The Burial

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The mourners kneeling by her solemn grave
Showed no signs they mourned for her.
By their expressions, they might well have been there
For the burial of a favored pet.

"The Martyr's Tomb," Emily Rockbridge

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The ground is particularly cold today, dearest. The earth is soaking into the knees of my pants, but I know you wouldn't have minded. You wouldn't have cared a bit.

Maximum is standing by my side. Iggy and Fang, too, are here. Angel, her brother, and Nudge are with Arabelle today. We felt they didn't deserve the sorrow of visiting your grave once again.

I loved you. All of us did, as a brother loves his brother.

But between you and Maximum, I think, the love was greatest. Had there been time before your death, she would have told you so.

You were a lovely pair, really. Two parts of a leadership triangle. You fit each other well.

I know this well, dearest : the tears I and the others cry today are real. We wish dearly that you could be here with us, alive. Perhaps not wholly human in any form, but alive.

I tried to draw you a while ago; Nudge finally had to draw for me, sketching as I directed.

In our sketch of you, you are tall, beautiful. Hand on Max's shoulder, a laughing smile. Your eyes glimmering yellow.

Arabelle did not wish your death this way. She has said to us that she was firmly not responsible for the explosion. Not responsible for an explosion of shrapnel, enveloping you in death's shroud.

I dreamt of you two nights ago.

In the dream (which is muddled now by daily life's intrusions), you are talking with Mina. It is something about starfighters. You want to ask her something of their mechanics.

Then the rumbling boom outside, and nothing more.

Beloved, I dreamed of your death!

And now, today.

You are in the ground and cold today. The grey mist settles over the hillsides, and I can feel the moisture of the ground seeping through the cloth of my pants.

After a moment of silent introspection, and a prayer for you, I set the white roses beside the tombstone and rise to my feet. I will try to finish with you.

And now, as I stand in the grey morning, Max is lit from behind. A shaft of sunlight, piercing through the clouds. For a moment, she looks like an angel, caught in the light as an insect in amber.

Then the moment passes, and once more, I am alone with the memories I do not want.

---

I figured it was time to unveil these characters to the public. Basically, our main character here was killed in an explosion. The narrator is a friend of hers, name of Cadmus.

I could expound upon their origin, but it would result in pages of rambling from me. All you need to know is that I created this group of characters (not MR, fools, of course I don't own MR) during November last year.

Flames, reviews, and pointless rambling welcome!

(I almost forgot -- Emily Rockbridge is not real. So don't get on me when you Google her and nothing comes up. Hey, how many people already Googled her?)