words harsh, sharp and all too brittle around the edges. Perhaps they were glad, even relieved, to see her gone. But those were silly thoughts, foolish thoughts, and she tried not to believe them, tried not to slip through the cracks of her sanity and lose herself.)
Were they doing all right? Did they keep in touch with each other, after she had left them behind? Ah, it was enough to drive anyone mad, with these endless questions. She wanted to see them, to speak with them once more, but it didn't look like that was going to happen anytime soon.
(She abandoned them. Deserted them, when they all needed her most. She didn't deserve another chance at life, her mind whispered in soft undertones, she deserved to live forever in this abyss of thoughts and wants and desperate wishes, wondering and pondering but never living.)
She would spend all day staring, staring at the trees and the grass that she would never reach and wondering, contemplating everything she had done before. Had she – no, had Menma, because she was not Menma anymore – lived a fulfilling life? Perhaps not, but she tried to ignore the sickeningly sweet pang in her chest. She had time, lots of time, to think, but if she ever wanted to make peace with her past life she had to learn to let go, to forget.
(She never imagined it would hurt this much, forgetting the past, her mother's sincere words, Jintan's smiling face. She never thought it would be this hard. She wanted to go back, to live again, but here she was, crying and screaming and hoping and wishing, all with a bittersweet smile.)
It would take time, but Menma was certain she would heal, someday. How did the saying go? "Healing takes courage"? How would that help her? She was not courageous – no, not in the slightest. Menma was weak and cowardly, with dainty bare feet and a feeble heart too sensitive to take even the mildest of retorts and criticisms. Even thinking about the Super Peace Busters made her chest ache hollowly; no, she was not ready to move on, to recover. Was she?
(She wondered if they even cared sometimes.)
She wanted to run, to break free. Menma had always been so chipper, so kind and caring and generous, but now she just felt lost. She tried to talk to the flowers – she had hoped they would understand her – but she had no voice, not anymore. They didn't respond; she wondered, was she the only sentient one here? No, that couldn't be right; she was sure that, in this enormous field of lost, reminiscing souls, there were others, desperately needing their story to be heard, lest they be forgotten.
She was no different. A single, smiling white flower in the midst of thousands.
(She was not special. She was not Menma, not anymore. After all, Menma was dead, wasn't she?)
She would have her chance, eventually, to return to the Super Peace Busters, to see them all grown, smiling and laughing together again, with children and families of their own. Menma was patient; she could – would – wait. It wasn't like she had much choice in the matter; it was all she could do. Wait and wait and pray that in her next lifetime she would catch a glimpse of their happiness, the happiness she deserved but never received.
(She tried to imagine it. Jintan, wrestling a tiny baby in his arms, laughing as Anaru stands on her tiptoes to give him a peck on the cheek. No, the thought made her upset and helpless, made her sad and lonely and scared, because, please, Jintan, won't you come save me?)
Menma tried to let go of her worry, of her anguish. Jintan would move on – they all would. Poppo would get married (just the thought of Poppo struggling to get into a suit and tie made her smile), Yukiatsu would find another girl with sparkling blue eyes and long silver hair, or perhaps he would settle down with Tsuruko, the girl in the shadows, the girl who's loved him ever since they were young.
But Jintan…no. The thought made it all – her death, their happy childhood, everything – that much harder to swallow. She couldn't tell what was worse: watching him suffer with her memory his entire life, growing old and withering away without ever finding happiness, or seeing the exact opposite, him smiling with another woman's babies in his arms.
(She never wanted them to grow up, not when she was still stuck in the past. She was scared – so, so scared – and she didn't want to be forgotten, not by the five whom she loved most, not by him. She wanted to be there, with them, just one more time. How pathetic, huh?)
There were too many things to think about. Menma sat and swayed in the gentle summer breeze, thinking about all the things she'd never get to do, the distant memory of her childhood, the teasing and joking amongst her friends, and her throat tightened painfully. She thought about her sweet, sweet brother, who would never fully get over her death, her father, whose loss turned him bitter, and her mother, with her sweet words that hide the emptiness in her eyes.
She thought of the Super Peace Busters, all grown and happy, and Menma felt warm, comforted. She thought of Anaru's change from a meek child to a confident, outgoing friend, of Yukiatsu's undying love for her even after her death and Tsuruko's love for him. She thought of Poppo and his laughter, his cheeky smile, thought of Jintan, and she closed her eyes, shutting out the world and delving into her thoughts, until even the chirping of the crickets had faded.
(She would miss them all, but they'd meet again. She was sure of it. Everything would be alright.)
Perhaps tomorrow, Menma decided. Tomorrow she would smile once more, would stare off into the distance again and dream of things that never were, but today she just wanted to be human.