What would you do if you lost everything that made your life worth living?
{Y'know, it's funny.}
Well, contrary to those who refuse to believe how stupidly similar we all are. When someone close to us dies, a majority of us will still end up finding ourselves following the same neat little cycle that doctors and scientist have conveniently labeled, "The Five Stages of Grief", for us common folk; as if slapping a pretty label on it will somehow make the whole thing less traumatizing.
{I can't for the life of me remember where exactly he and I first met, or why we even started talking in the first place really.}
But this stupid cycle is anything but pretty. There are no soothing words or gentle hugs as they try to assure you that there was nothing that you could have possibly done to stop it from happening. No people who care enough to drop everything just to come make sure that you made it out of bed that morning, or to check and see if you're eating and drinking enough water to at least stay alive.
{Yet I can somehow still remember the exact way your arms relaxed around my shoulders the first time he managed to make me laugh with one of his stupid jokes. The little hitch in your breath a dead giveaway that you were staring at me with one of those rare, crooked grins that I'll bet an entire handful of my favorite berries was the reason you suddenly decided that one of my braids desperately needed 'fixing', despite you redoing them literally a few seconds beforehand.}
No, this cycle is its own special type of hell; one that you'll never be able to understand until you're forced to experience it yourself.
It's pitiful attempts at normalcy as you try to carry on like your very world isn't crumbling down around you, your smiles too wide and your eyes too empty as you talk to the echo of someone who will never hear your words again. It's tears that never seem to stop dripping down your face as you kneel at the altar, ignorant of the pitying looks being thrown your way as you beg and plead for any god or devil to please bring them back, while simultaneously screaming and cursing their names for daring to take them away from you in the first place. It's the emptiness that leaves you uncaring of their pitying stares as you lay shivering atop their grave in the freezing rain. The concept of time long since lost to you as you try to burrow your already numb fingers even deeper into the semi-frozen earth, closing your eyes and pretending for just a moment that you can still feel their hand clasped in yours.
{Even now, I still don't think I fully understand why it mattered so much to you at the time whether I liked him or not; but then again, I didn't really care all that much either.}
Of course, there are some people who like to believe that they're special, that they're too strong to let their emotions overwhelm them in such a way.
They don't understand the ugly hole that was torn from your very soul the moment their heart stopped beating. The knife that slowly twists in your chest every time you think you see them out of the corner of your eye, only to turn and find an empty space where they should have been. The soul crushing despair that leaves you breathless in the middle of a conversation when you suddenly realize that you can't remember the sound of their voice anymore. The panic attacks that threaten to steal your sanity away in the middle of the night when you realize you can't clearly picture their face anymore, even in your dreams. The meltdown you'll have when you wake up one morning and discover that their pillow only smells like you, and nothing you try will ever be able to recreate that unique smell of safety and home that they always emanated.
{I was honestly just excited to have another person who seemed to care about plants as much as I did.}
But oh, how they'll finally understand when it's one of their loved ones being ripped away from them without so much as a proper goodbye.
{But for two people who supposedly had so much in common, we still somehow always managed to circle back to the one thing we could never quite seem to agree on.}
Alas, sometimes life is just plain unfair, and those same supposedly too strong people do actually manage to breeze right through the various steps with maybe a handful of crying sessions being all they have to show for it. On the other hand, sometimes karma does a fantastic job and makes them suffer, decades spent backtracking through the various steps, leaving them unable, or unwilling, to let their precious loved one move on without them. It's all just the luck of the draw really, and all you can do, in either situation, is try to find a way to survive, preferably with your sanity left mostly intact.
{You.}
Because of this, it's not uncommon for many people to accidentally fall into their own little fantasyland when it first happens. To wake up that first morning after and just refuse to open your eyes despite being wide awake; wanting to pretend for just one moment that nothing's changed and they're still snoring insufferably beside you. But what happens when it stops feeling like pretend? When that once desperate wish for it to all just be a bad dream becomes your new reality?
{It's definitely a lot funnier now that I think back on it. But I can still very vividly remember a time when we could argue until we were blue in the face about something as stupid as which one of us knew your favorite color. Which can I just say, I still think he's stupid for thinking it's grey, when I know for a fact it's been green since we first learned that's what color the trees were.}
Well, as nice as your little lie may be at first. It won't be long before reality comes crashing down around you, and when it does, you'll find yourself suddenly overflowing with an anger that's as normal as it is irrational. Gods, you'll be so angry at everything, pointing fingers at everyone and anyone just so you can have someone to blame for your breaking heart.
Ironically enough, the deceased is somehow normally the first to have to face your ire. Unable to even defend themselves as you scream and sob, cursing their name for leaving you all alone in a world that suddenly seems so much worse without them in it; as if they chose to leave you just for the hell of it. Then, once the guilt of speaking ill of the dead finally settles in, you'll find yourself angry at the people around you for not seeing it coming, despite knowing that they couldn't have prepared for it anymore than you could have. Hell, there will be times where you'll be angry at the world itself for no other reason than you can be. But, while you're screaming yourself hoarse at a stone that seems to mock you with its very presence, you'll mostly be angry at yourself, blaming them for the pain tearing you apart inside even as you despair over your own regrets of the things that you once thought were better off left unsaid.
