Suffocating Silence of The Grave

Once he found out about their deaths, Arlo used to visit his parents' graves nearly everyday. It was a way of making up for lost time, a way of reconciling a family that no longer existed. Sometimes he'd talk to the headstones about what was going on his life, or he'd just... sit for a while. It was therapeutic to him, and Lord knows he needs some therapy. Once they migrated to the new studio in L.A., he visited less and less. It was hard being the number one kids show in America and maintaining a relationship with two slabs of stone.

Eventually, after they fell into a rhythm with the new schedule and all the Dave drama seemed to be over, he began to visit more. Mr. Chronis was at least nice enough to loan him a private jet for the commute. And for the first time in what felt like a million years (though it was at the most, six months) Arlo stands in front of his parents graves once more. The last bouquet of flowers he left were wilted, and he places two new ones in their stead. "Hi Mom, hi Dad." he says, to no reply. Typical. They're quite the silent type. "Sorry I haven't visited," he laughs, albeit a little awkward. "things have been... pretty crazy. Guess I have a lot to tell you guys."

As he speaks - telling them of Dave's return, Cordula's entrance into their lives and her untimely end, and everything in between - he paces around the headstones. His fingers skim the coarse stone, wiping off dead leaves and petals that have collected in his absence. As the tales of his past couple of weeks come to a close, he goes quiet.

"I miss you guys. A lot." Silence is their only reply.

"Yeah that's... about what I expected." Tears well in his eyes, threatening to spill. "Fuck. I - uh - okay," In his attempts to keep them back, they come harder. They flow freely down his face now with no barriers and no repression. "Fuck!" His words; or rather, word; come out a choked, wretched sob. "Why the fuck did you guys have to leave?" Jumbled-together curses tumble out of him as he lights a cigarette. His mother never would have approved of his smoking, but she can no longer police him. "Son of a bitch..."

He is wordless, and for the first time realized he's kneeling on the soft grass before the graves. Puffs of cigarette smoke fill the air. And for the first time in six months, everything around him is quiet.

No birds singing, insects screeching, not even wind rustling through the trees. It's as if he is in his own bubble, airtight and locked away from the world. It is hard to breathe.

And for the first time in six months, the silence is far too loud. In his own bubble it is just him, the headstones, the cigarette smoke in the air, the suffocating silence of the grave.