you are the world.
as you lay dying in a hospital bed
we take a moment to breathe in
(we do not know this is a dangerous thing yet)
the air free of the chemicals and beeping and rushing we have grown accustomed to
we try and eat something that is not bland
the shops are closed
as you are dying, the world is dying with you.
when we had first arrived, the staff had thought i was old
they had me sign paperwork and give medical information for your stay as your next of kin
they looked in my eyes and saw my future
(Apollo was God of prophecy and medicine both)
knew i would command your fate into the ground
knew i would not condemn you to that terror of cremation
your family arrives
(black birds following armies, knowing that a feast will be served)
they always do, for matters they consider important
first arrives your sister
(i forget which one)
she is kind to me, of course
she dances around the obvious, of course
she is surprised that my mother and stepfather are there,
although she tries to hide it
at some point, there is a meeting around whether or not
you would want to have donated yourself to help others
(why is that information not already available?)
i don’t know for certain what you would say, but i tell them to do it anyway
(forgive me, for not asking)
(forgive me, for not saying hello)
(forgive me, for waiting until i was grown to talk)
your sister tries to give you your Last Rites while my family is away
the Priest, the Doctors, they all tell her no
she tries anyway
(i understand, she is trying to help)
(i understand, she does not know you)
your Mother arrives.
(so does her husband and my uncle)
i don the armor ive been welding for my (your) life (death)
I greet her with respect, we go through the motions of grief before death
(i do not give her my True Name, i do not eat of her food, i do not give her any debts)
(i am a changeling child, i know her kind well)
i prepare myself for real battles to begin.
the rest of the players trickle in
the family
your friends
(your friends go through your house, giving most to me. neither side asks, so no debt is owed)
(i do not have to go myself)
(it is one less battle to fight)
my mother becomes my second-in-command easily, as if she never even stopped
she is water, flowing and changing
she is rock, steady and tethering
here is how the war is fought
in uncomfortable hospital chairs, we talk, your family and i
your mother takes charge on her side
i take charge on mine
we are outnumbered, but we have legal power over your decisions
and their time is running out.
as per the rules set long ago, we must remain respectful. polite.
they are your family. they raised you. you are their precious son.
(you were born out of wedlock. you abandoned the faith. you raised a queer.)
my mother abandoned you. my stepfather must hate you. your friends are irrelevant.
(you were my mother’s best friend. you got my stepfather to branch out. your friends built a boat to burn for you)
but me? i am your child. you are my precious father, my world, who i am losing.
so when i tell them that you would want to be buried without a box, to feed the earth and let the worms eat your flesh?
they cannot oppose me directly.
most of your family ignores your brother, my uncle
they can’t understand the words he says so they think him infantile
when they aren’t ignoring him, they are Handling him
they tell him you are dying in little words
“Pete isn’t going to be around anymore soon”
they say in falsetto tones
they do not let him grieve. they do not let him love.
i do not let the rage boil under my skin
i do not let myself mourn that with your passing he will be taken away as well
it will not help him. it will not help you.
i often can’t understand what my uncle says either, but that’s not new
the wind likes to play tricks on me, tying words into knots before they reach my ears
i am one of the few that treats him like the eldest child he will soon be
he is one of the few that treats me like the child i shall still be for two years yet
so between battles, sitting amongst the corpses of words, we sit in silence,
and we draw
your death is scheduled
it has to be, to harvest what they can from you, to save who they can
there is ceremony to what comes after
they bring the body up, and we walk down the hall with it
doctors and nurses line the halls, giving respect to what we have lost
giving respect to what you have given that will save others
the only sound the whole way is my uncle’s sobs
i don’t know if he hates that it was a child, your child, who was the one comforting him
and so the world ends.
the funeral seems dull in comparison to the honor walk
sure, your family made a scene,
but my mother took the narrative back
and anyway.
by that point the fight was over
your wishes were respected
i had won.
the next day,
we went home.
and we didn’t come out.
and so the world ends.
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