Worth The Shot

The Eplilogue

I hope you like this real-life recording of Bruno's song, Lace Up My Wings. ^^^^ :)

BACK TO THE STORY (one last time)

"We're here to talk about Bruno."

Sunlight shimmered in Camilo's dark hair, lighting it a fiery copper. The birds swooping through the sky tittered cheerfully. Delicious wind flowed through your sleeves. It was a perfect autumn day.

How incongruous with a funeral.

"I loved my Tio," Camilo continued, his posture firm and jawset grave, "Because he was a trier. People didn't always like him. Fate didn't always fall his way. But he tried. And when people accepted his love, he loved fiercely."

Burying Bruno felt odd, like a story extinguished before the climax. Bruno had been insecure, sad, and dejected up until his death. Aren't characters supposed to conquer their deepest hurt? Aren't only the happy, the beautiful, the golden ones supposed to die early?

"His sacrifice saved Mirabel. He saved me." Camilo swallowed tightly, frown lines grooving an eleven between his eyebrows. The black suit jacket clinging too his arms was slightly too small around the shoulders. Camilo had obviously grown since he last tugged it on. You all had grown.

"I wish I could bring him back. But sometimes wishes can't come true." Camilo had stopped prosing to the crowd. His hands stiffly rested by his sides and he studied the coffin as if half-expecting Bruno to clumsily sit upright. "Tio, I'll miss you. You deserved better than this."

It was an awkward mourning, an ineloquent speech. Silently, the citizens of the encanto shuffled forward to cast fistfuls of dirt over Bruno's coffin. Alma, clad in a heavy, black shawl, led the village, her frail fingers trembling. With remorse? With regret? Perhaps just with grief for the cruel end of her only son.

Cold dirt slipped through your fingers, sprinkling on the coffin below. Bitter sadness for the man who had hated himself crushed your ribs.

Goodbye, Bruno. I'm sorry it never got better.

Behind you, Camilo hastily scooped dirt into his hand, spilling it into the hole as if he couldn't wait to finish the awful affair. But when his hand released, he stood crystallized, his light hazel eyes flicking back and forth in unfocused grief.

Valeria patiently waited, blinking at Camilo with uncharacteristic understanding. Tears shone in her eyes as she half-smiled at you. "My new fish just died. Bruno was right all along."

"I'm sorry for your loss," you apologetically mumbled, nodding quickly before shouldering toward Camilo's straightened frame.

His forced, stiff posture bore an uncanny resemblance to Alma's unnatural composure. Funny what grief does to people.

"You ready to go?" Mirabel whispered, touching his elbow with her bandaged-wrapped hand. Yellowed gauze twined around her arms, the last remnant of her golden disease. The recovery of the miracle had gently breathed health into her sallow cheeks. But reddened tissue scars marred her pocked facial skin where her own poison blood had eaten through. A permanent reminder of her suffering.

Camilo startled awake, regarding Mirabel for a moment. He inhaled a shuddering breath, then glided the calloused palm of his hand against yours. "Yeah, let's go."

When you curled your fingers tightly around his, Camilo squeezed back with a near-crushing grip. You didn't let go.

"Do you think he's out there?" Camilo said later that night, his knees pulled tight against his chest. From the sandy-tiled rooftop, the stars exploded across the black sky, tiny diamonds spilled over a carpet.