Ducky
Bells and footfalls and soldiers and dolls
Brothers and lovers she and I were
Now she seems to be sand under his shoes
There's nothing I can do
Can't stop what's coming
Can't stop what is on its way
Ducky leaned over her body. Even in death he still calls her beautiful. But perhaps that is because of his profession. He usually sees the beauty in death that no one else does. He can't explain it. Or maybe he just won't. But how can one not be awed at the beauty of a life passing on? It would be cliché, he knows, but there is a better place. A place not here in a world of turmoil and sadness. Hell, even he wishes to escape it sometimes. The dead are the lucky ones. And they seem to know it, for after death they become beautiful.
How was it possible to think of someone as flesh and blood when they were as far from it as could be? How was it possible to think of someone as a child when they weren't? How was it possible to feel like a something inside you died along with someone else?
"Oh, Caitlin…" His whispered, staring down into her cold face. "You were like a daughter to me…"
He had seen death before, of course he had. But sometimes he felt as if each death was a warning, telling him he would break eventually. He had reached his breaking point.
He leaned over Kate and cried.