My name is Doctor Julien, and I am 90 years old. Right now I am sitting in a hospital bed, hooked up to countless devices that I'm simultaneously very impressed by and very worried about. It seems to me like technology is advancing faster than the minds of those creating it nowadays, but I suppose I'm one to talk. And anyhow, the problems of this world are no longer my own.
I look around me at the many faces gathered around my bedside. I am smiling, but they are not. The room is silent: nobody seems to know what to say. That's okay. I remember how it felt to witness my mother's death. The helplessness and sadness at a time like this are overwhelming— but they weigh much more heavily on the onlookers than on the dying. I finally understand that now.
"Father…"
I look up at my son with what I hope is a comforting smile. He is trying to contain his emotions, but his blue eyes betray him. His eyes… I'm so proud of them. The thin layers of water covering their glass surfaces only enhance their shine.
"Zane." I take his hand and grasp it in my own, holding it tight. My hand is so frail and wrinkled, showing years of use and misuse. But his is still perfect, the skin upon it as flawless and smooth as the day he first awoke."You have been the perfect son."
He shakes his head violently, and some of his brothers look at him in concern. I spoke with the elder members of our group earlier; now only the young ones remain, as I have requested.
"No," he replies, his voice shaking, "I am far from perfect."
I shake my head, my smile saddened but still fully intact. "You will understand one day," I reassure him. "You have been the best son I could ever ask for."
He tries to reply, but chokes on his own words.
"It's okay," I whisper after a pause. "I built you with the ability to cry for a reason." He blinks hard, still trying to contain his tears. I am concerned for him, but my concern is somewhat relieved when I see his free hand being discreetly intertwined with that of Kai's, who is standing nearest him. He has good brothers; I know they will help him to bear the time ahead. He will not be crushed by loss, as I was: knowing that he has a good life ahead of him greatly comforts me.
The room is absent of words spoken out loud, as nobody seems to know what to say, but the thoughts here are plenty loud enough for me. I consider cracking a joke about the silence, but decide it would perhaps be best not to. Zane and the others have grown much, but they are still far from understanding the triviality of death. So I just smile quietly at the faces around me. I might not have had the best life, but I certainly didn't have the worst— and this is a pretty good way to go out.
"I love you, Father," Zane whispers through a cracked voice. I squeeze his hand and beam up at him.
"I love you, too, Zane. And don't you worry, I'll be watching over you— all of you." I am referring to the others in the room, but my eyes remain locked on his until they grow weary. Then I close them for what will probably be the final time. I hear a tension in the room and smile, rubbing Zane's hand affectionately, but do not open my eyes. I am busy listening to the faint ticking of the clock on the hospital wall.
Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
I don't know why I ever hated that sound. It's really rather symbolic. Mechanical and predictable, yet signifying not only the passing of time but the passing of memories. In some ways, it is the sound of love and logic, passion and knowledge, feeling and wisdom. Or, as in this room, of old and young.
These last few years, I think, have been the best of my life. Not everyone is so lucky. Most people hit their prime well before their 30s and feel that life only goes downhill from there. I'm much happier with how things have worked out for me: this is like ending a meal on a really good dessert. Mm, dessert. I hope they have that in the afterlife. I bet they will.
There is a smile on my face as I feel myself rising. I know if I opened my eyes, I could see my body, which sounds really cool, but I don't want my son crying to be the last thing I see. No, I'm going to think about the past few weeks, instead. The ones where we went out and did things, before I was stuck in here, although just sitting and talking with my daily visitors hasn't at all been bad either.
The ticking of the clock fades away along with all the white noise of life. True silence is something I have never experienced in my life, and it's quite the experience. I wonder if anyone still alive will ever think about just how noisy life usually is. Probably not, but it'd be interesting if they did.
This is a good way to die.
I am happy.
I woke up feeling a bit lightheaded, with the vague impression of being hungover. (Yes, I tried alcohol once in my lifetime; it was not a pleasant experience.) However, I quickly designated the feelings as normal once I realized what day it was: the morning of DOTD always brought such feelings about, and they always faded by midday. DOTD in the Departed Realm was, in fact, a more unique holiday than any I knew of in Ninjago, because it contained within it three phases that always brought about the same three moods: the lightheadedness and reflection of the morning (those with uneventful lives often suffer from regret during this time), the anticipation and excitement of the day, and the magic and emotion of the night.
