Chapter 3: The Web Comes Together
Authors note: See! I updated really fast this time! I can be reliable! Wow, all those sentences ended with exclamation marks. Random. O.K. Maybe I'm not that reliable. But still! I just doubled the exclamation marks in this paragraph. And now I feel spazy. Do I seem spazy? Don't answer that. However, Reviews would be greatly appreciated! Even ones commenting on my total insanity! Enjoy the story!
Disclaimer: First star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight. Give me Percy Jackson! … Nope. Nothin. Maybe cause it's the middle of the day?
Sel's POV
It was the funeral. Dad was always, first and foremost, a traditional Japanese. And so, I had his earthly remains cared for in the tradition of Japan. Cremation. Complete with a Shinto priest. During the whole thing, I kept up my stony mask. I had to attend in a wheelchair because of my injury, and it had been difficult to get into the kimono I was wearing, but I had persevered. It was what dad would have wanted. Actually, the kimono had been VERY difficult to achieve. Not only had it been nearly impossible to put on due to my limited range of movement and the complexity of the clothes, but also finding it had been like waging a full on WAR! We had a kimono in the house, it was generations old and passed from parent to child through the years, but it had gone up in flames along with the house. Finding a reasonably priced kimono in America THAT WOULD BE HERE IN TIME FOR THE FUNERAL was excruciating. Not to mention the TERRIBLE Internet connection in the hospital. White was still my least favorite color. But all of that was NOTHING compared with how hard it had been to come to my dad's funeral. I was still in shock; I couldn't believe that he was gone. I kept having blank outs, where I would forget why I was in the hospital, or why my dad wasn't there. The doctors told me that was my mind's way of dealing with grief, and that the blank outs would come less and less frequently as I adjusted and would stop all together when I could cope with and accept what had happened. I had mixed feelings on this, for one thing the blank outs made me feel… crippled. And slightly insane. On the other hand… I didn't want them to stop. When they came, I was confused, but I wasn't grieving. In my mind at least, my dad was still alive. Not to mention, I don't WANT to just… ACCEPT the fact my dad is gone. That's like… FORGETING him. Downplaying how important he was to me. I don't want that to happen. I want to remember and honor him, to keep his legacy alive and preserve his existence within me. I didn't want that ache, no matter how badly it hurt, to go away. Because, as long as it was there, it meant I still remembered and loved him. If that pain went away, would the rest of him… my memories… my love… go away too? I didn't think I could stand that, ever. Because if I lost him, he wasn't here anymore to find. He would really and truly be gone.
(Line break line break this is an egotistical line break. I named it Narcissus)
Chase's POV
Some how Percy, Annabeth and Grover managed to con me into attending the funeral of the dad of some girl I'd never met. Don't ask me how, but since she was in my year a lot of my classmates were attending and when the senior trio found out, well, there just wasn't any stopping them. So here I was, standing among a crowd of mourners, all dressed in black, while this guy in WHITE droned on about something that I couldn't even understand because it was all in some weird language! Sounded kind of eastern though. Leaning over to Percy, I asked,
"Who's Selandria?"
"Over there." He nodded toward the area behind the priest. Scanning the people there, they all looked adult, except for one girl. 'That must be her' I thought. She was of middling height, at least, as far as I could tell, seeing as how she was in a wheelchair and all. She had raven black hair; it looked like pure darkness, and oddly enough, didn't seem to reflect the light. She had pale skin, but vaguely Japanese features. 'Ah,' I thought, 'that explains the weird eastern language.' She was the only one other than the priest wearing white. I frowned, wasn't white a more… cheerful color? Why was she wearing that instead of black? Of course, it was only then that my wonderfully cultured but rather slow on the uptake brain remembered that in some cultures, including Japan, which I was now fairly sure she originated from, white was the color of mourning and goodbyes. I briefly mused on the symbolism between the fact that white was the color of both purity and grief- the purity of the lost love or of the person you mourned perhaps? But was shaken from my thoughts when I met her eyes, which had been previously downcast. They were such a startling shade of blue that my breath caught. The blue was the kind you see in the sky, after the sun has set, but before the moon has risen. Dark and stunning, I thought for a moment that there were stars within them, before shaking my head at my foolishness. Looking back up, I saw that her eyes, which before had shown the grief that she hid behind the stone mask of her face, had gone blank, and a look of confusion had crossed the features that had before been so unmoving. Looking around her, I could see that none of the other adults there, who for same reason, gave off a doctor air, maybe it was the way they stood? Had noticed. The confusion on her face grew clearer, and she made a move to stand, before a brief flash of agony crossed her face and she collapsed back with a gasp. Now, one of the adults had noticed, a female red head. Leaning down next to Selandria, they held a quick, whispered conversation. Understanding dawned on Selandria's face, before being taken over by a look of such heart broken melancholy that I couldn't help but feel sorry for her. As she turned back to the funeral, I caught sight of a few silver tears that made their way down her face. I couldn't help but wonder, what on earth had just happened, and when had I stopped regretting coming here?
(Yet another totally amazing LINE BREAK! This one was recently voted into the council of twelve on Olympus. BOW IN AWE!)
Sel's POV
I couldn't BELIEVE that I had another blank out during my dad's FUNERAL! The shock of all the pain hitting me again had been enough for my mask to slip. A few tears even got by. I desperately hoped no one else had noticed. Looking at the mourners across from me, I noticed a boy I'd never seen before. What was he doing here? He had gray eyes that were remarkably similar to Annabeth's; whom I noticed was standing next to him along with Percy and Grover. He also had blond hair, with purple highlights? In a boy? Ok, that was a bit strange. He pulled it off though, so I didn't linger on it. What really caught my attention though, was his expression. He was looking at me and seemed confused, questioning, and a little bit pitying. I flushed as I realized he had seen when I blanked out. He better not mention it to anybody! Not if he wanted to keep his manhood. While he was at it, he could lose the pitying look. I don't need a pity party. I don't even know him! Well, hopefully. I had a brief moment of terror that my blank outs had erased this person from my mind… but no. Those were grief related and I still had all my memories. At least, for now.
As the priest wrapped up, I felt a tugging sensation near my heart. This was goodbye. This was were I was supposed to let my dad, the only one who was always there for me, through thick and thin, go. I had to release him, and I wasn't sure I could. Closing my eyes, I tried to remember all the good things about my dad, the way he would comfort me on a bad day. The hot chocolate he made for me when it was cold. His constant rambling about the homeland. The way he loved to go for long walks late at night when I was in bed. And I released all the negative things. The pain of his loss. The fire and smoke. The only fight we'd ever had, well, only big one. This was why I wore white. In Japan, white was the color of mourning because in order to let go, you had to purify your memories, release yourself of your regrets, and move on. It didn't mean you didn't grieve, or that the imperfections weren't there, it meant that you looked past them, and moved on, carrying the burden but making it a pleasant one to shoulder. I couldn't forget him. I couldn't accept his death. But I COULD live with it. I COULD let go of the things I DIDN'T want to remember. I just wasn't ready to let all of it go yet. Looking again at the strange boy, I couldn't help but think, my dad always compared life to a web, different strands making new paths. My dad's strand had been cut, but my strand, my road, was still there. And I couldn't help but feel that new strands would be joining mine, helping me move down that road.