The grave stands quiet and empty, in complete silence, in an inconspicuous cemetery in London. Thousands of roads should have been trodden to it, the steps of people who dreamed of seeing the monument at least from the corner of their eyes, but the land here is empty, untouched. There is a reason for this and it is simple - everyone is much more interested in the majestic marble statue, which stands on the site of the cracked ruins of the Glass Palace. Everyone likes the figure, majestic, invincible and eternally alive, and no one is interested in the mutilated body, the very earth and bones.
One day a girl will come to the grave. A person without age. She will walk with quiet steps, keeping a confident face. She will squat down, looking around. She will put flowers to the ground - the first and the last ones on this place, only then noticing the inscription on the monument. The inscription is wrong, so wrong that for a second she will think about whether she should have brought something here, but she leaves them - the main thing is not the names, but those who eventually wore them. Or renounced them. All this seems to be read on her face, although usually she was as impenetrable as this very gravestone.
For a few more minutes, maybe hours, she would sit there, listening to the wind blowing her hair and clothes. A gaze that would be fixed on the grave and at the same time staring into nowhere, just as steely and confident. It was like that, it always will be.
Finally, she will stand up, and, having already passed halfway to the exit from the cemetery, she will say her words. Words that at first will be filled with absolute anger and despair in the end will subside to a whisper so quiet that it will be impossible to hear it, even standing close to her. But it is deserted.
You can see her trying not to cry. Whether she will cry or not - no one knows. Because she is alone. She always was, she always will be.
The next visit to this wasteland will happen in thousands of years. After the fall of thousands of empires, change of power, norms, laws and morals. Even after all this, the grave will stand, just as the statue will stand.
An image will quietly appear near the monument. Such that you do not even need to look closely - one in the same guy, encased in marble on the main square.
He will not look sad, as people should look, standing in the cemetery. His face rather expressed pure mockery, even smiling surprise. On the other hand, what is that human behavior for him?
He would stand by the grave and, just like the girl had once done, cast a glance at the signature under the black and white, blurred drawing of the young man. It was the most expected thing they could have done, not surprising to him, not in the least, but the fact remains the same - wrong. Ironically, the last thing this living dead man wanted was to be buried under this name. However, he could not be buried under any other name. You reap what you sow, boy.
The creature slowly bent down to the gravestone, and, keeping a mocking smile on his face, said something with a bit of sarcasm, as if telling a joke to an old friend. In its voice you can even hear some sense of completion, joy. However, the more it talks, the harder it will be to keep this expression, even though he, this creature, was a master at it.
Everything he said now made no sense anymore. Whatever he says - a thousand words, or maybe three necessary one, none of it will matter anymore. Everything should have been said before. Everything should have been said then.
And then he would throw something about "fool" and "idiot" to the dumb stone and disappear, leaving no trace, as if he had never been there.
The girl will come again and again
For the creature, this is most likely the first and last visit.
But even so, in those moments, when they were separated by thousands of days, nights, feelings and years, there was one thing that united them and will unite them as long as they live
The boy whose name was not on his own grave.
