Considering what day it was, and Friedrich couldn't help but remember it, he left a small box of dinner beside the man's door, knowing he will be absent most of the day. Friedrich also left a small plastic white rose with a small note attached to it reading: 'I didn't want to leave a live flower because it would wither and be thrown away. So perhaps, despite its lack of beauty, a fake one would serve a better purpose - Friedrich W.'
The soldier’d spent the entire day at her grave. From the wake of dawn to the setting of dusk, Murdoc sat in the grass, leaned against the small tombstone, just talking. Hours and hours of mindless chattering of everything and nothing; what he’d eaten on a particular day, certain encounters with new and old faces, the massive dumps he was so proud of... Anything that came to his mind was spoken. If anyone had seen or heard him would have thought he was having a real conversation with how much effort he put into telling his stories instead of just talking to mute spirits. It was only when the shapes around him began to blur into darkness did he finally say his farewells. A simple, “love you” and a kiss to the cold stone was all he bid before taking his leave with a bitter sweet smile, leaving her with his usual bouquet of lavenders.
The further away he got the more he could feel the same suffocating pressure at his chest that had been haunting him in those times of darkness, but seeing the gifts left at his door lightened the weight. Taking it inside, he set the flower in his lap as he wolfed down the cold meal in a matter of minutes. With food out of the way, he sat down and took his time to read the short note, twirling the plastic rose between his fingers. It was a small gesture, but one that meant the world to him. With a feel of warmth in his chest, Murdoc set upon a new task.
It was early morning before the Soldier found himself at the familiar doors of Friedrich’s ward, not having the patience to wait. Knocking once, he waited on his toes, eager and bustling with a giddy smile. As soon as the doors unlocked and opened, Murdoc offered the same plastic rose to his friend, now crudely painted with red petals. “She says ‘thank you’,” he muttered with his pot pressed up against his own beating chest, warm smile upon his happy flustered face. “Fer takin’ care of me.”
