The Graveyard Boy

In Which Hitoshi Meets a Strange Boy in the Graveyard

Chattering teeth and cold-nipped cheeks. Numb fingers clutched a bouquet of purple flowers that would surely be buried in snow before too long. White flakes drifted on the wind and settled into a blanket on the grass as if setting up a picnic for Jack Frost or Khione. The sky was a light grey, and it was evident in its colouring just how cold it was.

Weaving through tombstones of names long forgotten, crumbling rocks and gently chipping nameplates, Hitoshi wandered until he found the stone he was looking for. It was still a shock to see that name written in a place where only dead people reside. She was dead. She had been for a month, but none of it felt real, none of it felt true. He fell to his knees, feeling the cold already begin seeping through his pant legs. The newly-etched lettering on the tombstone read: Misaki Shinsou, loving wife and mother.

It had been a month since Hitoshi's mother had passed, and a month since she'd left him alone in the world. A month since his old life had changed, and a month since he'd lost what little he'd had to look forward to. A month since everything he knew suddenly became irrelevant and a month since he'd begun wondering why, if life was supposed to be such a gift, it felt more like an unpleasant itch, demanding his attention even when he tried to distract himself.

Sure, he was living in the same place. He had the same daily routine, and the same distinct lack of parents. He still lived in the old, rotting orphanage he always had. Somehow, though, everything felt different.

His mother hadn't been able to take care of him. His father left when she'd come to him with the news that she was pregnant. She'd been expecting an overjoyed hug and perhaps a few happy tears, and instead she'd gotten a terrified yelp and a bed all to herself. She could barely feed herself with the little money she earned, much less a child, and so when he was born, he'd been given to the orphanage. Weekly visits and tearful apologies followed, and while Hitoshi had known he had it better than the other kids he lived with, it wasn't enough. Now, what little he'd had was gone. Instead of her visiting him each week in an orphanage, he visited her each week in a graveyard. 

Hot tears warmed his cheeks, but they quickly gave in to the bitter cold and joined the snow still piling beneath his kneeling form. He set the flowers down, took a deep breath, and began to speak. "This last month has been the strangest of my life. It feels wrong not to have you there, but I know you're probably happier now, in whatever afterlife you've been granted. Thank you for having been there and trying your best to let me have a good life." His throat began to ache, and he rubbed his hands desperately against his eyes, trying still to keep the tears from falling. He'd never been too good at that.

An hour passed, and his legs ached, his back sore and muscles groaning, but he didn't move. Moving felt wrong, like he was somehow disrespecting her memory by not letting himself be frozen into the ground. A voice shook Hitoshi out of his mourning.

"Are you alright?"

He whirled around to see a small boy with unruly green hair looking at him, forest eyes widened. He gave a soft smile which Hitoshi didn't reciprocate.

"I'm in front of a grave, and I'm crying. I feel like it's pretty obvious that I'm not."

The boy looked surprised at Shinsou's outburst. "Oh, um, I'm sorry. I just wanted to be sure... I don't know."

Hitoshi took a deep breath. This boy was being kind. Or trying, at least. "I'm sorry for snapping at you. It's just, I'm still not used to her being here. And me being... elsewhere. My whole life shifted on the axis of her death or whatever." The boy listened in a way that led Hitoshi to believe that he truly cared and wasn't just being polite. How strange. "Now I'm not sure if I can be alright." He paused, realizing how bleak he was being. Truly a fit for the weather. "Maybe in the future, but not now."