I dressed myself in my normal attire, shoving my scarf and an untouched pair of gloves into my pockets (the night of DOTD had a reputation of the cold), and got myself out of bed. I noticed that getting out of bed had gotten considerably easier lately, although I still never wanted to leave the warmth of the covers.
Walking to the kitchen, I almost stumbled over my roommate, who was meditating quietly in the middle of the hallway. Thankfully, the sensei had incredible (I would say inhuman) reflexes, and was on his feet and able to stabilize me before I actually fell.
"Sorry!" I yelped, a little louder than was appropriate for the time of morning. I was too embarrassed about my clumsiness to ask why Garmadon had been meditating in the first place.
"No, no, that was my fault," he said quickly, brushing himself off. He chuckled lightly. "Sitting in the middle of a walkway was probably not my best idea."
"Well, we're all a little tired this morning," I pointed out, not really thinking about Garmadon's situation of death until after I'd already made the statement. I winced: it must have been a trying Night of Flashback for him, especially considering that Morro was still here…
"Say, is Morro awake yet?" I asked gingerly once the subject came to mind. Garmadon smiled and shook his head.
"He's on the couch with— what was his name?"
"Owen," I said.
"Yes, Owen. They looked quite peaceful together; I didn't want to wake them up. Hence why I was meditating in the hallway instead of the living room" he explained, and seemed genuinely happy for the two. I was intrigued and very much wished to see what kind of scene could have provoked Garmadon into letting Morro be, but I supposed I wouldn't be able to do so without waking them myself.
"By the way," Garmadon asked in a hushed tone, "are there any traditional dishes for Day of the Departed? I thought perhaps it would be fun to start the day with something special."
I grinned. "Indeed there are," I confirmed, already excited thinking about how well Garmadon would probably be at preparing the dish. "We'll have dinner at the party tonight—"
"Party?" he asked.
"I'll explain over breakfast," I said. "But there is a traditional breakfast dish many people make for the holiday. It's called a Dragon Dreamer; it's something like a strawberry pastry with cream."
"Sounds more like a dessert than a breakfast food," Garmadon said, but I could tell he was excited by the idea.
"Hey, it's a holiday dish," I said with a wink. "Anyhow, I know I have all the ingredients for it, so we should be good to go once Morro and Owen wake up."
As it turns out, we didn't have long to wait. A few minutes of chatting later, the living room light flicked on and a tired Morro waltzed into the hallway with the younger boy in tow.
"'Mornin'," he greeted in a tone that was more drunk than hungover. "Why'r'n't you in the kitchen?"
"We didn't want to wake you," I explained, ignoring the contraction of four words at once. (Would that count as a double contraction or a quadruple contraction?)
"Well, breakfast ain't gonna make itself," he yawned, and the little boy looked at him with concern.
"Owen, you don't seem tired," I remarked. "Did you have a good night's sleep?"
He nodded. "I don't see Nights a' Flatback o' whateve' they called," he explained. "I died befo' I could 'membe' anything."
"I see," I said, nodding nonchalantly although I was saddened by this fact. Maybe Owen didn't have to deal with Nights of Flashback, but I didn't think that was worth dying at such a young age.
"Doc," Morro said, getting my attention. I turned to him.
"Yes?"
"We makin' fancy food?" he asked hopefully. I laughed and nudged Garmadon.
"Well?" I asked the sensei. He smirked slightly.
"Yes, we are, Morro," he confirmed. Morro fist-pumped and followed us into the kitchen, and Owen tagged along eagerly, clinging to Morro like a shadow.
"The first ingredient we'll need…" I started as our group made its way into the (now thoroughly too small) kitchen.
Twenty minutes, two boxes of strawberries, several bowls of pastry dough, a can of heavy cream, and a number of other items later, our odd quartet managed to pull off a rather impressive-looking feast of celebratory treats to set on the table. Well, Garmadon and I did most of the cooking, but Morro and Owen helped occasionally, too.
"I have to say, you did a marvelous job with these," I said, admiring the almost too-pretty-to-eat pastries, "especially considering you've never made this dish before."
"Well," Garmadon said with a smile, "you're a good teacher."
As we dug into the food, Owen leaned over and whispered something in Morro's ear. The older teen snickered, looking thoroughly delighted to have someone to talk to that was closer to his age— or, at least physically; I had no idea how old Owen technically was. I considered bringing it up, but decided against it.
