A Night in Paris

Chapter Six: Buried

15 Hours Left

Closure. Does anyone ever find it? Even after fulfilling the final wishes of someone you wished you'd never have to see leave, does the story end? Thoughts circled and plagued Paris's mind. If another power, higher than the understanding of any memory, really existed, they must have a strange way to remind you that they have been watching. But this was the thing, it didn't matter to her if she had found the closure she wanted because this would buy her mother the closure she wanted. Paris was ready.

Everyone has their snapping point. A point where a line was drawn and crossed. For Alton, it was now. Now when this reincarnated version of her was carrying the only memory he had left, with the intention of burying it deep below the soil of the Earth. There was no point in fighting, but the city could be damned if he didn't try.

Paris made her way forward. One foot in front of another, one breath at a time. It was incredulous, how a small piece of plastic could be the one piece that held together the reedy strings that was dangerously balancing Paris on top. This small piece of plastic, though, held up more than her. It held the memories, the heartache, the love, and it was being lowered into the ground, just like the woman had been in what felt like ages ago. The only difference was that this time, Paris saw more than black. She saw in technicolor. And though it might have been behind her, she had felt the desolation, misery, and anguish rolling off the tall man in waves of radiation. Especially when that man jumped.

Alton had enough. She had long turned motionless, and he was still very capable of moving. In one last spur of desperate feelings and hopeless ones, he jumped for the girl, for the sickened, sweetened second version of her. He jumped for the daughter that should have been his. And even with the Tour de Eiffel that they had both loved as an audience for this brilliant masquerade ball, he fought against the boy that was holding him back.

Words were thrown. Dangerous ones.

"She deserved to live, damn it! It was supposed to be me and her, writing our own songs, our own lyrics, and our own story!" Perfect French spit out of Alton's mouth, at rates he couldn't even control with his blind rage. Luckily for him, she had fought back.

Tears stained Paris's eyes, just like they did on the day of the funeral. Except there was no baby this time, no towering skyscraper. Just her, the man that owned her mother's heart, and a new stranger that could possibly hold the key to Paris's own. It was a much different audience, this one, her family. It had taken her less than a second before fluent French was flung right back at Alton.

"Give her what she wanted! Respect her wish! Do something that she was never able to get from her own husband," her voice cracked with emotion. "Something she was never able to get from her own daughter."

It was the equivalent to a slap in the face. It stung, every sharp word that she had shot right back at him. In fact, it hurt so bad, Alton went slack, right into Nathan Haloway's arms. To his surprise, the boy had kept him in his arms. Whether it was to hold him back from the girl or to keep him from falling, he was not sure. But he had noticed one thing, one sure thing that had come from this dwindling memorial: the way the boy looked at the girl was a look that Alton himself was too familiar with.

And so, the two of them watched on, as Paris lowered half of her soul into the ground. Small bits of dirt locked into Paris's thin fingernails as she dusted the final layer atop the triangular piece of plastic the color of the sunset. They had nothing left to say, but Paris certainly did. It tumbled out of her mouth, one word followed by another followed by a stray tear. With her quiet whispers being carried away by the wind to journey on to the Heavens and above, and her small figure hunched over an unmarked, untamed piece of land in the vast city of Paris, she could have been mistaken for a woman in prayer. Any person who had the thought in their mind was not far off, for her message was being transported with thousands of FRAGILE stickers to some unknown place where it would resonate with the other unsung prayers until it was lost.

Alton stepped forward, the half-wilted rose in hand. A symbol of how fast love can wilt and bloom. He laid the delicate, breathing flower on top of the grave, a marking only noticed by three people. His hand gently fell atop the little girl's shoulder. If he imagined hard enough, the darkness would leave, this would be his child, and his wife would be standing next to him, smiling at how perfect their daughter had grown up to be. It tore apart his heart, knowing the reality was not real at all, and left his heart empty. Alton tucked the yellowed, worn paper that still carried her scent, her delicate handwriting, and her love, into his pocket and into his heart.

She was not planning on coming to the city of Paris without leaving her own mark. And while the blue pen was slowly fading along with the memory of a once beautiful, young, spirited woman, the new carving from the thorn of a half-wilted rose was set there to stay.

A night in Paris. 12.10.XX

The clock had struck twelve, marking the day one past the memorial. The same day after her mother died years ago, and the day after her lover was drafted into the army before it all.

Alton watched, as the boy gently brought his hand up to hers. In taking his hand, she had taken a part of his heart. And that was it for the man in the black suit, for Alton. It had come, at one moment or another, in their shattered minds, that keeping one another was a way to keep her alive, but what was really the point? They would only be running in circles, chasing their own tail in hopes of finding something that was already, truly gone. The only thing Paris could offer, with only sincerity and love in her heart, was hope and her parting message, "Journey on."

The sun was set, the night was done, the guitar pick was buried. Another memory brought back alive and another buried, walking in different directions. As Paris and Nathan made their way to return home, it never came across to look back. But if they did, they would notice the small rose petals and her seeds drifting with the wind, finding a new place to grow; a new place to live.

∞

A/N: BAM. I'm definitely going to miss Alton. I almost cried reading my own writing, it's crazy. I hope you liked this chapter! It was filled with raw emotion and heartache from both Paris and Alton, and a bit of what's in store for Paris and Nathan (*wink*).

The Watty's 2018 Deadline is approaching fast! If you enjoy my story, which I really hope you did (I mean, you made it to Chapter Six right?), help Paris and Nathan win an award by voting for "A Night in Paris". And you can help me improve my writing by commenting! I'd love to know what you think. Once again, thank you so much for reading, I'll see you soon!