The Pseudo Semicolon

CHAPTER 1: The Funeral

Devland:
He wasn't really sure what to do except wrap an arm around his weeping mother. His brother's corpse was being lowered to the ground, the sea of black was churning with whispers, probably about who would be the next heir to the multi-million dollar company his parents founded.

The family of three stood nearest to the coffin, trembling with grief. Devland gently patted his mother's shoulder, letting his left shoulder soak in the rain as his father tilted the umbrella towards his mother's side. 

This was wrong. He was supposed to feel something here; He was supposed to cry, to yell in anger, to show some kind of reaction other than stony indifference, to feel some kind of sadness.

But he couldn't.

The murky grey sky blurred the edges of the horizon as mist hung at tree canopies. The rain pitter-pattered against the umbrellas and churned with the soil, turning into puddles that people did not dare step on. His mother's claw-like nails dug into his waist as she clung onto him tightly, crying onto his shoulder.

"It's okay mom." It was not okay. Nothing would ever be okay.

"You're gonna be alright." She is never going to be alright. She was never alright.

Devland clenched his teeth, his eyes wandering towards the cemetery entrance and a vivid memory of seeing the curly black metallic gates flashed through his mind's eye. He was younger back then, six years old barely. He was biking around with his brother, laughing and squealing as the wind picked up and slammed against his cheeks.

That was ten years ago.

So much changed within those years, like the fact that his brother would ever commit suicide. His sunshine brother, his perfect brother, his talk-about-your-feelings-over-icecream brother. No he would never do that. Never.

Devland stared at the thicket of bushes at the far edge of the cemetery, right before the forest consumed the land. 'Max will jump out from behind them.' Devland thought, 'He's gonna come out of there and call off this annoying business. He's gonna do that any second now.'

Any second.

***

It's been a while since Devland came back to Halderberry, the little sleepy town planted somewhere deep in the Canadian forests. After his parents' divorce, his mom had packed up and dragged him out of the door, never looking back upon their blue-walled home.

It used to be a small house; with creaky stairs and paper butterflies stuck to the fridge. All of that is gone now. The house that Devland used to call home is vastly different to the house sitting behind the bricked wall; It was sleek and black and glossy, with huge glass-paned windows and cool new lamps.

"Are you sure you wanna take this room?" His father asked as Devland sat down on the bed, it bounced slightly.

"It's Max's isn't it?" Devland guessed, noticing the glint of the hundreds of trophies parked inside a huge shelf. There was also a separate shelf for books, a small study table and a window that overlooked the lake behind their house.

The room was painted red.

Devland laid back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling with the white fan slowly rotating. He didn't actually need it considering it was raining heavily outside and it was cold, but it was annoying without it.

His father still hasn't answered him.

"Should I take another room, dad?" Dad. The word tasted so foreign.

"I-Wha-No, no, its fine! Whatever you want..." It seemed like he wanted to say something at the end, but he couldn't bring himself to. So Devland finished the sentence for him in his mind. Whatever you want, son.

"Thanks."

"You don't have to go to school tomorrow if you don't want to." Devland's father watched him with those piercing grey eyes, so unfamiliar. Devland simply shrugged.

"Mom would get mad."

"She can't possibly expect you to be in a condition to attend school—I can talk to her if you want."

"It's fine." Devland took out his phone from his pocket and turned it on. Lots of notifications from all the different social media apps he was in flooded his lockscreen, all containing most of the same messages. He ignored them and turned on some music, letting it fill the haunted spaces inside the room, filling every crevice.

"Call me if you need something, I'll be in my office. You're smart enough to figure out where that is right?"

"Definitely." Devland chuckled softly, "Bye." He slept on this very bed.

"Goodnight." And he left, leaving Devland alone with the ghost.

Devland merely sighed, the music blaring so loudly he couldn't hear himself think. He decided to open up his laptop and do some research. It lasted until 6:00am in the morning and only when the birds outside his window perched on his windowsill did he realise that time had marched on without him.

"Fuck." Devland cursed, carefully observing the pigeons sitting on his windowsill, cooing softly and examining the boy with their big round eyes.

"Daniel?" Devland suggested, clearly too sleep-deprived and deaf to hear himself think. One out of the two pigeons lifted its head up ever so slightly and Devland nodded before focusing on his other feathered friend, ".....Steve. You look like a Steve."

Daniel merely looked at him, probably wondering what the fuck the human was saying. He had a small ring tied to one of his feet, it glinted under the dark sky. Meanwhile, Steve merely rummaged for worms on the bottom rail, his signature white spots scattered over the top of his head, forming a white cap.

"No wormies there lil' buddy." Devland tutted, mentally rethinking the word 'wormies' and wondering if he should add it to his daily vocabulary, "I do have some grains if you want."

He raced out of his room and immediately came back with the grains, leaving a mess in the kitchen and ignoring his parents passed out drunk on the couch. He settled it on the jutted out section and moved away, patiently waiting for the pigeons to consume it.

Both of them were wary at first, but eventually munched on them. Devland chuckled lightly but kept a watchful eye on the crow, slowly observing the innocent pigeons from afar, its piercing black eyes glaring at the tiny prey.

Devland decided to get ready for the day, ignoring the fact that he got merely two hours of sleep yesterday from his journey here and took a shower. He was careful to match his outfits with his shoes, cursing and ruffling the contents of his suitcase whenever he couldn't find something that matched his attire.

Devland took special care in the way he looked to people. He was the second son, the second heir to the fortune, and he had to dress like one. But at this moment, he was supposed to look like he was grieving.

Was he grieving?

Devland didn't know. The truth was Devland didn't know most things despite reading so many encyclopaedias from when he was young. Like sure he could tell people about the different types of animals that lived in the Mariana trench but he would falter whenever he said sorry, realising that he didn't know how the other person was feeling and merely pretending to.

Devland shook his head and put on a random outfit, ignoring the mess he made (Again).

He walked down the stairs and went straight towards the fridge, taking out a loaf of bread and some Nutella. His eyes wandered towards his sleeping mother as he munched on his food.

Dammit.

Devland liked to think he was strong, but after dragging his mom from the couch to the bed and cleaning up the mess, he was exhausted. He checked his phone and groaned as he realised he missed the bus. His father had insisted on a chauffeur but Devland refused.

He was regretting that decision dearly.