I could sense something drip onto my eyelids, making its way from my scalp into my droopy eyes. Blood, I thought, pleased. Finally I would get to reunite with Lyra and mom.
I slowly touched the top of my head, trying hard not to make an obvious happy face because who in their sane state would smile at a burial ceremony unless they were replaying a sweet memory in their head? I checked my fingertips in search of the expected red but found myself rather disappointed. It wasn't blood. Just water — dripping from my wet hair due to the rain.
The warmth of the sun was gone now, chilly air replacing the scene as people held their umbrellas high above their head, shivering under it due to the sudden cold. But the warmth I seeked had already left me earlier today — as it jumped to death in front of me. I wonder why.
The sky had lost its sun out of nowhere today too, just like I had lost the one who made all my days brighter by simply existing. My sunshine, my ray of light in the dark, my candle who illuminated the darkest room with just her presence.
I couldn't help but envy the sky for a moment. Because though it was away from its sun right now, the brightness would eventually return to it soon. After all, the sun was never truly gone. It was just hiding behind the dark clouds. But where was my Lyra? Where was she hiding? If only I knew, I would go into the depths of the ocean to find her and bring her back.
If only there was a way to turn back time. If only I could have known earlier how the day was going to turn out. I would've never woken up in the first place. To be fair, everything felt so surreal as if it was nothing but a bad dream. I truly hoped it was. I don't remember the amount of times the possibility made me close my eyes to wake up from this nightmare but all I ended up with was aching eyelids.
The scene before me never changed.
But the cries around me were all too real. The shock on everyone's faces, the solemn grey that settled over the graveyard was enough proof. They believed she was gone for real. And maybe, just maybe, she really was.
Why? Why don't I get to die just like mom and Lyra did? Why do I lack the guts to kill myself unlike their bold act of giving up? Why do I have to suffer each day and wait to die naturally? No matter how hard I pray, how often I pray, death doesn't seem to want me either.
A student's dad spoke from behind me. "Those who kill themselves are not bold. Rather, they're weak, they're the timid kind. They are vulnerable, in pain and forget how important life is. They run away from challenges and responsibilities which is wrong-"
I couldn't listen to this man anymore. Wrong? He was wrong. He had no idea what it was like to wake up and fight your own demons daily and live through the pain each passing minute of your life. It was absolutely terrible of him to have brought his whole 'survival of the fittest' ideology into this — especially when the grave of someone who tried and lost was being dug as he spoke.
He didn't know anything about drowning into your own sorrows, he clearly didn't know what it felt like — closing your eyes with anticipation each night, hoping for death to greet you when you wake up in the morning. He had no clue just how strong it was to keep holding on, waiting for the pain to end someday.
He boasted about how he was drowning too, yet surviving, not realising that the dark water barely ever touched his feet. For if he would truly drown into the depths of despair, he would know the taste of fire burning in his lungs. He would realise he had no right to judge anyone else for choosing to stop the suffering at once. He was totally in the wrong for judging my mom and best friend for how badly they tried to hold on. And for how horribly they lost their battles.
He knew nothing about their lives. He knew nothing about them — how pretty they both looked when they smiled, how emotional they both would get whenever they would watch a sad movie, how badly they both kept searching for a reason to not give up. Well, neither did I.
That one question that still kept scratching the back of my mind, the one I couldn't get off of my head as Father recited his last prayers for Lyra. Why did Lyra die? After all, there has to be a reason to end things, life, so abruptly, right?
Even mom had one. Though I was never told about it, I always assumed it had something to do with dad. And as I grew up, the answers were clearly laid out in front of me. The fights they constantly had, the way dad often came home late — he was cheating on my mom. And one day, she couldn't take it anymore. She chose to end the suffering.
So what was Lyra's reason? Why did she kill herself? What was this dark and vulnerable face of her that she was hiding so well? And why did she need to hide it from me? Weren't we best friends like she used to say? What happened to her? Why did she-
But was she really dead or was this just another bad dream that was way too realistic? I genuinely hope it was. I swear if I would wake up — just this one time, please — I would never fall asleep again if it meant getting to stay with the people I loved. Because who was I supposed to live for now? Why was I left to suffer here all by myself?
The truth stabbed me hard.
Neither my mom nor Lyra trusted me enough to share their dark sides with me. I was just a stranger to them; a stranger who was supposed to see just their happy side even if it was farthest from their truth. But why Lyra? We were best friends. Did she think I would make fun of her or call her an attention-seeker like all her other friends did? Or did she think I would love her more after I lost her, after she died?
Why did you not let me confess how much I love you, Lyra? Why? Why not when you could respond or hear at least? Maybe that could have saved you. Maybe I could have-
And now, I'll have to live with this secret all my life. You know how much I hate keeping secrets, Lyra. But you don't know how much I love you. I wanted to scream at the coffin she lay in. I wanted to scream into the void where she possibly stayed now. I didn't know what to do anymore. Everything turned into a shade of grey when today was supposed to be a beautiful tint of maroon. Nothing was how it was supposed to be. All this while, I was so busy trying to understand my feelings for her that she, herself, became the biggest mystery to me. The kind I couldn't solve.
I couldn't remember what it was like to breathe anymore. A sharp pain erupted in my chest and all I could do was fall on my knees, waiting for death to greet me so I could meet my love in the afterlife.
