Before Dusk Ends
Gilbert's grandfather's casket was wooden, with a piece of long, stained glass covering the hollow where the body lay, old and tired.
To Gilbert, it looked as if his grandfather was falling through a hole, the stained glass made him look alive, because the vibrant colours hid away the darker shades of death hanging in between his wrinkles.
He remembers crying, his body shaking, and little Ludwig peering from their mother's arms, or maybe their father's. Who cares?
Now he felt Ludwig's large, pale hand resting on his shoulder
His pet bird scratched his other shoulder with weak claws, nestled in the crook of his neck
The glint of a pair of glasses on the other side of the room acknowledging his presence
The sound of a man talking on his phone in the shadows
A young woman's broken sobs
What was he doing here?
Can he go home now?
They were all here to attend Elizaveta's funeral.
That's a strange thought.
The faces of people he didn't want to know were Elizaveta's friends, or acquaintances, or something. They each held a piece of memory containing Elizaveta, a piece that he didn't have. Those memories are precious now, because she's gone.
What's gone?
Suddenly, he wanted to kick open the heads of everyone there, smash them open and watch the bodily fluids flow together, steal it all and then set the building on fire. Collect jars and jars of memories filled with the stench of fresh flesh and blood. It would be better for him to keep them than to allow them to chip away with time.
After the mourning, a short speech was to be delivered by the family.
Elizaveta didn't have any close family left, just Feliciano, whom she took care of during their youth, and her boyfriend, Roderich, who stayed for a short while before he excused himself into the backroom and locked the door.
The faint sound of piano could be heard, if one wished it. Just silently, carried on by the lure of breaths.
Gilbert tried to block it out, that rugged smash of keys. It was a story he'd rather not know.
It was disgusting because he could see Roderich's distraught eyes in his head, see him close the amethyst orbs and run his smooth, long fingers caress the keys, see that his pain was genuine, and that he truly loved her.
But he couldn't have.
None of this matters, because another man gave the speech.
Not Feliciano, nor Roderich.
It was her childhood friend.
Oh, not Gilbert.
"Feliks."
He had emerald eyes that seemed to shy away from everything, hiding within themselves a dark fullness of empty words.
He shifted the microphone in front of him, swallowing. For a moment, Gilbert thought he would run.
But then his eyes landed on Elizaveta's casket and the most peculiar thing happened, for it seemed to give him hope, or courage, or maybe even fear, because with a reproachful shiver, he opened his mouth.
Gilbert didn't dare look at the thing.
"I'm always an hour late, but you forgive me every time. Every year," he said, and he must had saw Elizaveta, Gilbert knew.
"Thank you… and I'll, like, miss you."
He paused, a small lump gurgled in his throat, struggling, bubbling, quivering with hope held between its fingers.
"Do you have to go?"
Gilbert looked down at his feet, shifting them.
He'll have to go home after this.
Looking at Elizaveta's casket, which was so different from his grandfathers, was frightening. All that was clear to him was the smell of death, how it grappled and clawed at his feet, the lingering of Roderich's song in the background, growing and drawing into a climax, where it fell, quiet for a moment. Jumps of notes, a pizzicato, replaced the silence before it started to climb again… where it seemed to dance on the edge of a cliff and abruptly, came to a halt.
He didn't need to fall, not like Gilbert, not quite yet.
It was so, so perfect.
Gilbert would have happily fallen asleep then.
Ludwig's grip had already bruised his shoulder
Gilbird had flown away
Roderich slammed the piano shut
Feliks clicked the button on the microphone
and Gilbert staggered
Thank you… and I'll miss you.
Do you have to go?
Oh yeah…
And it's too late and too useless now…
Dusk streaked the room orange, Gilbert's eyes glowed in a way that their depth could be – and were – utterly revealed, where his retina glowed and his lens seemed like an open window. Maybe if Elizaveta poked his eye right now, her fingers, her entire hand could go through to grapple at his brain.
The light faded after a few moments, casting long shadows along the walls and the casket looked a hundred metres tall.
Ah, fuck it all.
(A/N: hi)