Chapter 7
Dais was thankful that he didn't throw up right in front of the little girl; he could take the Candy Skulls, he could take using flowers to attract the dead, and he was even willing to accept a child playing with a skeleton doll. However, that doll wearing a sewn version of the Armor of Cruelty was just too much to handle. Dais quietly sank to the floor, it wasn't that the doll scared him; it's just that when he looked at the doll, it jarred so many painful memories. He shook his head as the memories were being pushed forward from the subconscious part of his mind: Feeling Anubis' life force leaving his weak, injured body, the fight at that mortal "park" where they had viciously injured him, Cale holding Anubis' lifeless corpse, all eight armor bearers placing Anubis in the earth, and then, the worst memory, that horrid nightmare he kept having. 'DON'T REMEMBER THAT NIGHTMARE!' His mind screamed, 'YOU DIDN'T KILL HIM, TALPA DID!'
But the nightmare came back to him in vivid details. Anubis was in a coffin with the lid open. Dais remembered that he was the only one in the room, looking at the corpse. Anubis' lifeless eyes were open, wide and accusing. In that nightmare, the Warrior of Spring's cold, dead eyes were accusing Dais of murdering him.
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Dais was awoken from the flood of memories when he felt a hand on his shoulder, "You look sick, are you sure you don't need to throw up?" Mercedes asked.
Dais got up and looked at the "exchange student" right in her eyes, "I don't know if I can deal with this Day of the Dead Festival."
Mercedes sighed, "It's the memories, isn't it?"
Dais didn't say anything.
Mercedes nodded sadly, "The first time a loved one comes to visit those they care about on the Day of the Dead, it can be a painful experience. After Pepita's first Day of the Dead, I couldn't stop crying for a week. After Pepita's second visit, it got a little easier for me to handle. For some people, they can deal with this festival, for others, they find it very hard to deal with loved ones leaving them again."
"She was innocent," Dais responded, looking away. "She didn't have blood on her hands."
"Do you," Mercedes questioned, "have blood on your hands?"
"Yes," Dais replied in a flat tone-of-voice.
"And does your friend hate you for it?" Mercedes pushed the question further.
"I wouldn't be surprised if he hated us for all eternity," Dais answered.
"Pepita said he used to be a warrior until he met you three and your boss," Mercedes shook her head.
"We did far worse," Dais grimaced, the bile rising in his throat.
"When your friend died," Mercedes asked again, "did he carry any hate in his heart?"
"No," Dais responded.
"Then he learned to forgive," Mercedes finished.
"Forgive," Dais smirked, which suddenly grew into a fit of hysterical laughter, "how can anyone forgive three heartless killers who stole so many innocent lives? How can there be forgiveness when you watch your friend die, knowing you can do nothing but sit there in your prison and watch? HOW CAN THERE BE FORGIVENESS?"
Dais' fit of hysterical laughter bounced off Mercedes, 'The stress, the guilt, the pain, the sorrow, and the memories have finally come out,' she thought. 'He's bottled up all this pain and suffering for far too long, and this is the only way he knows how to express it. Maybe a visit from his friend would do him some good.'
Soon, the hysterical laughter changed into crying. Mercedes wasn't surprised, when she grew up in Mexico City, she had seen many people who underwent the same type of sudden emotional bursts as the one Dais had, especially when the living had to allow the dead to return to Mictlan. In her city, just like in many cities in Mexico, there was a special ending celebration on November 2 in which many mummers would put on freighting masks to scare the unwilling dead back to Mictlan. Mercedes smiled as she briefly wondered if the mask thing would work. She had always wanted to be one of the mummers, but she knew that the others wouldn't approve. "I can't stop your friend from coming," Mercedes sighed, "the altar has been made, and there is no time for second thoughts, but that doesn't mean that I can't be there with you if you want to talk to him."
"It doesn't matter," Dais smiled between his tears, "he could rise above his past and move on. The rest of us are stuck in a moment that we can't leave."
Mercedes shook her head, "The past is gone, Dais, you can't change it. But you can change your future, you can make it worth living."
Dais looked at Mercedes, "Do you really believe that?"
"Death is not the end," Mercedes repeated, "but a continuation of the natural order of the universe. Nothing ends and nothing begins, it is all a continual cycle of death, life, and order."
Dais smiled, "I didn't think westerners believed that?"
"The Spanish don't," Mercedes smiled, "but the Aztecs did."
