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The funeral was cold.
It was last-minute. Scrambled together after an adventure. A day late, apparently.
It was as if the rest of them didn’t want to hold one. Whether that was reluctance because of his nature, or because they didn’t want to admit he was gone, Pomni wasn’t sure. But she couldn’t let them put it off for another day, so they held it then.
No one knew what to say at first. Outpouring words of happy memories were replaced with deer-in-headlight looks and stunned silence. There was no outward malice, no I’m glad he’s gone but the silence told her everything she needed to know.
There wasn’t even a photograph of him alone.
Eventually, they started to talk. Instead of individual eulogies — which is what she would’ve preferred but was far too shell-shocked to fight it — they sat and talked as a group, sharing memories and concerns and emphasising that, no matter what happens, and whether they like it or not, they are a family and have to look out for each other. Even though none of you did that for him.
It was more about synergy than anything else.
And she fucking hated every second of it.
The whole time, she wanted to scream. Dim lights and Kinger’s voice was soothing but as her gaze floated around the room she couldn’t help but feel that she wasn’t looking at her friends but looking at criminals.
No one tried to do anything except for me.
No one realised he needed help.
I was with him when it happened. You were playing fucking checkers.
This isn’t fair.
I can’t stand to look at you.
This is your fault.
But that’s not fair. They were allowed to resent him, to not have very many pleasant things to say. He wasn’t pleasant to them. But…
Oh my God…
Eventually, it was over. She never spoke a word. Multiple times she got the dreaded ‘Are you alright?’ and it took everything in her to not start sobbing until she physically couldn’t anymore. A simple nod staved them off for the most part, except for the reminders that ‘Well, I’m here if you want to talk’ which she only pretended to appreciate because, to be honest, she didn’t want to talk to them. At all. At least, not yet.
Maybe when the scars scab over slightly. If they ever do.
She waited until everyone had retreated to their rooms to make her way back to her own. But before she could shut herself in there, the sight of his door froze her into place.
This hallway was already chock-full of reminders of the dead. And now there was one right in front of her room. Great. So it’s not like she could even avoid thinking about it or anything, because Caine had the great idea to put her room right there. Where every morning, now, and every night, she’d be punched in the head with a reminder of her dead friend.
Lovely.
Anger bubbled up in her like bile but she swallowed it down. A vignette clouded at the sides of her vision.
That smile. That stupid, infectious, dopey smile. Those eyes that told her everything even when he didn’t feel like talking. Those ears that would twitch like a cat’s and droop like a dog’s. That face that she could’ve kissed all day if he’d let her.
Immortalised in the form of a memento mori.
What a piece of fucking shit.
Against her own volition she gingerly walked towards his door and sat against it. Babbles began to fly out of her like they had nowhere else to go.
“…You know,” she whispered, not recognising her own voice, “what you said hurt. But I know you didn’t mean it.”
Something in her chastised her. What are you doing? Go back to your room! This is stupid!
But she found she couldn’t.
“You were just…scared. And I understand. You’ve been through a lot. Everyone gets scared sometimes.”
She paused. Something in her expected a response back, the creak of a door opening, a tired voice telling her to leave.
But none came. Obviously none came.
“…I know you’d want me to move on, but…”
She thought of their talks two weeks after the awards. He wanted to change. He wanted to reach towards the target, he was already close to it, and if he just shifted forward an inch, an inch, he would’ve grabbed it by the horns and owned it. He’d stopped tormenting the others. He wanted to spend more time with her. He promised her he’d talk to Kinger that day.
She sighed. “You were doing so well.”
She sat in silence for a while. The vignette remained, and her thoughts turned from somewhat coherent to an utter blur. Tears probably fell, but she didn’t notice. Eventually, her eyes fluttered shut and the only thing she could see were his neon eyes.
Were they pleading? Scared? Satisfied?
A thud. A knock on the door. A plea for help. A shriek. Sweet nothings. A shaky nursery rhyme. Hyperventilating. Hand holding. Glitchy graphics. Running until legs gave out. Caine. The cellar.
They shot open. If falling asleep meant her mind would play his last moments on repeat like a scratched disk she couldn’t bear to do it. Tears clouded her vision.
“I-I just hope…” Once again the sound of her own voice was alien.
“I just hope your…last moments – if that’s how abstracting works, I don’t know – weren’t…entirely hellish…maybe you heard me singing. Maybe it helped. I don’t know. I just…”
Tears fell and she didn’t fight it. Sniffles and involuntary whines filled the silence of the hallway. Attempts to wipe them were shunned; they simply kept coming.
And coming.
And coming.
“I don’t know what to do– what do I do…?”
Through the tears she caught a glimpse of her own door. She knew she should hide in there but found she simply couldn’t.
“Jaaaaaax…”
She stayed there for a while. She lost track of time eventually.
Some people came to join her. They would sit with her and let her mumble about the somewhat good things he’d do behind closed doors. But they’d never stay.
She fell numb eventually and ran out of tears to cry. Ragatha and Kinger must’ve gotten the wrong idea, because they’d gently encourage her and tell her it was okay to cry as much as she needed. But no more tears came. She was wrung dry.
The only thing left in her was that nursery rhyme. The one they sang once. The one she sang to him in a last-ditch attempt to soothe him.
She sighed, and just let herself whisper.
Daisy, Daisy…
Give me your answer, do…