How can you be a man?
Yes; how can I be a man, when I sent him to his grave.
***
The night grew suddenly still. All night owls, tree branches creaking, critters rustling in the leaves, ceased. All but the moonlight’s somber embrace. Casting deep shadows upon the angular tombstones. Soft crunches of dead leaves grew louder as they echoed off the polished stone. A barren tree stood alone, solitary in this dreary morgue. The geriatric tree twisted and warped on the saturated earth and in the endless night sky. Moonlight carved through the tree’s crooked trunk, whitling a familiar face amongst the weathered bark. Long, gnarled branches curled towards me, reaching out for salvation, but never attaining it. Knotted roots curved and wormed their way into gravestones. Wrapping their withered fingers around a cold body, begging for forgiveness. Little did they know that forgiveness would shun them.
I paused upon a derelict name card, covered in poisoned weeds.
Here lies Hugo Alexander Knight, beloved brother, son, and war hero.
A twig snapped. A leaf rustled. My attention was torn away from my brother’s grave, like pages in a Dickens book. The sudden betrayal of silence was filled with ragged breaths. Adrenaline flowed freely through my veins, as I scanned the jagged tree line. My throat dried up like skin in the freezing weather. My voice crackled as if it were dead bark in the summer heat, coming out discordant.
“Who goes there?”
To my dismay there was nothing. It must have been a cat or a trick of the mind. The tree creaked and groaned in the still night. Murmuring something almost coherent but not quite.
Ro-nan… Ro-nan..
“Is someone there? Reveal thyself!”
Ro-nan… How… can you be… a man?
“I implore you, whoever it may be, show yourself!” My voice echoed slowly amongst the empty cemetery, falling upon dead ears. The slow speech of the wind curled around my body like witches’ fingers. Goose-flesh slithered up my arms. A hollow presence haunted my shadow, empty, but heavy words twisted into my ear.
Ro-nan… Ro-nan… Why did you send me to this grave below your feet?
“What is this trickery? What do you mean? Send who to a grave?” Turning in a circle, realisation seeped in each revolution. Those taunting words:
Ro-nan… Can you not see? … I am right here…
“- Hugo?” Trembling spirits scampered across my heart. “No. No. It cannot be.”
It be…
With quaking hands, I reach out to embrace my brother. My heartbeat swelled with the possibility of a second chance. A forbidden question shamefully entered my mind, wondering if I could take back my mistake. But my hands remained suspended in cold, empty air. Thick sobs captured my body, shaking me remorselessly. Memories swirled around my head. Mistakes taunted within me. The past always comes swirling and circling you like a vitriolic horde.
“Oh Hugo. Where are you?”
I shied away from the dead air in front of me. I found my answer.
Here lies Hugo Alexander Knight, beloved brother…
Lies. All lies.
It’s morbidly amusing how a cemetery must dress up the dead in fancy titles. Titles that are unbecoming and unfit, too lofty for a lump of flesh. Beloved. I laughed at the fact. It was possible for Hugo to once be loved by my heart. It was once possible for Hugo to be alive, had he not entered the library that day. That day might’ve ended differently. Not with a shallow grave. Not with a persistent empty space in my shadow.
How can you be a man?
A man, Ro-nan?
“Damn you! Damn you to a thousand years in the endless flames of Hell! Burn you demon!” Passion spiked my heart; rage scurried within my arms. Blood stains appeared from long ago. Viscous drops traversed baren, crackled terrain. Falling heavy like a great tumble of books. Echoing louder within my cranium with each thud. Wincing from the noise, I clutched my head. Pushing those memories, back into their coffin.
Regardless of where I am, those damn taunting words follow like a shadow. Like an unwanted brother. It doesn’t matter if I am at the library or here in this godforsaken cemetery. There are the same. One stores dead men’s promises and desires, while the other stores dead men. Both cling desperately to the world of the living, grasping for a foothold among those who visit the great morgues of humanity. Some of the greats are found in both, others are not even found.
So, the question I ponder, who will visit my story if I am unavailable to the reader?
Who will visit my grave next to my brother’s empty one?
Who will put my lofty title upon my tombstone?
Murderer.
A brother in fratricide.
How can you be a man, when you killed me?
“Leave me alone you foul spirit!”
How can I leave when you put me in this coffin? You have trapped me within your impulses. I am your mistake.
“Hugo-.” My voice broke into a thousand splinters. “I’m so sorry. Why did I ever lay a hand on you? It was a mistake Hugo, you have to believe me. Hugo, forgive me brother.” I begged into the eternal, tragic night.
Am I really supposed to believe that pathetic farce? You hated me. You killed me. You wrung me out like a rag. You threw me out, into that shallow grave. A tame falcon in a poisoned thorned cage. How dare you fake remorse. Please. You are a demon in a man. You are beneath all creatures who scurry upon this earth.
How can you be a man?
How can I be a man, when I’m half demon and dead to this world?
Yes, how can you be a man?
Those evil words haunted me to my last breath.
How can you be a man?
I am not