Dais was thankful that he didn't throw up right in front of the little girl; he could take the Candy Skulls, he could take using flowers to attract the dead, and he was even willing to accept a child playing with a skeleton doll. However, that doll wearing a sewn version of the Armor of Cruelty was just too much to handle. Dais quietly sank to the floor, it wasn't that the doll scared him; it's just that when he looked at the doll, it jarred so many painful memories. He shook his head as the memories were being pushed forward from the subconscious part of his mind: Feeling Anubis' life force leaving his weak, injured body, the fight at that mortal "park" where they had viciously injured him, Cale holding Anubis' lifeless corpse, all eight armor bearers placing Anubis in the earth, and then, the worst memory, that horrid nightmare he kept having. 'DON'T REMEMBER THAT NIGHTMARE!' His mind screamed, 'YOU DIDN'T KILL HIM, TALPA DID!'
But the nightmare came back to him in vivid details. Anubis was in a coffin with the lid open. Dais remembered that he was the only one in the room, looking at the corpse. Anubis' lifeless eyes were open, wide and accusing. In that nightmare, the Warrior of Spring's cold, dead eyes were accusing Dais of murdering him.
*******************************************************************************************
Dais was awoken from the flood of memories when he felt a hand on his shoulder, "You look sick, are you sure you don't need to throw up?" Mercedes asked.
Dais got up and looked at the "exchange student" right in her eyes, "I don't know if I can deal with this Day of the Dead Festival."
Mercedes sighed, "It's the memories, isn't it?"
Dais didn't say anything.
Mercedes nodded sadly, "The first time a loved one comes to visit those they care about on the Day of the Dead, it can be a painful experience. After Pepita's first Day of the Dead, I couldn't stop crying for a week. After Pepita's second visit, it got a little easier for me to handle. For some people, they can deal with this festival, for others, they find it very hard to deal with loved ones leaving them again."
"She was innocent," Dais responded, looking away. "She didn't have blood on her hands."
"Do you," Mercedes questioned, "have blood on your hands?"
"Yes," Dais replied in a flat tone-of-voice.
"And does your friend hate you for it?" Mercedes pushed the question further.
"I wouldn't be surprised if he hated us for all eternity," Dais answered.
"Pepita said he used to be a warrior until he met you three and your boss," Mercedes shook her head.
"We did far worse," Dais grimaced, the bile rising in his throat.
"When your friend died," Mercedes asked again, "did he carry any hate in his heart?"
"No," Dais responded.
"Then he learned to forgive," Mercedes finished.
"Forgive," Dais smirked, which suddenly grew into a fit of hysterical laughter, "how can anyone forgive three heartless killers who stole so many innocent lives? How can there be forgiveness when you watch your friend die, knowing you can do nothing but sit there in your prison and watch? HOW CAN THERE BE FORGIVENESS?"
Dais' fit of hysterical laughter bounced off Mercedes, 'The stress, the guilt, the pain, the sorrow, and the memories have finally come out,' she thought. 'He's bottled up all this pain and suffering for far too long, and this is the only way he knows how to express it. Maybe a visit from his friend would do him some good.'
Soon, the hysterical laughter changed into crying. Mercedes wasn't surprised, when she grew up in Mexico City, she had seen many people who underwent the same type of sudden emotional bursts as the one Dais had, especially when the living had to allow the dead to return to Mictlan. In her city, just like in many cities in Mexico, there was a special ending celebration on November 2 in which many mummers would put on freighting masks to scare the unwilling dead back to Mictlan. Mercedes smiled as she briefly wondered if the mask thing would work. She had always wanted to be one of the mummers, but she knew that the others wouldn't approve. "I can't stop your friend from coming," Mercedes sighed, "the altar has been made, and there is no time for second thoughts, but that doesn't mean that I can't be there with you if you want to talk to him."
"It doesn't matter," Dais smiled between his tears, "he could rise above his past and move on. The rest of us are stuck in a moment that we can't leave."
Mercedes shook her head, "The past is gone, Dais, you can't change it. But you can change your future, you can make it worth living."
Dais looked at Mercedes, "Do you really believe that?"
"Death is not the end," Mercedes repeated, "but a continuation of the natural order of the universe. Nothing ends and nothing begins, it is all a continual cycle of death, life, and order."
Dais smiled, "I didn't think westerners believed that?"
"The Spanish don't," Mercedes smiled, "but the Aztecs did."
