A Flame Gone

LiL Pippin Padfoot

Disclaimer: Don't own!

A/N: a good friend of mine just died, and I'm venting all my feelings into this. Just sort of think of it as Roger to April.


Gone.

So sudden, so tragic. It seemed impossible, that they were there one day, touching that chair, leaning against that wall, and then they're gone, and they will never be doing that again.

Because they're gone, and you can never bring them back. All the happy memories you shared, gone like a wisp of smoke.

At first you cry, hoping your tears will bring them back, even though deep inside you know that's not true.

But you still cry.

Then, when all your tears are dried, what do you do? When you are completely washed of emotions and you feel like an empty shell, what do you do?

You let more tears come.

The Funeral. What comes next.

Everyone insists they look good, never looked better.

They lie. Once you die, you're not allowed to look like yourself. You lay there, eyes closed, hands neatly folded. Not yourself.

Your skin isn't glowing, it seems faded and pale. Like a candle whose flame has been put out. Dead, dull. Your face seems unrealistic. Not really your own.

People say you look calm, happy.

I know better.

You never slept like that, perfect and arranged. You're hair was always sticking up in odd places, your mouth would be open, you'd be drooling, and of course, let's not forget snoring.

This isn't you sleeping. You don't look real, you can't be real. None of this is real!

People like to call this stage denial.

I call it delusional. It's more like at the beginning, when the tears fall, and don't stop.

And it seems like they never will.

Into the ground.

This part is surreal. They have closed the casket on your beautiful face. One that the world will now never know. We watch, speechless, tears streaming as they lower you down.

And I want to scream, yell, pull the coffin out, pull you out, and hold onto you. I want to yell that you can't be dead, that God should take me, not you.

Why did you do it?

Why didn't I make it in time?

Could I have saved you?

These questions run through my mind, making my head throb, and making me helpless.

Someone, most likely Mark, leads me back, away from you. I want to go back. I never want to leave. Not till someone yells "April fools!" Which was always your favorite saying.

I know it won't happen. I sit down in the car, and it feels like a prison. A cage. A coffin. Coffin. Death. You. April. Why?

And then reality hits me.

You are gone and you are never coming back.

I turn once more, looking at the freshly churned dirt, where you are know. And I mouth one last thought out the window.

I miss you, April.


Rest in Peace, Mike, we all loved you.