Music Playing: Embers by Helen Jane Long
I barely remember when I had last seen Shiro. He came to visit and that was when Ryuuko offered some degree of forgiveness for his inability to help her. I haven't heard much from him since. Last thing I did hear from him was that he was doing fine was all. It seemed fairly recent that he had told me that, however, it wasn't, as he had last told me that a good year and a half ago. Bad news about him came sudden, I should note, and I didn't immediately anticipate the very worse. No, actually, I never anticipated the worse, not in regards to him.
Especially, if the worse was a tragedy.
He had died, not too long ago. We had gotten the news about his impending demise from the hospital in which he was staying. He had no next of kin, as his relatives had all passed, so his friends were the only ones who could be told about him. We were each contacted in roughly two days and two hours before he passed. None of us could say if he was sick but there was little that could be done about the matter. He was dying, whether the cause of his demise be clear or not. I suppose him dying was a given as he was never known to be a well person but I had never anticipated for him to go so soon and at so young.
I suppose unhappiness can be contagious, as Ryuuko had caught on to it. "Shiro going away?" to which I had confirmed, leaving her to respond, "Don't want 'im to go away! Want 'im to stay!" I calmed her, telling her that Shiro was going to the sky, where our father went, and that there wasn't anything we could do about it, along with that "going away to the sky" was a part of life. I told her that we didn't want Shiro to go either but he just couldn't stay, as he was really sick and that, sometimes, sick people have to go away.
We opted to dress nicely, yet simple. It was a quiet day, sunny even, and the nurses guided the way to his room. Absently, I noted how spacious it was, despite him having no roommate but I suppose it was to accommodate more visitors besides us. The curtains were closed save for a few slits and the machines were soft, softly beeping and such. He lay sleeping, unaware that we were there, in the beginnings of the final throes of death. With trepidation, Ryuuko approached him and his bedside. The intravenous drips caught her attention, obviously, as she played with them a bit, however, her messing with them ceased as quickly as it began. She opted to sit quietly in his bed next to him, while she patted his head, before seizing that gray streak and resting her head on his shoulder. She didn't try to wake him or anything. She said nothing, just instinctively affectionate to him in his final moments.
Even as the others slowly came in, he never awoke. I suppose he would be going quietly, slipping away from us like dandelion seeds to the wind. Despite having no comprehension of death, I knew our sister could feel him slip away. I wanted to shield her from that, really, but I suppose she had to see what death was for herself. At least, he was going quietly and not kicking and screaming, along with him not feeling anything. Frankly, I wish he could have awakened so he could see us all again, one last time.
The beepings of the machines had slowed after a good hour. The sunshine started to wane and, in the distance, we could hear the rain fall. He twitched but, yet, he still didn't awake, however, he seemed to have acknowledged Ryuuko being by him, as his head rested briefly on top of hers. After a few hours, the beeping slowed to a complete stop, ending in a flatline against the falling rain. The noise startled her, certainly, however, she didn't scream, instead, she just sat and sobbed softly. It didn't require much comprehension to know what the noise meant. He was gone and she knew it. She couldn't deny the fact and neither did she try to, not that she probably knew how. He was, as we could say, the first friend she had ever made, someone who she had forgiven, someone with whom she empathized, the loss of whom would profoundly affect her.
He had quietly slipped away, as she had held onto him, powerless to keep him from leaving.