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The casket was small, petite. Big enough to fit the body of a ten-year old, in which, it had that rather stormy day.
Black clothes that were soaked, flowers that had been placed onto his brothers chest, and a grave stone with letters and numbers etched onto it. It all haunted Michael and his thoughts, but he didn't cry. Not yet.
He was tough. For now.
1973 - 1983
Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you. (John 14:27)
The family he had around him mourned silently, releasing tears and vague memories they had of the kid before this happened. It was torturous for Michael, but he still didn't have the courage to cry in front of everyone. Especially since this was his fault.
He didn't get to throw his flower in. The casket was closed, and his mother began sobbing for her dear life, as if she had lost everything.
She did loose everything, it felt.
Then silently, everyone went home. Michael and his family left last. Just to be around his brother one last time before they'd have to wait again to see him face to face.
As they left he felt all eyes on him, reminding him of his dear mistake.
When he got to his room Michael broke down completely. Loudly crashing waves of salty tears into his pillow, and mumbling apologies his brother would never get to hear. Not even in the afterlife, perhaps.
There was no way that after this that God would accept him into the gates of heaven. He'd be tortured in the real world and after death.
He had already had nightmares of his brothers retaliation before, but now? It was going to be so, so much worse. He was going to be screaming for his mother and father all over again as if he were a little kid instead of twelve. But they wouldn't come to save him from his nightmares this time. They'd let him suffer, as he let them suffer the death of their child, the one they held so dearly and close.
That night Michael held FredBear close to his heart, encapsulated in the coldness of his arms. He hoped his brother would feel that last grasp of a sorry.