Atonement
By Seniya
Graveyard
I know what it means to be lonely
And I know what it means to be free,
Now I want to know how to love you,
Return to me.
Return To Me by October Project
Mother moon sat, lethargic, upon the sky that night…watching, as she had grown accustomed. Although upon this night, it was different, she was clothed in a sprawling white dress…whose skirts alone encompassed the majority of the heavens. The white cloth, as radiant and as light as any silk that human hands could ever create, billowed and turned, its folds rose and fell, curved and blew hiding the diamonds that Mother was so often very fond of showing…at one point the sleeves of her dress crept so far along the midnight throne that even her face was concealed, plunging the world into darkness.
In darkness humans falter, without the lantern of the moon or the eye of the sun they are lost; and all good intentions fall away—morals are not fond of the gloom…and humans are left to their own devices: greed, lust, fear…men are monsters in the dark, when the moon is blind…when the sun is asleep…man is free…the beast is released.
………………
She had expected it to rain. It seemed foolish upon retrospect…a silly notion that might have been developed within a naïve mind—but she had always imagined that on a day such as this—when everyone about her seemed to be so miserable and so…vanquished by sadness—that the heavens would mirror those emotions…and the rain would fall.
But today she had been greeted with spotless virgin skies and happy, fragrant breezes…the night had been cloudy, but the apology had been far too late; no one in heaven had shed even a tear at his passing.
………………
She hadn't ever been very partial to funerals. The gloom and solemnity always seemed like a particularly horrendous way to conclude someone's life. She had only been to one other funeral before this one…and that had been her grandmother's. She had been six.
Her mother had bought her a new dress—it had been white…oh yes, it had been raining then, maybe that was why she had equated the two…and the dress had been stained as the gravediggers bent and danced with their shovels to cover her grandmother in that sultry darkness.
Ashes to ashes…she could still remember the words…dust to dust. She had thought then that it must have been because the rain could wash them both away…like her grandmother…even then people had seemed destined to become memories.
And that night she had lain awake in her bed, coated in the same darkness listening as her mother had sobbed unashamedly in her room next door, watching as the shapes and the lights had flickered at the foot of her bed; she had sat up to watch as these lights had changed into faces and smiles…memoirs, until they too had disappeared.
It had been ten years that had moved like a hundred for her…she felt so old now. She had been heralded into womanhood by tears and suffering…the war had changed her; life had changed her. She should be used to this now she had scolded herself, people died everyday in wars…but they…they had been nameless, faceless figures that had become numbers by the end of the battle. They had never been someone who she had known…
………………
She had felt her insides cringe at the funeral, her head had been bowed through the majority of it…she hadn't wanted to see the masks that those around her had donned for the occasion: friends, lovers—all had become mourners on this day, stewing heinously in the songs and the reminiscences. But she had waited patiently for it to end…waited…for the rain to fall.
What did the dead care about the living anyway? God, they were probably half-way to purgatory by the time that the powers to be started on Revelation.
Funerals were made solely for the living…really a useless ceremony that only served to remind one of their own impending mortality. God, she wished that it would rain…
………………
She hadn't noticed when the singing had dwindled into silence, or when the crowd had decided that they should all file away in one massive wave of black. She had noticed however, when Cornelia had tugged on her sleeve, disrupting her thoughts; her own weary features signaling overwhelming discomfort.
"I can't believe that you two talked through the entire funeral." The blonde scolded as soon as they were back on earth, Will had been privy to that either, but she knew instinctively that she was directing such disapproval towards Haylin.
"Well, what?" Haylin shrugged, her voice rising several octaves because of the accusation, "seriously, he didn't show up to his own father's funeral? That's really weird."
"People have different ways of dealing with things Haylin…you shouldn't judge." Taranee shook her head at the Asian's reaction…primarily stammering.
"I'm with Haylin on this one," Irma interjected and four pairs of eyes turned to survey her, "I mean…what Corny he didn't tell you where he'd be? Because I mean we wouldn't have had to judge if one of you would talk to us…maybe include us in the cool kids club for once…unless…you don't know."
Four other pairs of eyes swiveled again before stilling on the blonde's paling face. "He…look how is this the problem here? You have no respect for anyone or anything, and people were staring for God's sake…and let's not forget that Will was off in la-la land for the entire ceremony. You want to talk about weird let's talk about how none of you know how to behave! It would have been better if you'd all had just stayed away."
"You told us to come…remember…you'd said that we had to because it was expected. And look your little lover-boy didn't even give a damn!"
"Look, just stop it." She spoke; her voice felt awkward falling from her lips. "I know that this is a messed up situation…but the man just died, can't we fight about this tomorrow?"
"What's gonna be different tomorrow? He'll still be dead." Taranee questioned, her eyes however remained fixed on Irma's face.
"Tomorrow…" she glanced out the small window that showed the dusty sidewalk and the cloudless sky outside. "I dunno…but I don't feel like dealing with this now."
Cornelia rolled her eyes and forced her mouth into a tight line as though struggling to withhold another scathing comment.
"I'm pretty sleepy you guys." Haylin's impressive effort to ease the tension did not go unnoticed; rather it was followed by several grunts of agreement. "Cornelia…I'm sorry…" she looked at Irma's stubborn frame, "we're sorry for talking through the funeral…it wasn't nice."
