Dust

Colors of three a.m. have traveled through the sky like a disease as I sit here, under an overwhelming gathering of branches and leaves. They look gray to me right now. Everything is dark and gray. I still don't know why I am here, Ladies and Gentlemen. I am here and alone and cold in a dust storm.

"It's time, Stephanie."

My wobbly legs stand for the first time in probably a day or so. They are strong legs, though. Strong legs that have ran and ran and ran. My legs were useful in life; much more useful than my hands. These cracked and dry hands could not even hold on for –

"You look good. Almost well-rested."

I have not slept. Sleep is not a place I want to be, for I will see the nightmares.

We travel down a hill, passing wheelbarrows full of wood. We pass through a field where the rest of them are, waiting in cloth of mourning. Waiting for me.

And yet I wait for him.

"I think Bessie's house is coming along nicely," Trixie says. "One more week and the damage will be gone."

Stingy pipes up, "They can fix my place too."

"C'mon, Stingy," Pixel says. "Hers was the only one to be reached by any debri."

I walk along a straight line with lace pouring from a headband over my face. I have roses in my hand, but they have been sitting out with me on a hill for a day. They are not as vibrant anymore.

My ears fill with a familiar sound that only plays on sad days. I block it out. I see differently; I see the sun breaking through the tree tops, shining on my white gown. I see my smile breaking everyone's heart because they will never be as happy as I am. I see Robbie, alive in a black tuxedo, winking and blushing and yearning to kiss me.

But alas, I am wrong.

"We are here today." An old man begins talking, but coughs in the middle of his sentence. "We are here today to honor a man who has changed the way we view heroism entirely."

Sportacus pats my back.

Am I crying again?

"A man who had given his life to save a young woman whom he had fallen in love with."

I drop my flowers – Robbie is standing beside me.

"-A man who loved cake."

Robbie kisses my cheek.

"-and in the end, saved all of Lazytown from being destroyed."

Robbie takes my hand.

The old man looks at me. He says, "I believe Stephanie would like to say something about Robbie?"

"It's good to be bad," Robbie whispers into my ear.

A long silence causes all of my friends to stare at me. I wonder if they can see him too. Can they see how much he loved me by reading the gravestone? Can they feel the love he warmed me with by holding dirt to sprinkle over his coffin?

"Well?" The Old Priest furrows his eyebrow.

My lips part. I squeeze Robbie's hand.

"I have to go."

My black lace lays on the grass, blades cutting through it like blood through a child's scraped knee. My black jacket is thrown into the wheelbarrow full of wood. My arms fly into the air and I feel cool grass on my ankles.

And I run.

I run with Robbie, away. Into The Forest.

.end.

A/N:Hello, my loves! I know, sad. But I want to thank you all for everything. This story has awoken my writing-self. So, thank you.