°•The Memorial•°

The morning rain pattered against umbrellas and a cover which protected a young man with orange hair from becoming completely soaked. He stood beside a picture of a woman who's smile was brighter than the sun's rays, and her fiery hair only a testimony to the soul she possessed which had previously been burning with passion and joy.

Two elderly versions of this young man stood beside him, holding an arm around each of his shoulders.

"She was a wonderful woman, always helping others even if that put her at a disadvantage. I was pretty awful to her..." His fists's clenched at his sides, eyes tightly shut. "I didn't deserve her in my life. Lots of us didn't deserve her kindness or compassion. I know that I didn't deserve her forgiveness and... I know I wasn't a good brother to her. She deserved so much more support and so many more opportunities."

His eyes lingered on the photo displayed before the few people who had attended this memorial service. "Even now, this isn't what she deserves. She would've wanted us to remember her with a happy nostalgia... not... not this."

Damien blinked away the stinging sensation in his eyes that threatened to produce tears. He had no right to cry over someone who he never taken the time to value when they were alive. He didn't have the right to mourn someone who he never properly had the change to get to know out of his own pride and stubbornness.

His mother sighed, tugging on his shoulder and  stepping ahead of him. Looking at the few friends and relatives that had gathered together on this morning. The woman's somber smile was slightly blurred by the raindrops that fell in front of the audience members' eyes, but nonetheless highlighted the bags sagging u der her eyes.

"What my son was trying to say was that Caroline was the best person we've known. She was the best daughter I could've asked for— she always took care of me," a breathy chuckle escaped her lips. "Especially now that my bones are getting old. She was someone who made me wonder if I had been good enough for her. I know she would've made a wonderful mother, because she always gave me a reason to improve myself. I spent my life trying to be the best mother for her, to be able to supply for everything she wanted and more. Ever since she was little she wanted to be a hero, and I never doubted her for a second." A trembling finger wiped away the tear which had begun falling across her wrinkled skin. "I told her that if she couldn't be anyone else's hero she was mine."

A sniffle could be heard coming from the front row of seats placed before the small tent-like structure.

"Of course, that didn't last... she was lots of our heroes, not just mine." The woman's eyes locked onto a pair of irises, glassy, the color of wet mud. "She was more than a hero, though. She was my daughter. She would be a mystery to some, but to me... she was a girl who loved unconditionally, forgave, shared even when she did not have enough for herself, and tried to be more than she was for the sake of others."

As the aged mother stepped back, her husband took her place, his face hard, though his shaky fingers and wet eyes betrayed him.

"I wish we had more time to spend together, but as Caroline's memory shows us, we don't, so I'll try to be brief." Their son's somber eyes remained on the floor as he hugged his mother, who's body had been overtaken by silent sobs.

"As cliché as it sounds, she was taken from us far too soon, far too quickly." His fingers brushed the picture frame, daring not to stain it with his calloused hands. "I never got to be her hero. She was the one that was always there for me. I never got to ask if... if maybe she thought I was her hero, and I never will. I remember one time, after a stressful day at work I just sat in her room watching her draw something. It looked so beautiful! It was a butterfly coming out if it's cocoon, and if I hadn't seen her make it with her own hands I would've thought it was a black and white photograph... she said, 'what is it, dad?' I was just so proud that I had raised someone so talented and respectful that I cried. Maybe it was the stress.."

His broken laugh was short lived, and his hair has become tousled from all the times his hands had run through it. "'What's wrong?' She asked, and I just smiled at her. I hadn't even said anything but she gave me a hug and told me that one day she was going to come out of her cocoon like a butterfly and scare away all of our worries and problems with her bright wings." Nobody dared to speak, not even the man himself. The memories everyone shared, they were all to fragile, too easy to lose. People forget things despite trying their hardest to remember. Even when they grip the memories so hard that their fingers turn numb, the scenes still manage to melt in their fingers and drop into an abyss.

The death of Caroline reminded these people that even the most precious, non material things could fall through your hands. No amount of care or attention will stop death; no amount of smiles will save a relationship from an unexpected end— and regrets will not stop a tragedy just because you did not take the risk to fix your mistakes. Just because you never took a chance.

Yasu, in that moment, understood that if she did not change many things, and soon, she would die. The ever-tightening noose around her neck that closed around her trachea every passing day would be her demise. She knew since she was eleven years old that she would always be near death, both physically and mentally— but the brunette had never expected it to leak into the people she had been around, both past and present.

Of course, the end of a life is inevitable. It is the only thing constant in anyone's life, and the only thing one can look forward to with unshakable certainty.

Still, she has tricked herself into believing that some people were immune.

After the words of Caroline's closest family members, nobody had moved to speak, and Yasu refused to approach the family. It was almost painful enough to have sat right in front of them as anyone could see the waves of despair and sadness rolling off the grieving parents. Instead, her muddy eyes landed on her cousin's, a blink of acknowledgement and disappointment being shared by both of them before she turned and hobbled away.

Nemuri had watched the exchange between the two relatives, a pang evident in her heart. Most people believed she was only good for sex or lewd comments, but Yasu had allowed her to be a part of her life, one of the few people the Suzukaze spoke to about matters concerning the heart, and things that troubled her. It pained Nemuri to see her push away her family. She hadn't even said hello to her own parents or sister when she got here, just sitting down and staring forward. She felt honored when Yasu asked if she would attend with her, saying that she didn't want to be alone. At first, she refused of course. This wasn't somebody that she had personally been close to, and felt as if she would be intruding, but after speaking to Yasu a second time, Nemuri agreed.

Even now she felt out of place, not knowing anyone besides Yasu's immediate family and Damien, but she wouldn't leave without her headstrong friend. Besides, who would drive her home?

"I'm ready to go. Sorry for dragging you all the way over here."

A bland voice made its way past Nemuri's ear, dragging her out of the pool of thoughts she had almost drowned in.

"Of course, love. There's no need to apologize for something I agreed to— now let's get you some coffee and pie and get you home. What do you think?"

The smile that graced Yasu's features told the older woman all she needed to know, and they proceeded to do just that. All the while, Yasu couldn't help but think about her own morbid thoughts.

'Am I ready to die...? What would be missed... can I even live a happy life before I die? Wouldn't things be simpler if I had died instead of her...'