Miles Lago (miles_lago) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2010-11-02 17:20:00 |
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Entry tags: | miles lago |
The priests and the friars approach me in dread for I love you still, my love, and you're dead
Who: Miles Lago (miles_lago) [Narrative]
What: All Souls' Day
Where: NYC
When: Tuesday afternoon
Warnings: None
Even tough it is strange to come across someone like that, Miles forgets the friendly stranger the moment he rounds a corner and finds himself without company. He doesn't have flowers with him - she hated flowers - but he does have an offering. Not that he believes anyone who's rotting six feet under gives a damn but it makes him feel better. Like all the rituals they perform for the dead, this one, too, is for the ones left behind - the living.
Pudding. She loved pudding. The small plastic cup and a plastic spoon are placed by the flowers someone - her mother or his - have put there earlier today.
"Hey, dumpling, you look pretty." He sits down by her grave, arms wrapped loosely around his knees, and talks at her headstone. About everything, about nothing... just like in old times. "...Andrew's marriages last shorter and shorter. Don't know why he bothers marrying all those women at all. It's kind of pointless, isn't it? Oh and Lex seems to hate the church even more than you," her husband says, running a hand through his hair and laughs. "For different reasons, though... I think. I hope..."
It's mostly funny but also a little bit disturbing, the way his partner looks down on religion like he has a personal grudge against it. For Miles it's not that big a deal. He doesn't run around trying to convert people or telling them they'll go to hell if they don't do this and that. He's not a fanatic, doesn't think that anything he does will change the fact that he'll end up where his wife is eventually: buried in a wooden box, being eaten by maggots. He cares more about the here and now than he does about what comes after.
"I..." Very quietly, barely audible, words that have been on his mind for quite some time escape. "I'm sorry I was late. I'm sorry nobody was there... I didn't cry for you and the baby. I'm sorry I still can't..."
He doesn't move until dusk settles and when he does he pats the tombstone gently. "Stay warm, dumpling."