Not All The Heroes
Denzel stumbled, his vision swimming before his eyes. Two days...two days since he'd found Marcus' body. Two days since the tracks had disappeared. Two days since his canteen had gone dry. Two days since his death was assured.
And then there was the pain. The pain that shot up his leg as his foot dragged across each stone, each pebble. As his foot caught a rock, he gave a straggled cry, falling to the ground in a heap.
He found it amazing with a throat so dry, with a mouth so parched, his eyes found a way to produce water.
"I'm sorry," his voice was strange sounding, whispered over cracked, sun baked lips.
It reminded him of dry leaves rattling on the wind in the early winter, when he and Marlene would take walks around Edge.
Cloud was right. He hadn't done anything to protect his family. He had only hurt them. He should've just stayed in Corel. Why hadn't he stayed in Corel?
...because as much as he regretted leaving now, he would've regretted not leaving just as much if he had stayed.
And the truth burned bitter in his heart as the tears welled up again, falling from his eyes, cutting tracks through the dirt, marking lines down his cheeks.
The wind picked up as he cried, blowing sand across his face, and something dry and brittle smacked his face. He peeled the thing off, studying it as it blew around in his pinched fingers.
It was a flower pedal. Yellow, old and dead, but...it was a flower pedal.
Why were there flowers out here?
Denzel pushed himself up onto his elbows, his eyes finding the cliff side he laid on top of. He dragged himself on his belly across the ground, the flower pedal crushed to bits in one hand.
Shock was numbing his bones, sending tremors up his back and he felt his breath come quick as he eyed the world before him.
...it...
...It was Midgar.
"No," he breathed, "No...no no no no! We...the tracks...why?"
Denzel grabbed his hair in fistfuls, pulling, feeling the world crash down on his shoulders as he knelt at the edge of the cliff.
"No!" and he yelled; he yelled and screamed, his angry voice echoing out to the city.
How had he gotten turned around? They'd been walking for days, and it would've taken longer for him to backtrack this far, right?
He gasped, pressing the heel of his hand into his eyes, "Marlene I'm sorry," a hole in his chest.
He breathed deeply, trying to get himself under control. The city was still a ways off, a large valley separating him from it. Denzel rolled away from it, looking to his right.
It glinted faintly when the sun broke through the clouds for just a second, and Denzel thought he wouldn't have seen it if it weren't for that.
Pulling himself across the ground, the sun hid itself back behind the clouds, and Denzel became desperate to reach the object.
It was standing by itself, proud against the horizon, defiant against the destroyed city. It was worn and battered, scratched and rusted, but it still stood, like a beacon of hope for Denzel. He pulled himself towards it before turning to face away from the city, resting his back up against the mammoth sword.
More flower pedals dusted the ground, dancing to life as the wind skittered across beneath them.
Tifa was by the pews, one hand resting on them as she gazed at the flowers, Marlene stepping along carefully in the flowerbed. Denzel hung back a bit, studying the place. It was where Cloud had found him; it was where the Geostigma had attacked him.
This was one of his earliest memories with Tifa, and Marlene. Cloud wasn't there, and his Geostigma still burned slightly on his forehead. He rubbed it unconsciously.
"What's with this place?" he asked softly.
Tifa glanced at him, "What do you mean?"
"It's different," he replied, moving towards the flower bed.
Marlene giggled, teasing him, "Of course it is silly...this was where she stayed."
"Whose she?"
Marlene scoffed at him, "The flower girl...duh."
"Marlene," Tifa softly reprimanded her.
Marlene bit her lip, then tilted her head to the side, studying him, "You really don't know who she is?"
Denzel shook his head slowly, Tifa moving to stand before the flowerbed.
"Did you guys know her?"
"Mm hmm," Marlene stated proudly.
"Was she a hero, like you Tifa? Like you and Cloud?"
Tifa didn't reply, she merely ran a finger across one of the delicate pedals.
"Well, where were you, when Meteor struck, Denzel?" Marlene asked.
"I was outside of Midgar, with a bunch of people from the slums. We were all watching it. It looked like Meteor could've just sat on Midgar, and then, all of a sudden, green tendrils shot from the planet to save us. Some of the adults were saying it was the Life Stream."
"They were right," Marlene said wisely, "And she was the one who called it."
Denzel nodded his head, "So...she was a hero too," he turned to look at Tifa.
She was kneeling at the edge of the floorboards, still staring intently at the flowerbed.
"If she was a hero too, Tifa, why isn't she here now...with the rest of us?"
"Because, Denzel," Tifa replied, staring at a lily with a distant look, "Not all the heroes get to see the end."