Diego, no- Lyra's voice rang in my head.
I searched through the crowd for a familiar face but all I found were uninterested classmates and their disapproving parents. A small group was shedding fake tears in the background, pretending to be affected by Lyra's death when they never even spoke to her in the first place when she was alive. No, she is alive, still. My Lyra isn't dead.
Right behind everyone else, I could spot a friend, leaning on the gate of the graveyard. As if he was scared to set foot inside, as if coming any closer would mean he had to stay here forever. Was Connor scared of death? Or did he not want to see Lyra for the last time, considering the scary state she was in?
He was way too far and I would have walked to him if I could muster the strength to remember how to get up without tripping again. I could see his blank face — either he didn't care for the funeral at all or he was way too affected and tried to pretend like he was alright. The way he was biting hard on his lip proved the latter because his eyes were red and swollen, as if he had cried over my loss, too. After all, the three of us used to be inseparable at a point of time.
And that's the thing about memories — no matter how bitter some relationships get, the good memories always come back to you. Sooner or later.
Giving in to the urge, I walked to see her again. Maybe this time, things would be different. They were — only this time, it was way worse. Her body looked so wrong in a coffin. She looked so wrong; quiet. A person who would never shut up even if you tied a tape to her mouth, a person who kept talking even when she was asleep, a person who would mumble even on her deathbed. She looked so lifeless now, so dead.
But she looked like she was at peace.
I couldn't figure out why.
Everyone bent on their knee and — one by one — whispered something to the body. Body. Cold, I know. Somehow, life played out in a loop because I had to helplessly watch as someone I loved was going away, all over again. Just like the person I was most attached to had left me all by myself when I was 6. The pills in her hand, the smile on her face when the pain ended — I don't think these images will ever stop haunting me. I can't decide what hurts more; the fact that they left or the fact that they didn't think I was owed an explanation. As if my love never mattered to anyone at all. As if I never mattered to them.
Do I not deserve an explanation? My head kept on hurting more and more with each passing minute. I could swear it was about to burst into flames anytime now. Does no one think they owe me an explanation?!?! I can't handle this anymore-
"Diego." A kind woman nudged me, pulling me out of my intrusive trance. It was my turn to say my last words to the girl in the coffin. Our last goodbye.
I fell on my knees, wishing I could have still worn the maroon school uniform that Lyra loved so much. But a group of people had given me a fresh change of clothes and washed away Lyra's blood from my palms — as if that would make me clean. As if Lyra's last memory was something that tainted me, something I didn't want to hold onto.
Leaning closer, I whispered into her ear. "You never fail to surprise me, girl. I can't even- I can't even tell you how much I love you, idiot. Promise you'll be mine in the next birth we have." I chuckled, remembering just how much she hated cheesy lines like these. She would cringe at them every time. Just not today.
"You know, I will actually miss the way you used to taunt me and pull my cheek whenever I called you an idiot. Idiot, idiot, idiot! Come on, pull my cheek now!" I pushed my face towards her but she didn't move an inch. "Yeah, you're dead, right?"
Could she even hear me? Did she even care?
"Damn, Lyra, why did you die like this? All of a sudden? Yesterday we were enjoying our day, partying around and today you- surprise me, yeah." A tear fell across my cheek but I didn't stop it from falling into the coffin. If not me, at least my tear could stay with her.
This wasn't fair. None of it was. I was supposed to see Lyra smile at the roses I picked out for her today. And though she was smiling as she lay into her casket, the reason was not the one I wanted it to be. Picking up the deep red roses — maroon roses — that I had planned to give her when I would finally tell her she was more than just a best friend to me; I placed them close to her lifeless corpse. The irony of the scene shook me to the core.
At least, they get to stay with her forever inside her coffin.
I looked at the half pendant that felt like a crescent moon in our dark sky — incomplete, imperfect yet so beautiful — and positioned it around her neck with a silver chain. It matched her black dress so well, though she should be wearing maroon the last time people see her.
Either way, she looked so beautiful even with closed eyes. She reeked of blood and rust yet smelled like sweet roses. Just like a heavenly angel. I lightly pecked her cheek and let the tears flow out of my eyes as I picked up my bag and left without another word. This was not a dream I could wake up from. It was my reality — harsh, painful, tragic.
The love of my life was really dead. And she wasn't coming back.
As I walked out of the graveyard, I picked up a burning candle and took it with me. Not sure why; maybe I wanted to hold onto Lyra's last memory. Just like I had done with mom's ruby ring. And somehow, it completely slipped my mind that the ruby ring, that was supposed to be Lyra's now, still lay in my pocket.
The ring that could never accomplish its purpose. The ring that never stayed on the finger it was meant for. The cursed ring that killed everyone it was supposed to belong to. And now all this ruby ring would ever do is remind me of incomplete stories, as if mocking the empty space in my heart that would belong to a dead woman forever.
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Random Question - Which is your favourite gem?
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Author's Note - Heyaaa! How are y'all doing? How was this chapter? Did you like it?
What do you think about Diego and his past? Tragic, huh? And why, do you think, did Lyra die? What will Diego do now? Will he be able to get over her?
What will be his next step? What purpose will the ruby studded ring serve in his life?
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