Rorschach is "Mike Caulfield" (whisper_no) wrote in musingslogs, @ 2010-10-02 13:05:00 |
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Entry tags: | eric draven, kaylee, rorschach, sarah williams, sookie |
Who: Cherrie, Jack, Rorschach, Sam, and Winnie
What: Jack is the life of his funeral party!
Where: A nearby cemetery
When: 2:30 AM two days after Jack’s death
Warnings: Happiness/fainting from the girls, confusion from Jack, paranoia from Rorschach.
The night was calm and silent, the air utterly void of any energy or electricity. It was perfect weather for a funeral. As Rorschach thrust the blade of his shovel into the earth, he wondered if God were watching this night. He often felt as if God’s interest in the human race was one that waxed and waned depending on factors that mere mortals couldn’t hope to comprehend. The death of a child rarely seemed to hold His interest for long. The systematic desecration of humanity’s legal and penal systems was met with indifference. Perhaps Rorschach was being a sentimental fool for even hoping that a mask’s passing would earn anything more than that.
After Warren Keller’s passing, Rorschach hadn’t kept any of his worldly possessions save for the rosary that currently burned in his pocket. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t sewn it back into the makeshift pocket he had created for it, but there was something more fitting about having it accessible for this occasion. It rested against two sheets of paper, notebook pages he had taken from Sam and scribbled notes upon. Though it had been over a decade since Warren Keller’s study in the monastery, Rorschach could still remember a great deal of his studies. Maybe it was ingraining. Maybe it was a sharp memory. Rorschach didn’t know. He didn’t care, either.
Sweat beaded at the nape of his neck and behind his ears, creating a stifling heat within his cloth face as he lifted another mound of dirt from the grave he had dug. Many past cultures buried their deceased in the fetal position to make digging their graves easier, but Rorschach refused to make such a compromise. In death, Corbinian would be laid to rest on his back, a proper burial. It didn’t matter that he had been there for an hour digging, drenched in sweat and dusted with dirt. This was important. This mattered.
As he finally lifted the last shovelful from the gaping maw he had forged to swallow Corbinian whole, Rorschach tossed the shovel onto the level ground above and followed suit. The grave was level with his shoulders, an admirable size. Digging his hands into the earth above, he clenched every muscle in his tired body and vaulted upwards, kicking at the grave’s opposite wall to force himself over the edge. Sitting on the ground beside the grave, arms resting on his knees, he looked down at the grave with a heavy sigh. Now, it was time to wait for three mourners, one mortician, and the man being returned to God’s earth.