and a one Victor B., who wishes to remain more or less anonymous
, since he was pretty much just an
It was a cold
day. Not just any cold day, it was death
ly cold. The kind of cold you sense
as an emotion
s chill itself. The kind of cold you feel when staring at your wifes grave
Stitch stared at the grave with the painful reminder of his own failings and short commings. It was a sorrowful rememberance.
As he dropped the blue rose
onto the granite, marking where her body lie, the events encompassing his wifes demise echoed thru his mind.
The flash of a camera, chalk
, blood, she collapsed, she said to stitch, "Don't remember me like this." she stumbled backward as her
long blue hair flew forward, she grabbed her chest, a gunshot, she gasped, why do things have to end this way?
Stitch remembered the child as she walked up to him and squeezed his hand. He was drawn back into reality with a flash. Julie's daughter, her
legacy to the world. Her real father long dead from a war no one cared to remember. Sarah was too young to understand, but for whatever reason, it
always seemed like she did.
"Daddy, will we ever stop comming here? It's always so quiet and cold here." Stitch was broadsided by the comment, but simply nodded, and took
Sarah was, for reasons spies kill to keep quiet, wise beyond her years. Sometimes she would tell Stitch she heard Julie talking
to her when she was in bed. At breakfast she would sometimes ask Stitch, "why wont you leave mommy alone? Maybe she doesn't want to be remembered
like that, whatever that way is." She went on eating her breakfast. Stitch wanted to contradict her, tell her she was wrong, but as much as he
wanted to, he knew it was true.
She died for those children, why couldn't he remember her for her and not the way she died? All the pain she beared watching those children like
Sarah, hurt by mankinds instinct to advance beyond it's biological
boundaries. It was Pandora's Box
, it was Sarah's box. Julie always made
time for those children, and whenever Stitch saw her, even at times when she looked a little sad, her brilliant beauty showed through. It was
times like these, thoughts of insignifigance, failure, and responsibility
, that brought Stitch to the ledge. He would often stand there for
hours, not knowing which way to get off.
"Granted, it's a way." Sarah interrupted from behind him, clutching her teddy bear. "I could recite the typical rhetoric, 'don't kill yourself,
it's no way to get revenge!', or 'suicide is never the answer', perhaps even 'suicide is just an escape from your real problems.'" The wind
rustled, white noise pierced Stitches ears. "But in reality, most cowards never pull the trigger, and martyr
's often find it to be the perfect
answer, and perfect revenge."
Stitch stared straight forward, into the skyline. The harvest moon looked blood red. "So why shouldn't you jump? After all, you have bouts with
depression almost every day, you're removed from reality, and you're listening to a nine year old science project."
Dogs barked from afar, in the distance, an ambulance raced to save anonymous
lives. "Girl." Stitch said, "I'm listening to a nine year old girl,
and i'll never forget that." The stars twinked to Stitch. "Not the way you want to see her, anyway. She'd never forgive
while i'm watching." He stepped to safe
r ground and embrace
"So are you still going to get revenge, daddy?" Stitch smiled, and nodded. He was going to get revenge in the best possible way, for that which
blossoms in the darkness can only wither in the light.
He would sit down at his typewriter
, and betray his colleagues
, his country
, and his ethics
. In the space of 4 years, he would have his
, the targets of his anger having devoured themselves with fear of conspiracy
. Only his morals, memories, and paternal
bond with Sarah would remain intact.
"This is how I remember her." Stitch would say to himself, while writing
under the heavens. Sarah began to descend into insanity when she was
13. Other people would always think she was mentally insane, and pity Stitch for having such a burden. But Stitch would always talk to her, thru
their minds. He was happy. It would be 47 years until they were all togeather again.
"This is how I remember her."