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Chapter 21
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The wind blew cold on an early morning. The pre-dawn light crept over the earth, giving off a shallow, pale ambience. Michelangelo shivered. The wound in his chest was beginning to hurt again.
Raphael and Leonardo had brought Donnie out here and dug the grave. It had taken them most of the night, and they'd called for Mike when it was finished. Now, Don's cold body lay wrapped in sheets, awaiting descent. Without the benefit of a coffin, he was instead laid on a dull wooden plank.
This isn't happening. Michelangelo looked at his two brothers, tired and covered in dirt. Raphael was leaning heavily on his shovel.
Don had passed quietly in the early evening. April had let out the most awful scream, and they all knew. Frantically, she'd been trying CPR when they'd all arrived, but Leonardo just laid his hands gently on her and pulled her away. There wasn't anything that could be done, Don had just lost the fight in the end.
Master Splinter had opted to say his final goodbyes in privacy, April and Casey had done the same. That left only the remaining brothers standing here, now a clan of three. The mood was more than sorrow. More than a brother, they had lost a fellow warrior. The bond of their clan was broken, a wound that dug even deeper than that of family.
Nothing was said, but tears were on all three faces. All three stood like stone. Wind rustled through the tassels on their facemasks, trailing them through the air. After a few moments of silence, Leonardo and Raphael looked at each other once, and then set about their grim task. Using ropes, they lowered Donatello slowly into his grave. The body had been carefully, lovingly wrapped, covering every inch so that even Don's face was obscured. Like a true warrior, his bo lay by his side, ready to face the next world alongside him.
Dirt landed on Donatello, a most final assurance of his death. It hadn't seemed real to him until this moment for some reason. But as his brother's body slowly disappeared beneath each shovelful, Michelangelo realized right then and there that he would never see him again. Donatello was dead. Forever. This isn't happening.
He closed his eyes tight, making it disappear. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, blocking everything away. This isn't HAPPENING...
But his other senses betrayed him. The smell of fresh earth invaded his nostrils; the heart-wrenching sound of shovel hitting dirt rang in his ears. Even the pain in his chest was getting worse, bringing him back to reality. Unwilling but unable to fight the urge, Michelangelo opened his eyes.
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