Promise Me ➵ Newt [3]

TWENTY THREE | the end

A day just after Thomas woke up, it was time to hold Newt's funeral.

I felt bad, dragging my friends to relieve our pain over his death once more, and some parts of me was horrified at myself at how I had forced them to carry Newt's body back here, where everything was supposed to be peaceful and joyous. But I couldn't help it. I couldn't bear the thought of leaving him behind in that mad chaos, in what was once a prestigious city now reduced to cinders and flames and dead bodies. I just couldn't. And besides, at least Newt got to be with us in the Safe Haven, even if he couldn't experienced it for himself.

I failed to save him, and this funeral, this final resting place in what was now known as paradise in our sick world, was my final gift to him.

The funeral was held at the very edge of the haven, where the line of huts and campfires ended at the side of the rocky hill. It was a sunny day, with grey clouds overhead that brings in some wind that tousles our clothes and hair. I stuffed my hands into my coat pockets and watched with hollow eyes as Minho and Thomas carried a coffin. It was simple, nothing really significant or special about it. It was perfect.

They lowered it down into the hole in the sand, which I had helped dug out that morning, and watched silently as they shoveled the sand onto it, the particles trickling over the side and filling up the empty spaces. No one spoke; no one had anything to say. A while later the coffin was completely covered, completely buried down in the beach. We continued standing there in silence, our faces sombre and grim, our lips pressed tight together in respect.

Then slowly, the crowd began to dwindle. One by one people left, their prayers said and respects given. Someone patted me on the shoulder in what was likely to be a comfort gesture, but it just made me feel more empty. Soon, there was only two people left in the crowd; me and Thomas. Neither of us said anything as we stood there, staring down at the sand pile where Newt's coffin now laid, buried in the earth. Then Thomas walked away, his head bowed down. I thought I caught the glimmer of tears on his eyelash.

I felt something tug at my jacket sleeve and I glanced down to see a little girl of about eleven years old staring up at me, her fiery red hair tumbling down on either sides of her head in braids. Her rosy cheeks scrunched up as her lips twitched into a small, shy smile; she looked a lot like the redheaded doctor. She must be her daughter. The girl held up something - it was a piece of paper, wrinkled and crumpled at the edges, with some sort of pencil or charcoal drawing of a person.

Puzzled, I stared at the piece of paper for a while before realizing that the girl wanted me to have it. I took it gingerly and the girl ran away immediately, her feet kicking up sand. I watched as she retreated into a little hut, leaving me alone and confused with a wrinkly piece of paper.

I tried to smoothen the wrinkles and stared down at the drawing - as soon as my eyes fell onto it I gasped and nearly dropped the paper.

The drawing was of Newt. There was no doubt about it. The floppy, tousled hair and soft eyes and the tug of his lips that hinted of a smile - it was him.

Tears in my eyes, I glanced back to where the little girl had disappeared to, but she was gone now. She must have drawn this, or maybe someone else did and she was merely just passing it on to me - but the drawing was so detailed and incredibly realistic that it had momentarily stunned me, leaving me frozen in place as I tried to comprehend who might have drawn it.

After a long while I finally got over my surprise and folded the drawing as neatly as I could into my pocket, then I trudged away, away into the hills where the greenery never seemed to end, the grass swaying in the cool breeze as they tickled my hips. Wildflowers and shrubs decorated the hills and mountains - they bloomed in beautiful bright colours, like Christmas lights among tree branches. But though there was a wide variety to choose from, I trudged further ahead, looking for something in particular.