Bloody Snow
Warning: Major character death
I am alone. The thought surfaced quietly, like an alligator pulling up to the surface, breaking the impeccable flatness of water. It gazed straight at him, numbing his senses, freezing him on the spot by the news of his deceased family.
You were pushed off the car, that's why you were the only who survived, Fubuki-kun.
Why, how did this happened? He must reach an answer.
In his mind, he replayed over and over. Monotonously, unconsciously. He recalled the day before hearing those words.
His brother was at his side, while parents in front were conversing about the recent match. Smiles, cheers, congratulations for a complete victory. Then, the whiteness, eager to swallow them. His heart jumped. He didn't screamed.
If he had would they be alive?
He remembered a hand, and a scream-it all happened too fast.
Regret, despair, sadness, his mind couldn't pinpoint any. As if the concepts had abandoned his comprehension. The world was dull, unmoving, colorless. Tears didn't fall.
Yet another thought lurked after the constant repetition. The hand, pushed off the car, by his side, Atsuya.
It made sense.
Why? Did you leave me? What can the defense do if there is no one to attack? Without you. . . I can't be perfect.
Atsuya.
His uncle and wife adopted him, yet he couldn't accept them. His family was those three. The memories were too precious. Family is everything for a nine-year-old. He clung tightly, oh so tightly to the past.
Uncle and Aunt welcomed him with open arms, to the couple having a child was a blessing. Living near the Fubuki's the environment was almost the same. His meals were warm, their smiles were also warm, his family's bodies were cold.
A year was no different like a day. Throughout this time the couple reached their emotional limit; receiving blank stares and one-liners daily. The reward of a whole year's effort.
His ears couldn't hear and his brain couldn't comprehend. He was observing life as a spectator, unthinking, unfeeling, inactive.
Fubuki was at the age where children stubbornly refuse help. They wanted to find a place in the world. Aunt and Uncle set their sights and worries and love in their soon-to-be-born child.
In junior high Fubuki was the same. Days passed with him looking out of the window, his mind blank as a forgotten canvas. As if the painter couldn't find inspiration and died by his own accord.
He was empty.
The essence of Shirou was lost, it dissapeared quietly like a minuendo. Neither a smile or grimace curved his lips. Memories were foggy as if he was watching a never ending movie in an old screen.
He was waiting for the bus when a soccer ball bumped into his feet, it surely was a sign, a soft whisper to return to the old self. To return to soccer.
He took it with both hands and stared at the ball, no fathomable expression or emotion on his countenance.
A pair of children waived at him, asking to give the ball back. They seemed to be brothers, similar jet black hair, and eyes.
Instinctively, he let it fall and kicked it. Then. . .
Atsuya.
He arrived home and yelled his brother name.
"Atsuya! Where are you? Atsuya! Atsuya! Atsuya!"
"Can you just shut up?! The baby will wake up!"
The newborn's cries were heard amidst Fubuki's despair. His aunt sighed and walked up the stairs, massaging her temples.
"Now look at what you've done," she whispered, "creepy kid."
Fubuki trotted to his room, his backpack was left at the threshold downstairs. Atsuya wasn't anywhere. Atsuya was gone.
Silent tears pecked on his face and fell after years of absence. He did his best to clean them, but there was no reason to stop. Pain took the form of tears and left Fubuki crouching and sobbing, he wailed at the loss of his family, his dear brother and parents.
I'm useless without Atsuya, I can't do anything. Why did survived? Why am I here?
No. . . I didn't survive. I'm just lost. They are alive.
Fubuki couldn't hear the sound of breaking glass.
Yeah, I remember. I fell out of the car and wandered until I reached another city. I'm living with a couple that found me.
I must go.
He changed out his uniform and left the house without a word. A smile was painted on his face but. . . it was odd. It wasn't Fubuki Shirou's smile; he wasn't Shirou after all. Then who was he?
He walked along the sidewalk where he lost everything, including himself; looming at the outskirts of the mountain as his feet led him to Destiny. The path was built after an accident where a man with a broken motorcycle was heavily injured.
His family was there. They were calling him, right there down the slope.
I'm coming. Dad, Mom, Atsuya.
He steadied himself on the rail facing the abyss and glanced down. They were waving between the leaves.
A breeze pushed him forward causing him to lose footing, which he gladly gave up.
His body swayed with the wind like a weightless doll, his smile widen before gravity pulled his head.
He laid on the ground, snowflakes fell on his cheeks, melting and falling like tears. The compressed snow outlined a gentle pair of wings. Fubuki loved snow angels.
His consciousness faded away; his eyes closed.
The symphony had ended.
Fubuki wasn't alone anymore.