She remembered when they'd first started building it. She'd been thirteen, skipping down the road, dancing to a tune that had gotten stuck in her head. The war had only just started, but already hope was a scarce thing.
She had twisted her head, stopped in mid step of her skip, casting her eyes over the landscape before her.
There was that large cliff that sat just south of the town, just above her house. Her father had always said he'd find something to put there, find some type of use for the place. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up. She'd wish he'd never had this opportunity.
Blinking twice, she gazed in wonder as the large, yellow crane creaked and groaned, hauling the large slab of black rock across the sky. They lowered it slowly onto the cliff, where it landed with a puff of dust.
Seven years later and there were thousand of names inscribed across the vast expanse. Three more large slabs had been added, and another was due in. The war still wasn't over, despite the sacrifices of all the people on the slabs.
She'd snuck out after dark, wearing her favorite sun dress. It was white with little blue flowers spraying along the hem line; the neck line done up in a halter-top fashion. She'd pulled her hair back into a blue ribbon, tying it off in her signature braid, her white flip flops stumbling over the many steps.
Blue was her new favorite color, ever since that night.
She'd climbed this path many times over the past year, memorizing it...but tonight, tonight was special.
The moon hung full and ripe in the sky, the light illuminating her path easily. The ring around the leather band slapped against her chest heavy and hard with each step she took.
Reaching the top, she moved towards the oldest slab on the far end of the wall.
Many people had traveled here just for this. Just for this wall with thousands of names of the dead inscribed across them. Tracing her fingers across the engravings she found the first name, and smiled wryly, finding it hard to believe another year had passed with out the foul-mouth ill-tempered pilot.
He was about halfway down the middle column, printed in slightly larger letters. After all, he did help defeat Sephiroth.
"We miss you, Cid. Hope you aren't giving sister too much trouble," she giggled.
Many people came here, just for a rubbing of a name...of a person they knew or had known; of a family member, a neighbor, an old friend, or a lover. Each had a story, a laugh and a tear; each had a moment, each had a memory.
Flowers ran along the ground before the memorial, candles lit by those left behind in mourning. Pictures dotted the wall, names scribbled in the corner, no one having the heart to put a picture up in fear of covering up another name.
She traced over several other names; boys she had grown up with, boys that were miners, brothers, fathers, men, children. It was all the same anyways, they all ended up in the same place.
It was on the third slab, first column, eighth name down, slightly larger letters once more.
After all, Strife isn't a very common name. In fact, there was only four of them. Cloud, Tifa, Avery...and him.
She let her fingers trace delicately over each letter, her other hand tracing the features of his ring. Each letter, each carving, each trace wouldn't bring her closer to him. But...here beneath the full moon, she could almost imagine it was his shoulder blades her fingers were gracing, and not the mere carving of his name.
Of course, he had been warm, and this stone...this stone was cold, bathed beneath the moon's light.
She could almost see him, a perfect outline, even a year after he'd been found.
He wasn't buried here, she knew that. She knew where he was buried, but she couldn't go there in the dead of night, escaping under the cover of the full moon. She'd have to settle for this though, for this name written in stone of a dead man who died trying to save everything he could.
But had he done anything? The war, still raging, and people...still dying.
A little piece here, a little piece there, all falling apart...taken away slowly but surely, and she began to wonder if anything would be left in the end. She wondered if they'd fill up all the black stones with names of the dead.
Her finger lingered over the 'D', her eyes studying it with a distant gaze.
"I'll be seeing you, Denz," she whispered softly, before kissing the 'D' lightly.
It was harder, though, pretending those were his lips, or his cheek. Lips were softer, and didn't have carvings in them, carvings of a dead friend's name.
She pressed her forehead into the rock, balling her hand into a fist.
It would never be about the war when she would look back on it, she realized. It wouldn't be about the people that would win it, who the enemy was, and it wouldn't be about the miraculous take back of Midgar. It wouldn't be about the trials, or the executions. It wouldn't be about the prisoners released, or the anniversary dates. It wouldn't be about the lives saved, and it wouldn't be about the heroes that won...the heroes that changed the course of the war.
For her, it would always be about him, it would always be about his death.
Not everyone's looking out for the heroes that change everything, and not everyone's looking to be that hero.
It's enough if they just do that little, serve that one tiny part.
It wasn't enough for her, though...
After all, not all the heroes got to see the end.
A/N: Tragic, eh? I appreciate all the reviews for this story, I really do. I can't help it, I have to spit out a tragic story everynow and then...it's my nature.