Cabanela's blood was ice burning through his veins. He stood to the side as faceless guests took their seats in broken lines. Only red and lavender stood out—a success in arrangements and another checkbox to tick off in the lifeline of tasks.
His gaze wandered to settle on an empty and meaningless patch of grass. As words rang out over the sombre silence, he faded, sinking down into memories where real truth lay. Only when the words stopped did he surface again into the wrong world.
Theirs was a silent exchange in the sudden noise and scattering chaos of departure. Her look was one of sad sympathy and he couldn't say what he returned. Each of Her tears was a blunt knife scraping off stone walls, as he guided them away from these dark rows.
He saw them through the gates they had no business passing through. He saw them to the car and their escape and another box was checked.
As he stood alone in front of a single grey stone, tracing the impossible letters with his eyes, this distortion in reality became clearer and he knew only one thing. There was a single path to slice through this twisted reality. A bend to straighten and the rest would follow in one hole instead of two. Simple math. One and one didn't make three, but two could face one's absence.
One would breathe free again, stripped of unearned guilt.
So he would go, minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day. He would go week by week by month. He would go. And go.