Tío Duarte is my own character! Basically, he's Hector's mother's brother-in-law. Scarcely related but still family. I'd like to think he'd at least help Hector out especially for the first years of his death.

"Don't be so dramático, Hector! You have to let it go."

"How is this being dramatic, Duarte? They had no photo on the ofrenda! Imelda... she would have put it up, she would have remembered!"

The argument had been going on for what seemed hours; if there was even an argument to hold any longer. Pain still etched in his hollow chest as if bees stung repeatedly upon open flesh - but there was none to be had. It was a certain feeling no one could explain lest they were dead themselves, something like a ghost limb or sensational array of numb tingling throughout a body no longer alive. Hector could feel, but not in the sense of any living thing.

Duarte was an energetic man, much, much older than Hector when he died. His bald head was represented with the off white of his skull, details of markings fading from the years of being in the same situation his nephew was now in. While it seemed his uncle had no worries of being forgotten, despite the lack of appreciation or commitment of his own family across the bridge, Hector was not going to write himself off so easily. The week before, when he was left alone to watch as others crossed over to mingle with family had been one of the worst feelings he could think of. Besides the actuality of his death.

"...and Coco, she needs her Papa. If even once a year, to cheer her on. Mi pequeña niña, I have got to make sure I will be remembered next year."

"And how do you plan on doing that, eh?" Now to his limit, the older man turned on his broken heel, lifting the cane he used to assist him in walking to poke Hector against the ribs. With a slight thump the wood poked briefly between the rigid bones, something that still gave Hector a jolt of remembrance. How would his Coco react to see a skeleton for a father?

Duarte groaned as he jerked back his cane, continuing. "Listen to me mi sobrino, you are dead! Even if you go to see your family next year, they may not want you! This is our life, Hector. It is just as it should be."

"How can you say that?" Hurrying to try and explain, Hector's hands went up in a desperate need. Fingers curled, as if he were cupping an imaginary bowl. "We can't be just written off... please, tío. Is there anything you know? About talking to the living?"

"No." A firm shove and his uncle kept on, but the younger could not muster the strength to keep up. Coming to a standstill in the street, Hector was simply too heartbroken to move ahead. Duarte would not help him, the world of the dead seemed to reject even the implication of someone attempting to communicate with someone living. They would simply fade in time, alone in their small hut of a home, wishing only for some sovereign or perhaps angel to take them from these slums.

While Duarte had been giving, finding Hector clothing and a place to at the very least be at peace... there had to be a way to escape the inevitable.

It turned out, death did not mean the end of his life. Some would say differently, with the agony of never being able to see family nor friends until they too decided to pass, but there were charms of the Land of the Dead even Hector could not deny. Music, so much music, as if he had been removed from the living world for this purpose alone. While he had no gifts bestowed upon him by his family nor did he have the abilities to even produce something of merit, he did have music to keep him afloat. During the night, he would chime along with other musicians, miss the feeling of his prized guitar under his arm and wish beyond measure he would sing with Imelda once again.

All the while, he listened to stories from the other players and take his experience in other places of the world he now inhabited, waiting for some sort of sign he'd be able to change his certain fate.

It came to him in an unusual way, a short aged man named Chicharrón.

He had been a regular around the forgotten, and yet never before had Hector met him. Likely due to the stories the old man was giving out between each round of drinks, telling tales of his life as big as any mountain. Nearly none believed him, but how he held a guitar ( one he stated was gifted to him by his madrina ) and sung in his deep voice of deeds done made Hector want to believe. It was a mark of a true storyteller and for countless nights he listened and imagined - making his old life seem like nothing worth speaking of.

One night made it particularity fascinating, drawing Hector like a moth to flame.

"..her voice was so angelic, I had to see her! When I started to sing, it was like.. she could hear me!"

The small crowd shook their heads, laughing in disbelief. Murmurs came up; "She was alive, no?" "Impossible!" "Ridículo viejo, the living can't hear us!"

"Oh you do not believe me? Well it is as true as my skull! She sang to me, looked right at me, and even whispered my name." As if Chicharrón were there, his bones plucked on the strings, making a song out of simple tuning.

"I believe you." Hector spoke up so suddenly, he nearly didn't believe he voiced words at all. "When was this? Could you do it again?"

Few of the others were all distracted at this point, giving themselves talks among the ones closest to them. Hector dismissed the hushed whispers of denial, this was the hope he had been searching for, the ability to try and see his family and tell them he was sorry for leaving the way he did.

Inching closer, he offered his name and shake of hand, which was met with a quick enthusiasm from Chicharrón. "Sí, sí. The living listen to music, just as we do. It connects us."

"Did you go on Día de Muertos?"

"No, this happened on the anniversary of my death. I came to the spot I perished and a new home has been placed! My surprise.. when a woman was there before me. Ah, Juanita. What a

patito feo.."

Smile was wide and the emotions coursing through him was nothing but thrill. If he could visit on the day he died... then Coco would hear his song, just for them.