{It was exhausting, always just a seemingly never ending battle of who knew you better; one that I somehow always seemed to be on the losing side of, as he loved to point out}
Although, eventually that seemingly never ending well of white hot fury is going to finally run dry. Then you'll start to panic, left all alone in a suffocating silence that even your own voice can't seem to break. It won't be long before that overbearing sense of loneliness settles in and you'll be begging for that familiar comfort that you're never going to be able to feel again. Tears dripping down your dirty cheeks to mingle with the mud coating your hands as you kneel in front of their silent grave, begging and offering pathetic promises to Gods you've never truly believed in for a sign that they're still out there somewhere; your voice not wavering once as you offer the whole world to the devils themselves on a silver platter if it only meant that you could hear them say "I love you" one more time.
{Gods, and he was always so smug about it too! That stupid high pitched giggle of his making an appearance every time I said that of course I knew you better.}
But when the sign never comes, and your prayers continue to go unanswered, you'll start to lose hope. Your world will continue to crumble beneath your feet and with nobody there to catch you anymore, all you can do, is fall. Fall into the numbness that settled in your bones long before you realized how little energy you could muster to get out of bed in the morning, the growling of your stomach when it started to eat itself going ignored along with the itch in the back of your throat that begged for even a drop of water as you wasted your days away, desperately searching for a reason to live now that they're gone.
{Safe to say I was a little bitter the first time he managed to prove me wrong and leave me fumbling for an answer that he already seemed to know within seconds of asking the question. Which, in my defense! I was still wholeheartedly convinced that we were still two halves of a whole idiot at that point; so it's not exactly shocking that I'd believe I knew you better than someone who was still practically a stranger to me beyond our mutual love of books and plants.}
Now what happens when you can't find that reason?
{But he was right all along, wasn't he?}
Do you decide to go ahead and give in to those syrupy sweet whispers that tell you to give up, that a life without them isn't a life worth living?
{Because I knew the boy who hated his crooked grin and ugly laugh, but was determined to not let his siblings grow up in a world where the one person who should have been willing to go to the moon and back for them if they so much as hinted at needing it; couldn't even be bothered to look at them most days, much less take care of them.}
Or do you finally listen to their angry voice screaming at you to get up and accept it? To ignore the useless apologies and pitying looks they throw at you as you drag yourself to stand with a stubborn sneer for those who dare try to catch you when you stumble. A bright flicker of determination burning in your eyes as you start to pick up the scattered pieces they left behind and find a reason to live like they wanted you to from the beginning
{I knew the boy who would forgo everything but a pair of tattered shorts, no matter the weather, just so that Es and I could always have comfortable clothes that fit. Gods, I must have always looked so ungrateful in his eyes! Constantly teasing him, calling him an animal whenever he refused to put anything else on even when it was snowing out. I never put it together that the little bat plush that just seemed to appear in my pocket one day was made from the same shiny leather as his favorite tool pouch; the same pouch that was conveniently 'lost' the same night we had one of our first big arguments. Or how the soft, starry blanket that conveniently appeared in place of him on the bed one morning after he had to pry a sobbing Es off his arms was made from the same material as his favorite, and only, shirt; the one she was always stealing whenever it got even slightly cold out. They were his way of apologizing, little sacrifices for us to keep him close whenever he couldn't trust himself to be around us.}
Could you live for the anger that threatens to consume you at the thought of the pure souls you were forced to watch get unfairly snuffed out far before their time? For the fiery spirited mama bear who spit and snarled at those in charge, doing everything in her power to turn their fury towards her and away from the trembling children in the next cell over? For the boy who could barely be called a man who always had a warm smile and a kind word for anyone in need despite his back being shredded into ribbons for his small attempts at comfort?
Or would you give up knowing that you couldn't do a single thing to help them like they once helped you? The unfairness of knowing that they were Silenced, all because they wanted to bring a little bit of comfort to the ones stuck in this hellhole with them, be too much for you to handle?
{I knew the boy who would spend hours upon hours making these dainty pieces of jewelry from glittering gems and metals that I didn't even know existed, all so our little sister could feel pretty like the princesses in his stories. The same boy who felt like a failure when he realized he would never be able to make her one of the pretty frilly dresses their mamãe once described to them; something I always made fun of him for seeing as Es normally forced him to be the princess anyways so she could be the dragon.}
Could it be to protest the unfairness you feel for the ones who died before they even got the chance to live? For the children who died crying out in fear, too young to understand the reason for the pain ravishing their tiny bodies?
