White Flag

Church

Ludwig was dead. There was no doubt about it. It seemed the world had mourned Feliciano's and Kiku's loss. It hit Feliciano especially hard because...because, well, he had loved that too-strict, too-neat, too-good blonde haired boy. He'd slipped right from Feliciano's small, delicate fingers before he could say it.
     "I love you, Lud...I love you," he had whispered. He then drew the dying man's body to his own chest and let out a wail, throwing his head back. Feliciano was shaking, his bloody fingers clutching Ludwig's even bloodier back. He had been killed--stabbed seven times. There was a note left behind, now caked with the blonde's dried blood. It was hard to read.
      "Whoops" It read.
       What was Feliciano to do? He was no detective, no Scooby-Doo gang member, and there were obviously no clues. Oh, I know! I'll just call Ludwi--
        Ha ha, too late for that.
       Sobs racked Feliciano's frail body. He choked on his tears, gasping for breath. His nose was running. He looked around.
       This was not the place to die. In a church, head smashed onto the altar...no, Feliciano quickly decided. This was not the place to die. Church needed to have that feeling of calm joy, that peaceful reassurance that everything would be alright. But this time it was not filled with that happy feeling. Instead a sickening, lung-bursting emptiness filled the church to its rim.
Something also filled Feliciano. He had never truly experienced this feeling...his lips pulled back into a snarl. It was rage. Rage for his best friend, who was now dead, rage for his...love, dare he say it. Rage for the God who took him away, rage for himself who couldn't be there to save him.
    This strange emotion was bubbling up inside of him. No matter how hard he had tried, it never left. Half of Feliciano was letting it in, letting it fester and rot his mind, and the other half was pleading its twin to close and lock the doors, to shut the rage out.
    The raging half won.
    He let out a scream and punched the altar with his fist. It started to bleed and he started to cry. The man fell to the ground, his hand still clenched in a fist.
     All he could do was hope for this dream to be over.