Memories of Ghosts

Fourteen: Cry Because It's Over

**That horrible, horrible moment when you lose an entire chapter that you'd been working on all week because you'd been writing in a place with no wi-fi but you'd thought everything would be fine anyway. (Everything was not fine—I'm still bitter about retyping this whole thing.)

Thank you to all the supporting comments I got from the last chapter; it helped me write this one quickly and effectively despite my little panic-attack. 

Enjoy the chapter and I'll see you in the next one!**

30 March 2017

The city lights were much too bright for his droopy eyes, the electrical rays more damaging than the sun's. Every time a car honked or someone yelled or a drill hammer vibrated against the sidewalk, a needle-point of pain would stab his brain. It took a great effort to put one foot in front of the other for each step felt like he was lumbering through a lake of quicksand. He could smell the alcohol on his own breath and the briefcase in his right hand weighed as much as an old typewriter.

He was having a very difficult time trying to watch where he was going. His vision right now was like peering out a windshield on a rainy day—he could see bold and obvious outlines, but failed to catch specific details. He squinted, searching for the hotel he was staying in for the night, although he knew he was fully intoxicated and wasn't sure how he'd find it in this condition.

It's your own bloody fault, his reasonable side pointed out. No one else told you to swallow God know how many pints of whiskey in one sitting and you know perfectly well that you can't hold your liquor worth for shit. God, I'm gonna have such a hangover.

I didn't do it because I wanted to, his drunk, somber ass argued, I did it because I had to. Kiku shared his depressing Nagasaki story because he felt sorry for me, for my loss. My sorrow was infecting others; if I can't remember Lizzie, then I won't get sad and if I won't sad, then no one else will have to know.

The only thing you're going to forget is the walk to the hotel and this useless debate, Reason insisted. You should know that no matter how hard you try, you can't escape, much less forget, your past. So, why don't you quit sinking in your own pity party, grow up, and face the inevitable? Everybody knows, stupid fuck, and there's nothing you can do about it.

Only the other countries and a few government officials truly know about Elizabeth and I, Depression protested. I got rid of any documents that had proof of our marriage shortly after her...passing. Every mortal on this planet believes her to be the Virgin Queen—all according to her plan. Now stop thinking of her; I just need...some sleep...

Arthur went on dragging his feet and peering through the glaring lights as Reason and Depression quarreled endlessly, solving and learning nothing.

He didn't notice the occasional raindrops until they grew into a downpour.

The crowd reduced somewhat—people covered their heads with whatever they had (a hoodie, a spare umbrella, a purse or backpack) and scurried off for a warm, dry place. Citizens either weren't bothered by the unexpected weather or they were tourists and decided they were going to get their money's worth, rain or no rain. Arthur paused for a moment to stare up at the dark sky and feel the cool water splash against his skin. It quickly soaked his hair and clung to his suit—it now felt heavy on his body like it was a size too big for him.

Taiwan and South Korea must be disappointed with the weather, being in the middle of Central Park and all, Arthur—not Reason or Depression—thought. I wonder where Japan is leading them: under a nice shady tree or an entirely different area? He's a sensible and thoughtful fellow; they're probably underneath a tree, waiting for the rain to pass.