Crowded streets are cleared away
One by One
Hollow heroes separate
As they run
You're so cold
Keep your hand in mine
Wise men wonder
While strong men die
So Cold by Breaking Benjamin
A tall, pink-haired young man wearing a black jacket, an ebony shirt, and obsidian slacks walked slowly through the empty graveyard in jet boots, ignoring the dull grey headstones dotting the land. They were, after all, of no importance to him. He kept walking with deliberate, purposeful strides on the uneven path, searching the scene before him for a white grave; the only white grave around.
It took a little while longer to find than last time: more corpses and their headstones had populated the area (headstones such a dull, dull grey), and had obscured his precious grave from the vision. But soon enough, he found the single white marker, underneath the large willow tree, with its roots guarding her resting place, and he kneeled onto the ground; he placed the bouquet of white roses he had brought before the marble headstone, and bowed his head.
"Hey, Naminé," he said softly, trailing his hand through the long grass; "Happy birthday. I hope Heaven's all that you hoped for." He sighed dejectedly.
I'll never forget your cold hand in mine.
"They caught your killer," he added, after a moment of silence. "The drunk driver? He's in prison, now. He wanted to apologize to you, you know. For... for hitting you." The twenty-year-old ignored his steadily constricting throat, and swallowed thickly. "So... Happy sweet sixteenth. I'm glad you're in a better place now. Say hi to Sora for me..."
The young man and grave sat in silence, the year-old corpse six feet under listening patiently as, give or take twenty minutes later, her friend began talking to her again, telling her about the recent events that had occurred to their friends, especially Riku and Kairi's memorial project to her and Sora, and Roxas graduating high school early with extra credits to boot, and Zexion's tragic terminal illness. Though a morbid subject to be talking about on the deceased girl's birthday, Marluxia spoke to her of it to cheer her up with the fact that soon, another person she knew as alive would see her again.
After an hour or so, Marluxia stood, bowed his head, and whispered something to the grave, leaving his soft words hanging, suspended, in the air, as he then turned and left, leaving the white headstone alone with the willow tree in the old cemetery.
The only white grave around.
Naminé. I'll never forget you. Have a happy birthday.
I love you.*
A/N: I realize that it's similar to one of my other stories Hey Demyx, I Remember Your Name (or whatever the hell I named it), but I like exploring new things with old ideas.
I also enjoy exploring new things with new ideas, so don't worry :)
*Is strictly platonic love ^^ Y'know, brotherly-sisterly. Just friendly love.