sorry if you're confused

this is the last chapter. And i apologize for the delay...Writers block.....and i have braces behind my teeth! WTF PPL!?!?! lol


It was the day of his funeral. Mist and fog covered every corner of the cemetery. Girls dressed in black. Black gowns. Black Hats. Black Veils.. Black gloves. As for the men, A simple black tuxedo was not uncommon. Kurma stood by Botan's side, staring blankly at the closed caskett, pretending to hear the priest give Hiei's troubling life story.

Before he knew it, they played His funeral song. Something the entire gang had agreed on. Kurama lifted his face for the wind to caress and eagerly took in the words.

This is the first
(thing I remember)
Now it's the last
(thing left on my mind)
Afraid of the dark
(do you hear me whisper)
An empty heart
(replaced with paranoia)
Where do we go
(life's temporary)
After we're gone
(like new years resolutions)
Why is this hard
(do you recognize me)
I know I'm wrong
(but I can't help believing)

I'm so lost
I'm barely here
I wish I could explain myself
But words escape me
It's too late
To save me
You're too late
You're too late

You're cold with disappointment
While I'm drowning in the next room
The last contagious victim of this plague between us
I'm sick with apprehension
I'm crippled from exhaustion
And I dread the moment when you finally come to kill me

As the final chord of the guitar echoed into the distance, Kurama lowered his head. The priest talked to some bishops standing beside him. After chattering in Italian for a few minutes, they opened the coffin for the world to see. Kurama gasped with surprise. Hiei looked so peaceful. It was as if nothing had even happened to him. Kurama walked slowly to the grave and kneeled beside his friend.

He placed black roses on his chest, touched his hand, and headed for his car. He couldn't bear to watch his friends break down. Even Yusuke was wailing like a baby.

Kurama slammed the car door shut and sped off into the fog, past the unseen. He was driving so fast, 200 kilometers per hour. He knew exactly where he was heading. It was a place. An old one. One which he liked to call "the point of no return."