the cruelest month is here
She carries hyacinths in a basket before her, stepping once twice thrice down the cobbled path with stone effigies and words to be forgotten surrounding her. Air has an airy feeling about it, ethereal and with glowing halo around mourning persons before those monuments to small men and tiny women.

(their lives meant nothing, you see, because they died before spring came)

The seer she spoke to today said to pack up the problems and to cross Thames, to say goodbye to her issues with life and living, to move on before the dog dug her up, yipping in excitement all the while. She said in return, for the seer to remove herself from this life of servitude, and to do something worthwhile before the flames doubled and rose to unattainable heights.

(cupid stood behind Madame Sosostris, waving in timidity and smiling in joy, eyes saying that he will be replaced soon by a taller and darker man of extreme faith)

Family of hers stand in front of a stone pillar, not too high but high enough to make a statement, and cry and cry and cry. She stands behind them with the hyacinths, and waits.

Little brother, holding his wrecked toy boat in both hands, staring vacantly at the carved words with lips forming their own statements. Pseudo-mother, smoothes her hair as she weeps in too late caring with maternal lamentation. Father father father, shoulders shaking in terror and sorrow, but nothing showing on those glittering eyes of his, other than the glitter and shine.

Never there mother, not there again because she's rather put on a record and dance the night away, than watch the glitter and the weeping and the desolate youth holding his last gift from his lovely sister.

(and then they leave, the pseudo-mother whispering hurry up please it's time, and the boy murmuring goodnight goodnight ta ta goodnight in return)

They walk through her, the flowers as transparent as she. She reads the unblocked words, loving sister and daughter and girl and child, will be missed for as long as we remember her, amen amen amen god loves thee amen amen amen.

She stares at those words for a long while, the hyacinths wilting as time goes by. No hunger or thirst trespasses against her, no evil to be returned to the heavenly lord in the sky who comprises of a large hand and nothing much else.

(bells chime the time in tall towers far off from her universe, and then he is standing next to her)

Do not surrender, my darling, he tells her, leather-clad fingers drifting through her back and forth, back and forth. You are half faerie now, just because you stayed on the surface world rather than move on to the over world. Come with me, and we'll make you whole again.

She drops the basket of flowers, scattering the petals and crumbling to dust, and lolls her head towards him, thinking oh so hard that if she really tried, she could hear the ocean and the seagulls in his breaths. Can I at least finish up here, she asks, mouth opening and closing through the motions as she remembers the actions that were natural back when she wasn't see-through/

Those eyes with pearls in them, those pits of anger and retribution and passion and raw, they flash in morse code while he laughs and calls her a silly girl.

(after all, she is dead, and she has nothing more to do here)