There once was a boy, who lived in a town of monsters. The boy was different from everyone else, so he spent his days alone. That boy was now looking at a gray, cloud-filled sky. The boy liked a girl, a monster, too. But his love was not meant to come true. The girl didn't like him back, she told him herself. So the boy gave up. But in that blink when he did, the girl lost her father. So he was left dressed in his older brother's suit, looking at the rolling ash.

He knew it wouldn't rain that day. He didn't know why, but he knew that he knew that it was true.

The boy's mother sat next to him, letting herself run dry. He held her hand, but he himself didn't let out any tears. His uncle's death was too sudden for him. He watched the box that he now was. And glanced at the grave that will remember him. The boy was most worried about the girl. She was covered in black, standing next to her mother. But she wasn't crying. Her face was still, and she hadn't yet moved. Under her black umbrella, he couldn't see what she was going through. The boy's father came too, of course, he was giving the girl's father his eulogy. He had been reading from a script, but at some point it was thrown asunder, to rest with the grass. His face was somber, and his throat was forced to get them out, but his words were praises with no end. All the boy did was hold his mother's hand firmly. His annoying blue classmate was silent for once, looking sadder than he'd ever been. Even his best purple friend came, she was wearing the most respectful clothes she had: a black bow tie shirt and dark trousers. She didn't say a word.

When he was finally out of words, his father staggered off the podium. He slowly walked up to his wife, who stood up, embraced him, and put his head on her shoulder. The boy didn't know if his father was crying. After a long time, she let go. Then, he was let back to his own seat across the aisle. The old priest marched over, and gave the girl's father a last rite of passage. The priest did not ease or stutter, and he finished quickly. There was only pity in his words. The box was opened to the cold air, and the girl's father was poured onto a small faceless doll of an angel. Then the two were placed upright, and slowly lowered in the dark. What followed them were flowers, letters, and mementos. A giant, seven-colored bouquet almost crushed them into the dirt, and one stray leaf curved out the wind and fell on top of it all. The boy stared at all of it being lowered and covered into the earth. That was the finality of it all. The boy realized his uncle won't be with them anymore. He thought of crying, but tears wouldn't come out. The girl didn't cry either, she only left a letter for her father.

There was to be no wake afterward. So it was done. All they had left to do was leave. But all he could do is think. About the fresh dirt. About the mighty fir-shaped stone. About the barren forest. About her face. He felt the cold dust hound the air. No sun pierced that chill. He stood and stood and stood. He stood until most had left. But eventually, not even he could stand it. He sat up, and led his mother by hand. She limped behind him, sniffling quietly. The boy stopped for a last moment. Only his father, the girl and her mother hadn't left yet. All of them would, sooner or later. He stepped out. Only the long trees would be left to keep him company.

The grave dug itself snuggly in the middle of the yard. From the ground it sprouted, presenting itself from between its gravemates. The stone was carved like a pine, with a conifer chiseled on its center. It was decorated with wreaths of all colors, and garnished with gifts underneath. All it needed was the star on top.

RUDOLPH

A CHRISTMAS TREE FOR THE BEST DAD THERE WAS


The boy rose up. He took enough time to chat with that old lake and his old friend the aspen. Being alone with the two; his best friend wasn't there. All his classmates were at school. Or maybe school had ended, he questioned. The sun was glowing downward, going home. But the cold breeze of winter was becoming frigid. The covered one readjusted his gray scarf and started walking toward nowhere.

Of course, in the end he would head off home, as all good boys do. But he didn't want to yet. He was worried about his mother, she had gone to school as she had on any other day. She may have already been home. He didn't know if that girl went to school, he could only hope she was alright. The boy thought himself dumb for worrying. The next day he would walk back in class, he would speak with his best purple friend, and she wouldn't mention it. It would be like nothing ever happened. He was worrying too much, he wanted to think.

The boy looked up. Standing silent with both hands in his blue jacket.

He didn't realize he hadn't headed nowhere.

He was down from the police station, with cars blaring past him on the street. The sun was almost glazing his vision, fogging up the building. Why did he go there, He had to ask himself. But an echo hadn't stilled in the distance. Some little piece spoke around his being. The air bended inward his red eyes. Was it himself, or His other one? The boy trusted that nothing. He didn't bother to think. He stood upright, straightened his collar, then walked into the fluorescent lights.

