Aaron "Sullivan"
The sky was painted oranges, blues and purples as the sun was setting. Most people had gone home and kept to themselves. An eerie stillness hung over Dust.
Aaron had only seen this kind of stillness on a weeknight when he was up guarding the town. It was a bit odd to look down the street and no one eventually turn around to meet you. So it fit the setting, Aaron thought. He walked down the main roads of Dust; a single boy who had went to borrow something from the neighbors was going back home.
Eventually, he ended up at a view quite magnificent. Great flowers and wreaths ordained the site. A podium was there, and the empty chairs still remained even though people had long left their seats. An isle went up the middle of rows of chairs, past the podium, and to an ornate stone tablet.
Aaron looked down at the handful of flowers he had prepared and tied together, then back up at where he was going.
"Hey, get back here!" a young man shouted at a boy. The boy ran between residential shacks of Dust, arms filled with a can of food and a big bottle of water. The boy was sure he had lost the man when suddenly, his body bounced off the front of the man.
In a panic, the boy tried to scurry away, but it was hopeless; the man had a firm grip on the lad's ankle. He was dragged into a corner, the man having a knife out. The youth shrieked.
"Aaagh!"
Aaron approached Patrick Clay's grave site. It felt like there was a lump the size of a bowling ball in his throat. He got to the front end of the chairs, some distance away from the tombstone of Patrick Clay. He could hardly believe the day had come.
All Aaron could do was stand still; he wasn't sure whether to give into anger, to cry, or to just curl up in a ball and do nothing. Conscious of his dilemma, he looked around to see if anyone was near.
The man had put his knife away, and was looking down at the boy. He seemed aware of the child's fear.
"What do you plan on accomplishing by stealing people's food, kid? What are you gonna do now that you got yourself in this mess of trouble?" The boy sat and looked away from the man, not wanting to be lectured.
"Hey, aren't you the Sullivan's kid?" the man asked; he recognized the boy now that he saw through the tattered clothes, dirtied face and his messy, oily hair.
"Piss off, I'm not their son!"
Seeing that no one was there to see, Aaron looked back to the gravestone. He gulped, trying to accept that this was reality. Before he walked closer, he dropped his flowers among the many others that decorated Patrick's grave. He walked closer so that he could read the etchings on the stone.
Aaron's eyes glistened with tears as he realized the finality of time. He dropped to one knee so that he was closer to the grave itself.
In Loving Memory of Patrick Clay
Founder and Father of Dust
1991-2065
Rest In Peace
Founder and Father of Dust
1991-2065
Rest In Peace
The boy stood in front of a house; he wore a clean short sleeve shirt and shorts. He knocked on the door of the house, and when no one answered, he let himself in.
"Mom? Dad?" he called. "I... I decided to come home."
His voice rang through the house but no one seemed to answer. The youth eventually found his father lying in bed.
"She's gone, Aaron..." is all his father said.
"You know kid, finding that out really does suck," the man told the boy, the child's face dirtied with him wearing the tattered clothes from before. The man was squatting so that his eyes were level with the boy's, who sat up against the wall of a building. "I'd like to think that it's part of life. But life isn't meant to conquer you. You, people, are meant to conquer life."
The breath was stolen by the words, quite literally set in stone. 1991-2065.
"You told me that this life was supposed to be conquered..." Aaron said aloud, tears rolling down his face now. He wiped his nose and took in a shaky breath before he continued. "I asked you how and you told me to take control of life, not to let life control me," he went on, becoming more assertive in his tone.
"Now look! Everyone's gone! My parents! Evanne! And now you! And the whole fucking town's caught up in whatever the hell they're doing!" Aaron shouted furiously at Patrick's buried body. He pounded both fists on the ground before him so that he was on his hands and knees. Though, that moment with Pamela before he left town haunted him as he yelled those words; she didn't seem caught up in what she was doing. But his angry, self-centered reaction screwed that up. It just made him angrier and more depressed to try and acknowledge these things.
"Raaaagggghhh!" Aaron let out an enraged, beastly scream as if he was being impaled by by the end of a sword. His voice echoed through the desert as he was groveled in a helpless state of tears, sadness, and rage.
"You can't leave now! What are we supposed to do?" Aaron continued to shout at nothing. He punched at the dirt beneath him, grunting with rage at every meaningless strike. Death was absolute, and Aaron knew that. In a few moments of his wild display, Aaron stopped and buried his face in his hands. He'd be ashamed of his actions if anyone saw them, especially that the Father of Dust's grave. Patrick Clay was supposed to rest in peace, not have his coffin rattled by some inconsiderate ass.
"I'm sorry," he let out crying. With his face hidden by his hands, he put his forehead to the ground as he wept in front of Patrick Clay's grave.