Deluge of Desolation | l. ackerman

Night Bars, Good Friend

(chapter twenty three)

Felix had passed on the morrow.

It was earlier than expected. That's what the doctors said, anyway. I think they knew his death date was much closer than the estimation they gave us, but I assume they decided to foster as much hope within the Segen family as possible. I found that cruel, however. Giving the mourning false hope only to seed the worst type of anguish inside of the poor souls— it was sickening. But what was I to do? It wasn't my profession. I couldn't chastise those who work dreadful hours to help the needy for simply doing their job, even if it was slightly unethical.

Now, however, I feel as though I am reveling in both the anger of the repulsing deeds those nurses had committed and the terrible, premature death of my beloved Felix.

After Felix's untimely funeral (in which about a hundred people, soldiers and citizens alike, gathered for), the Segen's had left back for their village, one member short of their quaint little family. I had given Fergus a heartfelt farewell (as I had felt it to be) but he was despondent and hurt and nothing I said would get him out of his thoughts. I left him with a pat on his head and Felix's framed Scouting cape that was battered and teared, but ultimately free of blood stains. My arm was sore after the intense scrubbing I gave it.

It seemed we had all left a part of ourselves back with Felix at Flanders Field; some more than others yet we were all changed nonetheless.

It was quieter at HQ, that was obvious. Few squads remind, along with the commander and new recruits. The Scouts' loss was harrowing. The figures in which Levi informed me of our lowered numbers had my heart sinking to the floor and myself questioning whether victory is probable in the cold forthcoming of war.

Without Levi's squad of good men, Miche's fallen unit and majority of our elites (i.e. Nanaba, Gelgar, Ness, Felix, etcetera), the renowned legion of the Survey Corps has very quickly been looking at the possibilities of a disbandment, despite our new-found enemies. Hange's squad was still standing proud though, and they wasted little time in continuing their duties. Being the empathetic and moral person she is, Hange gave me two weeks for recovery, both mentally and physically. I tried to convince her I was fine so I could distract myself from the demonical thoughts that began to plague my mind after Felix's passing, but she had none of it and forced me to rest.

Now as my two week prohibition is soon to end, I have based myself in only a few places where I knew my doleful memories would cease to find me. They may not have been the best of places to recover, but I cared so little for my health at that point, so I easily slid back glasses of whatever the cheapest ale was on the menu.

Sitting outside in the chilled evening with a cigarette loosely hanging out of my mouth and a guitar in hand, I tuned the instrument with nimble fingers, half paying attention to my task and half watching the small waves of townsfolk pass by. I always fancied the little town of Fürth. Ever since visiting it on my first day off as a Scout and even now, the quaint liveliness of the market town always fostered a small sense of hope in me where I believed that, perhaps one day, I could be carelessly walking down the cobbled streets like so many other folk do with my loved ones.

Now as I sit here, however, with our lovely Felix buried six feet under, I find myself losing that sense of hope. Who's to say I won't be next— or Milo or Levi? This world is unforgiving. Dreams are fickle, our lives even more so.

I was half-way through my second cigarette when the other chair at the small table in which I sat became occupied. Looking to the one who quietly appeared before me, I saw none other than Levi who was glaring at the stick in my mouth and the bottle of mead that sat nearly empty on the wooden table. He was garbed in his casual wear, similar to myself.