Or would the sight of the parents desperately clutching their children to their chest, their large hands covering too tiny eyes and ears in an unsuccessful attempt to shield them from the horrors that are their lives, be too much for your poor stomach to handle? Would you be able to tolerate the sight of a father, thin and shaking from exhaustion, using the little energy he had left to claw the walls separating him from his child until his fingers bled? Would you be able to listen as he begged and pleaded for them to please leave his baby alone and take him instead? Or would you turn away and plug your ears like the others? Able to look past the guilt and just bask in the relief that at least it wasn't your child being dangled mockingly in front of you. Would you be able to keep your sanity as you watch them toss the too tiny corpse back in with its father to rot when they were done playing with it?
{I knew the boy who tried his hardest to give us the independence we craved from the moment we realized that we were different. Determined to beat it into our heads that our disabilities couldn't define us and that we were still normal; even as he spent sleepless nights carving Estrella new supports, or painstakingly translating each and every one of his own books into our own special language for me to enjoy. All of these things that I bet seemed so small to him, yet allowed us the freedom to move through life at our own pace and pretend for just a moment that we really were just two normal kids.}
Or maybe you're merely another sympathetic fool who would rather cower and cry than dare risk fighting to try and fix the issue?
{I knew the boy who, despite not having a clue about what he was doing, still tried his damnedest to raise us right and be the parents we never truly had. The boy who refused to let me fall behind and instead dragged me to stand as his equal despite being nothing but a mere child shrouded in his shadow.}
Could you live for those that nobody deemed important enough to remember? For those who lost their lives, not in battle, but on a cold examination table surrounded by doctors who ignored their pain and suffering in the name of curiosity. For the little girl who's name you can't recall, but who's screams you can still remember echoing throughout the halls for what felt like days as her rock-like skin was slowly chipped away piece by piece. All because one doctor wanted to see what was underneath.
Or would you pray to join the blissful nothingness that death promises in order to escape the horrors of being forced to watch as the little boy who's feathers always reminded you of a beautiful blue cotinga's were plucked out one by one, right in front of your eyes. All because they were curious to see how long it would take for them to grow back?
{I knew Nox Daoi Morana-Morrigan, my Visão.}
Could you live to keep their memories alive? Names, true names hesitantly muttered to you in the security of the shadows, kept tucked securely in the very back of your mind until the day they could join the others carefully etched into the rare empty space on walls that once anchored them to this cruel world. Their stories, goals, memories, hopes, and dreams, any little detail that you could remember about them spilling from your chapped lips to anybody who was willing to listen until your voice was hoarse and your throat begged for some kind of relief, all to assure that their memories didn't die alongside you.
Or would the weight of their last wishes be too much for you to bear all alone?
{But that boys been gone for a long time now, hasn't he?}
Or maybe you're just like everyone else and only pretend to care about the others? Maybe you really only care about yourself, living for your own much more selfish reasons.
{Because I don't know this Monster who only ever seems to smile when someone is bleeding out beneath its claws. Whose ugly laugh I couldn't even recognize anymore as it dangled a sobbing child by their hair, their desperate pleas to please let them go going unheard beneath its odd, raspy cackling.}
Could it be the fear of what's waiting for you on the other side that keeps you alive? The paralyzing fear of what could be lying in wait for you beyond the veil outweighing the promise of otherworldly peace that the syrupy sweet voice offers?
Or would it be the lack of fear remaining that lets you finally give up? The chance that they could possibly be there, waiting patiently for you to find them again on the other side, letting you fall into the unknown with a hopeful heart?
{I don't know this Monster who is proud to have people quivering at its feet anytime it so much as breathes in their direction.}
Or maybe it's something as simple as a bout of childish spite? Full of so much bitterness and anger that you just can't figure out how to express it without someone there to hold your hand and walk you through it like a useless toddler.
{I don't know this Monster who treats me like I'm an invalid, like I'm nothing more than an annoying fleck of dirt stuck beneath its claws.}
Could it be that you're only living to keep the memory of your old self alive? To remember the boy whose body may have been beaten and bruised beyond recognition, but who's eyes shone with an inner fire as he kept fighting to survive just because they said he couldn't? For the boy who was desperate to just be loved, yet was forced to watch as his loved ones abandoned him one by one, saying he was too different for them to accept?
Or would you force them to accept the truth? To dig your claws in and force them to acknowledge the new you? To make them realize how they never even noticed when your once contagious smile turned to angry sneers and snapping teeth? To make them realize that the heart that they used to say was made of precious gold is now battered and warped beyond recognition from the anger that burns through your veins. To make them realize that you're different, and there's nothing that they can do to fix it?
{I don't know this Dolos, and I don't think I want to.}
But, maybe that's the key to all of this. No matter how much you may change, you never planned on living in a world without them in it.
{Please, Visão. I know you're still in there somewhere. Just come back to me, and we can fix all of this.}
Maybe you're only living simply because you don't know how to do anything else.
{Please, Nox. I'm scared.}