human ~ dazai osamu

17 : how can you continue your day, when your day will never be the same again?

A/N: mentions of depression / grief in this chapter, pls stay safe <3

~

Natsu looked so small. The casket she had been placed in was far too big for her tiny frame. White lilies and pink carnations were a harsh contrast to the grey atmosphere of the room. Your eyes rested on the picture amongst the dreadful flowers, though you didn't stare at it, only looked – not really noticing it. How could you? It was a picture of your younger sister; a large grin spread across her face; Natsu always smiled so widely, it would cause her lilac eyes to crease at the edges.

But you only looked at the picture, eyes glazing over as if it weren't even there. Because it wasn't – The Natsu in that photo was gone. Dead. The grin so wide it would lift the spirits of any suicidal mafioso had been wiped away, it was now only a straight line, her dulled lips had parted slightly as a result of her jaw muscles constricting from rigor mortis. Her lilac eyes that would crease with every smile – shut. Forever.

Your black kimono creases as you sit on your knees in front of the casket. Your hands are held in your lap as you gaze at the white box. Small sniffles and sobs can be heard from behind you, and immediately you know they belong to Yumi and Ao – the other's in the room wouldn't show such emotions in front of each other. Everyone in the mafia knows that sentiments such as grief and love are to be expressed in the privacy of your own home.

Perhaps that's why you weren't crying.

Because there are people here you weren't ready to cry in front of. That must be it. As everyone cries at a funeral, especially the funeral of a loved one. Only monsters and mafioso's have dry eyes at such times.

"If you may all say your last goodbye, I will close the window momentarily." The mortician says softly and gives a bow.

Your breath hitches.

Last. Your last goodbye.

They say that goodbyes are one of the hardest things to do. But most of that difficulty stems from the uncertainty that you'd ever see the person again. Though, there is always a smidgen of hope that you will lay eyes on them one more, even if it takes a long time, you will eventually cherish them again.

But this was the last goodbye. A certainty that you would never see her again.

With your body trembling, you rise from the kneeling position, not bothering to straighten out the kimono and tread slowly to the casket. You flutter your eyes shut before you look at her, taking a moment to accept that this was the last time you would see your little sister. As your eyes open, they grow dull as they land on the pale, sickly-faced corpse of the 6-year old.

She didn't look like Natsu.

Natsu shined constantly, like the sun. You realise now how well your parents had named her:

夏
Natsu, meaning summer.

She was warm and comforting like the summer sun, she would bring a smile to people's lips when the young girl was around them. Always beaming and full of bursts of unpredictable energy.

Yet this Natsu was silent and still. Her face didn't bring you joy, in fact, a mellow feeling of impairment stirred in your chest as you looked at her ghostly face. She wasn't the sun; she was a deadened night – the kind that appears in winter. There were no twinkling stars, none of the moon's gracious light – all there is, is darkness, forged by a mass of grey, dismal clouds.