She was there

The red and green didn't belong in the lifeless white. Her emerald eyes were vacantly floating, anchored to nothing. Nothing in the middle of the empty bed. Her Gamemon Color was still jutting out of her school bag.

She slowly turned to look. Her face swelled with surprise when she saw him there. Then that quickly turned to animosity, and finally into quiet loathing. She didn't look at him after that. There wasn't any cheer in her voice. She was quiet, her words were sharp.

The boy made menial small-talk, it was the only thing he could. She responded in kind. The girl didn't know how she got there either. She did go to school that day. She didn't need anything. She was fine.

She spoke and didn't move her face. The room's white was slowly ambering from the sun's window. They were alone. No one besides him even knew where she was. She probably hadn't spoken to a soul about it. She was grieving.

The boy wasn't thinking. His mouth opened before the idea formed within Him. He finished the sentence before realizing. His words whipped back and stuck his head.

He pointed to her schoolbag, and asked if He could play that game with her.

The girl stood still. The room froze. Her body was like a glass statue, angled downward. He needed to apologize, but he was too late to recognize.

She meekly nodded.


Rusty sun was overflowing into the boy's room. It kept splashing off the floorboards, drenching them both in its light. All he knew was the game's name, so he sat next to her and just watched down at the scratchy screen. He did his best to fill the dead air. He asked how the game worked, what it was about, why the characters' names were oddly familiar. He got quiet, detached responses. He at least scored a dry chuckle when he asked why the characters don't just dodge the bullets. His room didn't have much of conversation. All their attention was on the small game in her hands. The boy took the little distance he could. He didn't know what would happen if he got too close, or touched her. He thought she might run off like a scared fawn. But before he noticed, he was brushing against her, just enough to feel her shirt on his. It wasn't his intention, he just needed a better view of the screen.

Her responses got livelier after a while, he was starting to understand how it all worked. He tried to get his eyes off her playing, but all that stood out in his room was her backpack resting daintily next to his. The bright setting sun made the rolling ash of yesterday feel like a bad dream. Watching the dust laze in that sun, he looked down, and saw a wet spot on the tiny screen. And then a second. And third. And the little characters started shaking.

They were just talking normally a moment ago, was all his mind blurted. He didn't know what to say, and his other self even less. He stumbled over himself trying. Doing what he could, looking over her trembling ears. Eventually, he noticed Dragon Blazers III was laying on the soft carpet. And enough weight fell into him that he collapsed backwards. His back landed on the headboard while his feet were still dangling off the floor. The girl was in a similarly uncomfortable position, with her head buried in his pullover. He didn't move. He stood fell, looking down past her horns. Even through the fabric, he could hear the frustration and anguish in her voice. The room only echoed of muffled crying. He didn't know what to do at first. He was afraid to move at all. Eventually, he put his hand on her hair, and stroked it softly. Just like his mother did to him. He didn't say any other words, he didn't know if she would hear. Their whole world remained quiet. Time passed slow and still.

How much time had passed? The sun had left his window. The muffles in his shirt became quiet sniffles. Eventually they became soundless, until her uneven breathing was all that he could hear. A faint, faint memory of his sweater being pulled came to him. She slowly raised her head, without looking at his face. He rose up too, and asked if she was alright. He got a short, half-thought apology. The girl then asked to go to the bathroom, and left the room. The quiet one was by himself quite suddenly. He had never seen the girl like that. It was a strange feeling, like they were reunited as strangers. After checking his face, it was wet too. Not comparable to what was on his shirt, and he wasn't sure what his tears were for. But he had cried. He wiped himself off, and looked out at the stars appear on their dark stage. If she hadn't left her backpack in that room, he would've been worried that she could have run off in shame. He waited patiently, until he heard slow, muffled hoofsteps come up the staircase and steeled himself.

But it wasn't the girl that he had grieved with at his door. Her face was bright, and she had her famous smile back on. Her clothes were arranged like always, and she was with her familiar cheer. While he was lost for words, she apologized deeply. Her tone barely showed signs of crying. The only evidence left was the big wet spot on his blouse. He didn't see why she would need to apologize. He told her that she could come any time. Then handed her school bag, handheld sticking out. They then exchanged pleasantries. Just like friends do. He wished her a safe trip home before she left. Like a good friend should. He managed to be there for her, that was enough. He had no idea what she could have been thinking. But he knew they would never talk about this again.