Transient

Daily [4/5]

The inevitable, he supposed.

He sat before the small "shrine" in his room, a framed picture of her with an empty glass with a wilting flower, waiting to be renewed.

He knew from the moment he met her that she would die, no matter what he did. He wanted her to be happy with the little time she had left and befriended her; made his way into her heart. And she did the same.

She knew that he was up to something when he approached her one day, with a smile too pitying, asking her if she wanted to be friends. Replying with a yes, his heart felt warm, his smile widening.

Now he had no smiles to smile. Just smirks to smirk when the time came to do so (otherwise known as all the time), never quite as happy as he seemed. His friends were of course the first to notice him spending hours before the photograph, tears streaking down his face as he sniffled.

They simply gave him a box of tissues and left him to himself as not to receive his wrath and have him vent his pent up emotions upon them.

The shrine was all he had left of her face.

He couldn't remember her voice, tired and sweet as it woke him from his slumber. Not the blaring alarm clock with its ugly, rattling sound. He could only remember her smiling face with her hands patting his cheek gently.

But now all there was to greet him was the little shrine he had made for her, with all the money he could spare after spending it on rice crackers.

"You should really spend your time on doing your job. That's what you joined for, remember?"

"Yeah, but..."

"No 'buts,' we all had to make a pledge to place our role before our life!"

"...right."

"Don't look so grim, I'm here to help you!'

He missed her words of consolation, the ones that could cheer him up when no one else's could.

He still wondered how she fell for him, how he fell for her when he knew she would die; when she knew he approached her out of pity and sympathy.

"What did I do to deserve this?" He asked no one, his voice trembling. He closed his eyes, feeling the hot water building up behind the lids. Deserve this love, this love that tore him apart in the end.

It had been the most beautiful moment in his life, and it was over now.

The tears fell down slowly this time, slower than before, as if something was telling them to take their time as he stood, taking the glass to the kitchen and renewing the water, taking a freshly cut flower from the garden.

Little teardrops landed on his shaking hands as he took the glass back to his room where the photo stood proud and tall on his bedside table.

He was silent as he placed it down. He could feel his eyes puffing up and his nose beginning to run, but he ignored it.

She ignored her tears so why should he acknowledge his own?

He let the tears fall in silence as he stared at the photo, fists clenched as they dug into his thighs. He wanted to stand, but he refused.

He would not leave until his tears disappeared.