“That’s how you clean up, eh?” Reno says after a few more seconds of admiring Cloud’s work.
“A little dramatic, but efficient.”
“Yeah like you.” He turns around and the smirk drops immediately from his face when he lays eyes on his partner. “Holy hells, the fuck happened to you?”
“Fire materia.” Cloud tries to shrug, but grimaces when pain shoots up from the wound on his side, “and Hojo.”
“You look like you’re dead!” Reno stomps over to him and starts the visual examination. His auburn eyes knit with concern, and Cloud can see the way his jaw clenched as he spots the three parallel claw marks running down his abdomen and black and blues that littler his face and arms.
“If I’m dead, then this must be purgatory.”
“ If I’m here, then we in hell, baby.” He cups Cloud’s chin and moves his head to get a better look at the head wound with a disappointed tsk. And even though he is a bit rough, the way Reno caresses Cloud’s skin with that pensive gaze, sends comforting chills down his spine. And he leans into the touch.
Rows of black umbrellas march in unison under a canopy of constant rain. And Cid finds it rude of the rain to not have held its tears until after the service. The sky didn’t even cry this much on the day his father died; the light blue had stretched across the whole world with not a single cloud to blemish the smooth sea until 8:48 am when a bellowing black cloud of smoke burned the clear cyan sky.
Cid shambles with the rest of the mourners across the sea of mud and grass towards the coffin; his fresh shoes sink into the forming swamp. And part of him hopes he gets stuck so he doesn’t have to confront the hole at the other end of the cemetery, but his uncle’s relentless grip on his arm makes that impossible as he drags him along. He keeps his eyes on his mother in front of him; she’s supported by her two brothers on either side holding her up. Her broken sobs cut through the rain like a razer blade and they sound heavy. Like a boulder trapped in her chest and every heave she attempts to break it before she’s suffocated. He pulls his eyes and locks onto his brothers, held by his aunts and look blissfully confused in their tiny suits and scally caps. And Cid doesn’t know which scene burns him more–his mother’s unchained grief or his brothers’ innocent denial.
But hot is all he feels. White hot. It scorches his stomach and shoots to his cheeks, back down to his fists which he clenches. He digs his nails into his palms until he feels the skin start to give–and even then the universe doesn’t grant him reprieve.
They stand around the coffin and the black umbrellas take up much of the empty cemetery. The priest speaks of sacrifice and death. He speaks of heroes in the face of tyranny. He speaks of God. And Cid wants to ask the God he no longer believes in why his dad had to be the hero. Why he needed to make the sacrifice? But his uncle’s grip is firm as if he can read the angry thoughts of a thirteen-year-old.
The priest invites the family to lay roses upon the coffin of the dearly departed. And then his uncle finally releases him. Cid grips the rose and approaches the green and gold tomb. The empty tomb. No body rests within those ornate walls on top of silk lined pillows. He stands over it. His father’s smiling photo next to him, but he can’t bear to look into those empty eyes. He can’t listen to his mother’s hurt. His brothers’ unintentional laughter. He hates the rain. The stiff humidity that buries him. He hates his uncle's disappointed glare. And the hundreds of marching black umbrellas and their false words.
Cid rips the rose into pieces; the soft red petals crash to the floor with a collective gasp. He barrels through the canopy of black umbrellas. He erupts into the storm; the waterfall of rain pelts him until he’s drenched.
The first shot of the 21-gun salute rips through the air, and he flinches against his will.
The second shot, he gets stuck in the mud and falls into the swamp.
And the third shot he screams into the heavens. Towards a God he can’t believe in. As the rain washes away his tears.
Reno slouches against the front seat of the rental truck–because he swore he wouldn’t be caught dead , alive, or other on a chocobo- puffing away at a cigarette. Inhaling the toxics sharply before exhaling just as aggressively out the window into the overcast afternoon air.
“I can do this job on my own,” he barrels through his words with a huff, “It ain’t that hard. Ya don’t need two people, yo.”
Cloud sits in the passenger seat, his elbow on the door and head resting in his balled up fist. He throws the turk an incredulous look, before rolling his eyes back to the sign in front of them. “If that’s the case, why did you bring me?”
“What? You don’t like spendin’ time with me all of a sudden?” Reno offers Cloud his sly, fox-like, smile, but his passenger gives him just a disjointed sigh in response. “We can go. Just turn back. Let some other schmuck have a whack at it.”
Cloud stares at the sign. Traces the letters with his eyes as he had many times before. Everything looked the same; from the indents in the line work, to the small cracks of worn wood at the pointed edges. But something was off . Something uncanny and unfamiliar. And his stomach churned when he caught the slightest discoloring right next to the “N”.
“We’re already here.” He opens the door and jumps out of the truck. “Let’s just get this over with.” And slams the door shut.
Reno flicks the cigarette out the window and mumbles a soft fuckin,a – cursing himself for not taking a minute to remember why Nibelheim would be a sore spot.
