Stars

Dreaming

        In the distance, I hear the song of the sea whispering in my ear- gently caressing my mind with the solid comfort of such a vast world for escape so close. It lie so near that the white streaks of foam were visible on the horizon, the moonlight setting a soft glow on the waves. Luna hung directly above in a thin, angled crescent, the velvety halo surrounding it casting a whole new mood on the surroundings; made of molten silver. A balmy breeze fluttered past, wiping away the heat that was beginning to settle- fringed with a chill. Stars arced above the sea, a nebula glinting through adding colour- purples, green, and blue so strangely still in this ever changing world. I closed my eyes, feeling my lips naturally parting and letting the wind blow a thin tendril of hair over my brow. For a second, I almost remembered that time when everything was fine. I hadn't realized how perfect everything had been untill my life had taken such a terrible turn. As that thought crept into my brain, I felt my mood go dark again, the serenity cast away to a faraway place. As reality washed over, the soft grin escaped from my lips, pressing together once more into a hard line. The image flashed through my dark vision of the last sight that of my brother before he was blown to pieces by the bomb. Luckily, I was spared within the Crystal Dome where I attended school. Many of my classmates from the 600 pupil classroom were still alive and healthy although some were critically injured in the process of evacuation; exposed to radioactivity, falling beams and shards of crystal. In fact, my brother had been one of those who had been on the west side of the building- where the Dome had collapsed, killing nearly everybody.

It was nearly dusk by the time I gathered my courage to go see my brother's grave. Swallowing hard, I prepared myself for the sight as I tread past the tents, piles of emergency equipment, the hospital with a trail of trampled grass leading to the smell of blood and bodies. Only slightly past the stretchers and wash piles of blood I was able to see the spark of colour in this blandly beige setting. Flowers. White roses to signify purity and love, the last remaining daffodils that were sparsely scavenged over the hills, and some with nothing. Gravestones were chunks of sandstone found near the beach cliffs, letters carved roughly into the surface, illegible. The lineup went on too far over the hill, the ones with bodies closer to where soft dirt could be found and those with nothing left; just a stone with their name, were on the end, neatly in rows- at least thirty. Many bodies were beyond recognition, a splatter of muscle against a wall- nothing to bury, so the missing were assumed dead and all had a carving of their name lined up with the others. My brother was one of those who had not been found, although the entire group was presumably dead- they reported charred remains of too many children in the vicinity of his classroom. Now, the only thing I have left of him is a name on a rock.

I was hardly aware of my own feet as I maneuvered around the cemetery, freshly turned dirt in too small of piles. The smallest graves were the saddest to see. The ones without a lovers flowers nestled at its side. Those graves were the heaviest to bear. In the distance, the sea rested as it always was, golden light glittering on each churning peaks. It was always there and unchanging- my one solid sight that I could always rely on seeing again. Peering back down, I searched for his rock among the rest, second row eighth column. Thee it was, half buried with sand and dust from the constantly blowing winds these days. I brushed the grains from its abrasive surface, taking a bit of the soft stone with it, sand falling into the grooves. Even after visiting the grave seemingly hundreds of times, I couldn't overcome the sight of his name.

Benji Holpain

My brother.

I knelt, the hard Earth rubbing against the cotton fabric over my knees. My legs tensed in response to the dizziness I felt upon seeing his name, it was a familiar sight for I had visited often since the bombing, yet seeing it made my mind echo it's syllables. Reading it over and over and over and over, I could maybe hear his voice, and mine intermingling back in the times when everything was fine.

"Benji." Barely breathing it over the sound of the wind, I couldn't even hear it, and yet it's feel on my tongue was most powerful, bringing back the painful memory that he had asked to stay home that day. Benji was starting to sniffle despite the precautions we took to keep sickness at bay. If I hadn't made him go to class, he might have survived. Our apartment was in the far eastern side of the community and we both may have survived. I watched the shadow that my body cast across the dry land, huddled and shaking with cold and the pain of losing him.

Ugh.

I clenched my teeth and squeezed my eyes together, craving the sensation of the sting behind my left eye, signaling the arrival of tears. I had already cried too much these last few days. I deserved to have to hold back my tears and feel my own blame crash over me, eat me out painfully until I am nothing. Because I let Benji die. By now, I could hardly feel the abrasive stone in my hand, it fit so nicely in my palm, his name shadowing across my palm. It hurt like a knife to the heart to have to put it back, so I didn't. Hesitating, my hand quivered around the jacket flap, my long brown fingers hardly able to unzip. Discreetly tucking it into the inside pocket it drooped- weighing down the fabric, the weight of his death. I started to stand, the horizon shaking as tears budded, clouding the sight. Knees stiff, I turned, eyes down towards the encampment, feeling like a grave robber although I was nothing of the sort. It's not like that spot was particularly sacred or bore any relation to his death. It should belong with me, it's safer that way. Right?