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You’d think getting hit by a truck would mean instant death. Your heart is crushed in the blink of an eye, your brain shoots out, staining the road with the gore and blood of a once perfectly healthy body. The force of the hit killed them, the doctors say, in an attempt to console the weeping family of the victim.
Are they trying to convince them, or themselves? It’s never easy, mourning the loss of another.
It’s so much harder when that “other” is…WAS…merely a child.
But, I can’t help but wonder.
All this pain they feel.
All this mourning they channel out to the world.
All these tears they shed.
Has anyone stopped to think of the child?
Of course, don’t get me wrong, they obviously thought of them, they are the source of their pain anyway. But what about the person that wrecked body once hosted? In their deathbed, you’d think that one last smile would be better than wretched crying.
I am mad.
I am furious.
I am sick of it.
I am sick of THEM.
At that moment, I hated those parents, those siblings, weeping over an empty container.
“I am here.”
“I can see you.”
“I can feel you.”
“Stop crying.”
“Stop crying!”
“STOP CRYING!”
The soul is still hovering inside that hospital room. They want to rest, to rid themselves of all that pain and suffering. But most of all…
They want to see their loved ones smile. Hear them laugh. They never wanted anything else more in the world.
Cause they loved these weeping people so much, that leaving them now makes the pain all the more profound.
And there’s a weight. For every tear that falls, this weight seems to be getting worse.
But the soul is merely a child.
And how much weight can a child bear?
Hell of a lot, apparently.
The flying spirit welcomes the weight, even through its suffering. They channel their own emotions, trying to reach their loved ones.
Longing.
Joy.
Peacefulness.
Love.
They send out every last bit of love they hold for these people. They entrust them with their now unattainable dreams, with their hope for a better life for the living.
“I gift my life to you.”
“Live enough for both me and you.”
The child gives and gives and gives.
But it’s not enough.
The grief is overwhelming.
Stop crying.
Stop crying!
STOP CRYING!
PLEASE LET ME PASS AWAY PEACEFULLY PLEASE MOM-
“No.”
“It’s my fault.”
“It’s always going to be my fault.”
“I died. I didn’t tell them I love them sooner. I went ahead and died and couldn’t hold on enough to tell them all the things wanted, needed, to say to them.”
“I don’t deserve to pass on. I don’t deserve ‘eternal peace’, or whatever the stories tell us.”
“Kami-sama. Please, whatever you may are. Let me live again. Let me love again. I will give anything and everything to make everyone happy.”
“I don’t want my last moment to be like this.”
“I don’t want them to be like this.”
“I don’t like this.”
“I don’t want this.”
“Please, all I ask for is another chance.”
Please.
P l e a s e .
After that, everything melts away.
And the child disappears.
Carrying the weight of the grief and suffering caused by their death.
Then, a light flickers.
The child can feel again.
Grass? Sun?
Is it alive?
Is it back?
A rush of memories brings back the weight. But the child -I’m sorry- the girl, isn’t 17 anymore. She isn’t in Japan. She isn’t home.
“Katarina-sama! Are you alright?!”
But she is. This is home now.
Chiharu.
Katarina.
A name doesn’t matter.
She needs to do well this time.
Give everyone the love they deserve, and bear everyone’s pain as her own.
Only then will this weight leave her shoulders.
R i g h t ?