"Thi'th i'th AMAZING!" the young boy squeaked as he shoved the first few bites of food into his mouth. I smiled, and Garmadon looked rather proud of himself.
"I'm glad you like it," he stated, but the boy didn't give a response, as he was too busy ravenously devouring the rest of his treat.
"I agree," Morro said casually, looking less hungover as he continued to eat. "This stuff is to die for."
It was a cliché joke, but I still almost choked on my pastry from laughter.
"So," Garmadon said, turning towards me, "you said something earlier about a party."
"Ah, yes!" I exclaimed. "The annual Day of the Departed celebration." I paused to take another bite of my food, then started explaining the events of the day.
"For the most part of the day, people have private celebrations with their family and friends. Some hold parties at their houses, but it's usually a very personal event. Anyhow, about an hour before sunset, the park will open to the public— it's cordoned off right now— and the dance floor will have been set up."
"There's a dance floor in the park?" Garmadon asked, raising an eyebrow. Morro shushed him.
"Yes, and a wide variety of music through the ages," I continued. "There are also tables set up with free food, which is kind of a huge deal, although there are Departed Officials standing by to make sure everything is regulated." Owen hissed under his breath, so I quickly changed the subject. "There are some games set up, too, although mostly nobody plays them. Actually, the whole thing is rather like a school carnival, now that I'm explaining it out loud," I admitted, thinking back to my college days and the underwhelming amount of school spirit they contained. "But the real event of the evening doesn't start until midnight."
"Oh, no," Garmadon said with somewhat of a chuckle, "I'm not sure I'll be able to stay up that long."
I expected Morro to make an obvious joke on his age, but instead he smirked and opted to comment, "Trust me, once you've had a few sips of punch you'll last allllll night."
"That's when the lanterns are brought in, right?" Garmadon asked with a hopeful expression on his face.
"Yes, although they aren't so much 'brought in' as they let themselves in. They float up through the ground and find their way to a spot on or surrounding the Central Willow, which looks absolutely breathtaking once all they've all arrived. Then everyone is allowed to go find their lantern— don't look so worried, you'll feel sort of a tug leading you in the right direction— and upon holding it, they'll be updated on the lives of those who sent them."
"And how does that work, exactly?" Garmadon asked.
"Well… it's somewhat hard to explain. You see what has happened, but not all of it, yet by the time you've finished the experience you know everything that has transpired, and although it feels long it actually only takes about ten minutes. Really, it's rather magical, I have yet to figure out all the science behind it, but it's something you have to experience to—" I barely realize to cut myself off in time, seeing the faces of Morro and Owen.
"Of course," I amend, my tone now more forlorn, "there are always those who do not have lanterns sent up…"
"It's fine," Morro said, trying to shrug it off. "In my opinion, this beats some flying piece of origami any day." He took another big bite of his breakfast, finishing it off.
"Well… anyway," I said hesitantly, "we've got a while to wait before all the dancing and free dinner. I think I'm going to do some more work on my project. I have all the materials I need; building it should take no time at all."
"Ooh, the bird thing?" Morro asked eagerly. I raised an eyebrow at him. "I may or may not have stolen a peek at your blueprints," he admitted with a smirk. "Anyway, I wanna watch! I love birds."
"That's not surprising," Garmadon commented, finishing his own breakfast and standing up to stretch. "You two have fun. I'm going to continue my book for a while… but I was thinking after that, perhaps we could introduce Owen to a tradition or two?"
Morro flashed a grin. "I like where this is headed."
"Is a game of Escape From Dark Island in hand?" I asked, smiling over at the bewildered little boy who was trying to make sense of our excitement.
"I think so," Garmadon confirmed. "So, books, birds, games, and then… dancing?" I got the feeling he was going to say lanterns, but was glad he opted to change his mind. I nodded in affirmation and Morro held up a fist cheerily.
"To Dotted!" he exclaimed. Garmadon, Owen, and I smiled and replied in unison.
"To Dotted!"
(A/N: I'm adding an A/N even though I don't have anything to say because it seems like not a lot of people are seeing this chapter...? Or just not reviewing, I guess? I dunno, I'm probably being overly paranoid but I just wanna make sure that the chapter's notifications are getting sent and that FF isn't glitching on me. CuzhonestlyI'mreallyproudofthischapterandI'manattentionhogand—) (Also Game of Masks came out last night/today, and it was SICK! :O)