………………
She was already through the front door before the inadequacy of Haylin's adjective struck her.
Nice? As though the man was a fancy dress or a new pair of shoes? Nice? As though he hadn't sacrificed his very life for his beliefs…as though nothing mattered?
She could already hear them all…she could already see her own massive coffin being lowered into the darkness, now significantly less consoling. Will was such a nice girl, she was such a kind girl…a torrent of useless…words that wouldn't matter because soon they'd all be back home using those same words to describe boybands and prom dates.
………………
She hadn't gone home right away. There really seemed to be no solace to be found there, and the thought of being trapped within the familiar hadn't seemed particularly appealing to her. So she'd walked around until her feet hurt, and then she'd decided to settle on the swings in the park…
It was now near midnight from what she could tell…an hour past curfew…another week of being grounded perhaps…or maybe no television…
………………
She kicked her feet into the sand beneath the swings, watching as the dust rose with the frigid night air only to sink again. The metal chain that she was clinging to burned in her hand despite the frigidity of the night.
She was becoming tired of this cycle. Trying to be normal when she so clearly wasn't; she was tired of trying to achieve this balance…the yin and yang that was so obviously blurred into a mess of swirling grays.
She exhaled slowly, ready to dissolve into yet another puddle of contemplation before she heard him coming up from behind her.
"What are you doing out so late?"
She didn't even start at the sound of his voice, she was so used to him sneaking up behind her that she liked to think that she could almost sense it when he was near…her heart would race, her mind would clear and her voice would hide in her chest…stupid really, her own little alarm.
"I-I where were you today?" But upon realizing just how harsh that sentence must sound to anyone in the initial stages of grief she attempted to retract it. "I-I…mean…Cornelia was…err…looking for you."
He was silent after that, and then she felt excessively foolish for her lack of good conversation…Irma would have found something funny to say…Taranee would have known something wise…and she was no different than they were…the man was still dead, and she was still a foolish little girl who had somehow developed a messy swarm of emotions wherever he was concerned.
………………
She didn't like it. Anything that was, about her predicament. She was feeling too much, there were too many emotions here—too many wants and needs and shoulds…but she couldn't tell them apart. So curse that too.
And then there was that…other thing that was biting at the back of her neck. The fear…the horrible realization that she wasn't even half as brave as she'd like to imagine…
She had to ask, "Caleb…I was…why didn't you come?"
She didn't dare look at him, it was hard even to stop her knees from shaking now…but she could feel as his gaze dropped to her head, and she did notice when he spoke, "I didn't need to."
"What do you mean?"
He shrugged, and grumbled something incoherent in reply. She ran her tongue along the backs of her teeth…this wasn't going well…
"I…don't like funerals," she admitted, rolling the tops of her sneakers into the dirt. "I…don't like to think about…that."
"Death?"
She shook her head and whispered, "dying."
The night hovered about them both, pregnant with silence, ready to birth this quiet into the ears of this unsuspecting pair. He stopped it, reaching through the darkness to grab hold of her arm; she was startled then, so surprised by his actions that as he pulled her into his embrace she dragged the swing with her.
The protest died on her lips…she knew what she should do…push him away, continue to ignore the tightness in her stomach…but she didn't, because as much as she hated to admit it, she loved being wrapped in his arms—the warmth, the smells…they reminded of her of what she so desperately wanted to be reminded of…life.
The chain slipped away into the darkness.
………………
They stayed there for a while—she breathed him in, taking comfort from his silence, finding strength in his subtle heartbeat. They stayed there until she could no longer ignore her conscience, and when he could no longer keep himself firmly secure behind the line of friend.
………………
She moved away first, reluctantly…with her face severely darkened with the unlikely mixture of shame and innocence. "You were right…it is late…I-I should get home."
She imagined that he might have been looking at her…near her anyway, but she was too afraid to seek answers to her queries. "Do you want me to walk you…"
"No," she interrupted, was he completely oblivious to this tension that was constantly between them? "I'll…be okay." She turned around and stuffed her fingers in the pockets of her jacket.
"Thank you Will…"
"For what?" Her heart was struggling to break free of this growing strain, now beating so fast that it actually hurt…
"Just…thanks."
She nodded and walked away; acutely aware of his eyes on her back.
………………
Sometime that night, the moon undressed, tired of the foppery…and the rain did fall.
………………
Author: This is some deep shit. I'm sorry; I swear to stop cussing so much.
I love October Project…although I'm pretty much convinced that I'm their only fan under 30; anyway when I write I try to mimic the way their lyrics flow in their songs. Just a random fact…anyway, yes, angst ahh beloved angst…I tried to stay away, but I found myself tearing up over Anastasia today and decided to hate these accursed emotions.
Moral? I love October Project and death…put the two together, now we're cooking.
Happy Turkey day y'all! I'm a vegetarian so I spent my yesterdays whining about fowl rights. Fun, fun. Also, expect chapter…whatever of According To Plan to be up next weekend. I hope…never fear; I've been writing the end, which is finished, now for the middle…
EDIT: Do you see how long I've been trying to update?
Notes: Next…K is for Kiss. Bohahahaha! Watch as I use this crappy metaphor/pun system to my Will/Caleb advantage. That's your gift HA.
Disclaimer: Ain't mine y'all.