Shucked Up || Newtmas AU

37☂ shucked up

Somewhere in the end we're all insane to think that light ahead can save us from, this grave that's in the end of all this pain.
__________
Thomas
__________

2 years later

The nearby tree whistles softly in the breeze, the branches slowly dancing side to side.
Swaying leaves on the dark, spindling branches sometimes fall, in a flutter, before landing delicately onto the grass below.

On the grass, the shadows of the branches and their fading leaves create a peppering of light and dark.
Like a scattered abstract pattern against the clean green grass.

The mighty tree is backlight by the sun, designing a false impression of spiritual greatness around the tree.
Perhaps also a false interpretation of safety could be seen by someone under the tree? With the branches and the trunk looking so sturdy and secure compared to the scattered hedges and flowers around the the graveyard.

The grave nearest the tree is relatively new, next to some others in the same row.
It is not fancy, or arrogant, you could call it simplistic.
Honest.

A light grey stone, with no shine, makes up the shape of the gravestone. The letters carved into it with precision and perfection.

However they were just letters.
Just words.
Just a few words which spoke out to the world about the dead's life.
They could never mean anything significant. As they were just words, words meant nothing.

Just sounds escaping from lips which can then blossom into such a delicate flower in the listener's mind. Or carve into a sharp dagger, each word forming a scar.

Actions are everything. Words mean nothing. Especially these words. These simple few words left to summarise a life. Without a hollow quote of memorial, as that meant nothing in reality. It wasn't going to make the pain go away.
'Newt - Partner of Thomas. Died at the age of 17.'

"Thomas!"

An alarming shock bolts up my spine, as I'm dragged away from my thoughts, my lone mind.

Tilting my head up, I see a brown haired pale older boy, with two girls, one with fair skin and blonde hair, and the other dark skinned with a display of ebony ringlets.

They look down at me like I am lost child. Their faces drowned with sympathy and sorrow.
You see, they still haven't learnt. They can't help me, because all this is happening in my head, it's internal- and well, they're external.

They try to understand.
For shucks sake, they think they understand me!
They don't understand how my brain works, and they will never know.

Nobody will ever know- since Newt passed, that's what I've come to realise.
I thought I understood him. Yet I never knew what drove him to fill a supposed whole in his heart with drugs and to slowly kill his body.

You can never truly understand someone. People have layers, like levels, of who they are to certain others. You can think you knows everything about someone, how they work, but you are not them. You have never seen a second through their eyes. Therefore you will never see that final layer of their true self.

The unfortunate truth is that you can never really know anyone. We are all mere humans wandering earth, looking for answers to infinite questions.