>>start://_easteregg08>>epilogue03

>>warning: mutually-exclusive event 03
 

    It was gray morning, steel tinted, with a rain that persisted on and off as a slight drizzle that did more to dampen than to actually soak. Springtime would not be in effect for several more weeks here, this midsized town surrounded by woods that possessed no buildings taller than a few stories, and only one cemetary.
    A taxi cab from the nearest train station delivered upon the town two boys, aged 12 and 16, both in dark suits and resolutely silent, even in no one's presence but their own. Residents could not quite place the air that existed between the two, some sort of awkward, embarrassed affection too old to be sudden acquaintances and too young to be something best neither seen nor heard.
    In which case, they had to be brothers. That seemed the only plausible explanation, despite the lack of resemblance.
    The older one was of average height, and the term "sturdy" came to mind for all aspects of his build, as if he was a piece of architecture to be tested for resilience. He had longish, flyaway hair that probably never stayed flat. And most significantly, an aura of seriousness very seldom seen in a person his age.
    The younger one gave the impression of having resigned himself early in life to a fate of being diminuitive, pale and weak, and carried himself appropriately; he wore glasses, the very fact of which seemed to fill him with disdain, and he must have been constantly in trouble with teachers for his hair, one streak of which must have been bleached to pure white, because clearly no child that age could already be going gray.
    There were stories, of course, of sudden trauma causing such a phenomenon, but that was the stuff of movies. What little child could actually be so damaged? And anyway, he looked relatively content standing next to the boy that the townsfolk presumed had to have been his brother.
    They walked the mile or so to the cemetary, that stood roughly apart from most of the town and sectioned off by high fences. The older one may have held the little one's hand but for the latter's pride. When they arrived, they did not wander for long, quickly coming to stop before a grave quite recently filled, as early as that past winter, with the seed just beginning to sprout over the packed soil. The gravestone was spartan, absent any sort of religious marker, just the name and dates of birth and death.

Seki Gecchou
1986-2011
Rest in Peace
    At this place the two brothers stood in silence for a long time. There was intent clearly evident in their stillness; a long memorium, devoted and focused, not the lost and questioning expression of most mourners. Those who knew the deceased, at least what they thought was fairly well. There was also something else, which was not so easily determined because so few people living could remember the times of heavy warfare, but it was unmistakable for any military man. It was the stance of soldiers honoring a dead comrade.
    After some time the two boys seemed to become aware of another presence standing off to their right, and quietly turned their heads. A young woman, probably no older than 19, was standing beside the grave as well, clad in black, veil in front of her face. She grasped a bouquet of lillies in her hands so tightly it might choke them, but it was several minutes before she crouched down and laid the bouquet to rest by the gravestone. A process which both boys watched without comment.
    She noticed them as well, and a spark of recognition was there, however dimmed as if weakened out by a wind. She was in no hurry for the discovery to take over her senses, to have her turn and walk toward the two, fix the older boy with the stare of death itself.
    "Kite," said Aquamarine.
    The teenager nodded once, in confirmation.
    A sharp crack, as her hand shot out, slapping him fast and hard across the cheek, the thin promise ring on her finger scraping the skin and drawing a thin line of blood the boy did not move to wipe away.
    She left soon after, half-running and half-sliding over the damp grass for the gates. She did not make another sound.
    The younger boy, watching her retreating figure, turned abruptly and looked up at his companion, who only belatedly met his gaze. And it did nothing, because there was nothing to read in each others' expressions that had not already been there. The pain and the sadness and the grief and the guilt, and the terrible knowledge that there was nothing to be said or done to make it better.
    Some things can't be made better.
 


<<end://_easteregg08<<epilogue03

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