He Died at Home

Inspired by the song "Always Gold" by Radical Face

"A single rose can be my garden... a single friend, my world."

-Leo Buscaglia

When Mathias J. Trufflehunter died, the entire nation thought it curious that he died at home. The men said that Death is best befit during battle, there's honor in it. The women, who surprisingly had an opinion on the subject, thought that Death has no schedule nor does he befit one place over the other. Personally, I agree with the women.

As I stood in his living room, overlooking the rather ugly and decrepit catafalque we placed him in, I began to wonder the details of his untimely demise. There were no penetrations, no evidence of internal bleeding, no exterior deformities, or skeletal injuries. The only two possible causes of death I could foresee were suicide or health trouble. Knowing his history of anxiety and understanding his tendency to venture into depression, the notion of suicide was not completely out of the question no matter how much I wanted it to be.

If Trufflehunter did commit the Unforgivable, I, without hesitation, would beg Him to make an exception. Even if that exception proved to be at great cost to me, it would not change my position on the matter. I stand firm in my saying that The Badger was a humble, just, and conscientious in every task that was given to him. Not a single thought of hostility passed through his mind and if one did, his conscious would have dismissed it anyway.

It was a good remedy to my heart to see a crowd of people fill up the room and go so far as the river which was thirty feet away. The whole populace from a three mile radius show, with a grand total exceeds a thousand perhaps. Not only does it show how much he was loved but also how much he gave. For when a man gives his life to better the world, the world thanks and blesses him for it.

Kensington, the hare, who was dressed in a blue sash round him, made his way over and placed his paws in mine. His eyes spoke of nothing joyful as if he were witnessing the destruction of all he knew. Tears formed but he did not dare let them fall out of respect for me, even though he wanted so badly to release them, just so that the weight of grief could no longer be endured.

"It's alright," I said, embracing the rabbit as best I could, "today grief is permitted."

He nodded and turned towards him, drying his eyes and straightening out his fur and sash. "At least he died at home."

"A blessed and befitting thing for him." I replied, looking towards the display and smiling at the fact that he had a broom flower resting gently in his grasp.

I approached him as if he were sleeping there and for a moment, I wanted to wake him, say that a meal was ready, or to announce the time and tell him to run his daily errands. My tail swayed in anticipation for some sort of resurrection and frankly so did my head. When I reached his side I drooped my whiskers and shoulders as if gravity were crushing me to death. To say that I did not want it to would be a lie. To say that death sounded like the greatest gift in the world would be an understatement. I wanted so badly to impale myself, to rid me of this grief, and the thought of knowing that the prospect of death was inches from my grasp was a heartbreaking cruel reality. My voice was silent, as were the voices of others, for seeing me there caused their side conversations of preparing meals and siring apprentices made them stop and think. It was after a moment of solemn solace than I began to speak.

"Do you remember the day I first met you?" I began rather bluntly. "You were lost and had been knocking on doors and rapping on windows asking for help when no one would assist you. When you finally reached our door we let you in and you had your helping of salmon and bread while my father and older brothers went out searching. I was curious enough to know who you were and more importantly what it was you were, for I had never ventured outside the vicinity of a mile and at the time you were about three or four away from us. So I walked over and asked you a rather rude but understandable question:

'So what exactly are you?'

I remembered that you were so confused and offended by it that you stood up on the table and stared me down like a wolf. I believe it was the only time in your life that you stood up to me, you said:

'I am a badger sir, and I believe you ought to know that. What are you anyway, the runt of the litter or just that stupid?'

'Actually,' I said rather matter-of-factually, 'I am studying my histories and peoples, thank you very much, and if I'm so stupid, then you must be dimmer than an unlit candle.'

We fired back and forth until the dryad couldn't take anymore. She simply threw her hands in the air and let us be until the adults returned with your father who was ambushed by a group of wolves. You stayed with us for a week so that your father could recover and during all that we continued our banter. I remember on the third day I thought of the idea to push you into a shallow part of the river just to see you react to water- that or simply because I resented you that much at the time, the memory is somewhat unclear on this, but you ended up doing it to me anyway so I guess it really doesn't matter."

I paused, taking a moment to laugh at the reminiscing when Kensington, who was followed by Sir Lindsay, my first cousin once removed, who was there both because of me and for the love he had for the deceased.

"So," Lindsay said, "you started your friendship bickering, how lovely."

I turned around to meet him and smiled as I embraced him. "Good to see you dear boy. How is your father?"

"Father is dead." Lindsay replied. "Died of the same thing that killed Mathias and Kashmir I'm afraid."

"A broken heart?" Kensington asked.

"No," I answered, "a life well lived."

Lindsay nodded and looked over past my shoulder to gaze onto Mathias' face as a gentle tear rolled down his face. He did not waver nor did he forgive the exposure of his emotions. It was then I realized something I had forgotten- tears make grief all the more easy.

"He was like a father to me too." Lindsay said beneath his rivers. "I'll never forget the last words he said to me- traverse into safe waters dear passenger of the sea."

I smiled at the mentioning of the phrase. If it were anything else, I thought, I would have been surprised.

"Those were the last words he spoke." I replied as I turned back to face the friend I desperately wanted to say hello to. I smiled thinking to myself how even in death, Mathias J. Trufflehunter was still lecturing me. When have I ever been known to traverse safe waters, Truff? Tell me one instance, and I'll fetch you a salmon.

After a few hours the procession left to their lives and the rest of the day. Kensington and Lindsay departed together and Lindsay, who exited last, was gracious enough to leave the door open for me as I stood alone in the room with my greatest friend.

I honestly did not want to leave, thinking that if I wait long enough that he will simply open his eyes and be as lively as he was a week ago.

"I suppose," I said to him as I turned to leave, "that grief does not constitute as safe waters then?"

He did not answer me back.

Author's Note: This piece probably isn't the best it could be because it was written at midnight. Apologizes for the sudden stop (if it feels that way). I'll probably edit this later.