Pierrot ||Â Response - Dribble Drabble - Cara Hart
Do you know how sad I am right now? @bigcalavera
How do you tell a dead man that you love him.
A soft glow was beginning to rise over the tips of the tall evergreens that dotted the horizon of Johto. Casting a soft shadow over the grounds, even the Spearow were still asleep in the branches and didnât stir by the waking sun. There was a sort of bittersweet calm that had settled over the area and spread into the open window of her room. The quiet was light, dancing on the chill morning air.
But it was unwelcome, unwanted to the woman laying in the bed.
She longed to hear the sound of waves crashing against white, sandy shores. She long to smell the salt drift up from the tide and into her room. And she longed to hear his voice complain about...anything. To just hear him again would be a blessing.
âStill donâ understand how you can stand the smell, girly.â
The glow of the sun started to creep and settle on her sheets. The photographs adapted glares, obscuring his face from sight. They were all in perfect condition, all of them perfectly preserved moments in time of one man. At least a dozen lay scattered over the white duvet. The woman glanced over ever single one - admiring them from her place against the pillows.
She never wanted to forget that face.
âYou just donât like it because you grew up around it.â
The man on the other side of the balcony snorted, blowing out a puff of smoke and filling the air with the scent of burnt ash and clove. âSure. Go with that.â
âI donât mind it.â
âMosâ tourist donât.â
âItâs been a year. Am I really still just a tourist?â
Her own fear of forgetting is what made her leave him. She had been a coward, running from her own mind as if it was some sort of monster she could match. She wanted to help him, wanted to protect him from everything the world had thrown at him - how could she do that if one morning, she would awaken and not remember his face.
âHas it really been a year?â He flicked the ashes of his cigarette over the side of the balcony, âTime flies, huh?â
She snapped another picture of him. He paused, glancing at her. His brows furrowed, but he didnât say anything about it as he inhaled once more. âWhen youâre having fun.â She finished.
âOh, yeah,â He grunted, covering his mouth and effectively blocking his smirk, âBeinâ a model is one hell of a good time.â
One picture stood out among the rest. Far from pristine, the battered edges gave way to how much she had handled it over the years, the lines and bent edges showing how much time it had been pulled out and admired. His face was as calm as his features would allow. The scowl had softened, staring out over the horizon in front of the balcony. His white hair was tousled about by the wind, his hand holding the cigarette in front of his mouth. The photo did little to hide the manâs eyes, bright even then.Â
She missed those eyes the most.
âI want to make sure I remember.â She replied, setting the camera down.
âYou ainât gonna forget this handsome mug, babe.â
They were too much alike, in some regards. Too much pain that they insisted on keeping hidden for the sake of those around them. She could see the weight of his demons, see the damage they did to him. She wanted to take his cross off his back. She had longed to relieve him of the pain he bore. She wanted to tell him everything - wanted to let him know that in the world so dark, he wasnât alone.
Her cheeks were red and raw with the hours she had spent crying. Her eyes were blood shot and swollen. The pain in her chest had grown as her heart tightened and twisted. She gripped the photo so tightly in her hand, she could swear her arm was going to go numb.
None of it mattered now.
âYou donât know that.â
âAnd you donât know that you will either.â He retorted, finally turning to face her. His face was set in a scowl.
Would things have been different if she stayed? Would he still be there with her? After all this time, what would have happened to them?
It was her own fear that drove her away from the islands. Would she have been able to do anything to help him? Would she have been able to get through to him, to offer him the shred of peace she wanted him to have?
She paused, remaining quiet. He watched her for another moment before turning his attention back to the waves. His hair danced in the breeze and for a moment, the world was still. No gang wars, no lackeys to worry about, no worry of what tomorrow was going to bring.Â
There was only him.
She wondered if he knew how beautiful he was
The pain in her chest grew.Â
Another choked sob.Â
How pathetic was she? She loved him. More than anything and she couldnât protect him. She couldnât save him like she should have been able to. How terrified was he in those last moments? Did he know that death was coming for him? Was he alone?
Did anyone mourn for him?Â
She waited another breath. She wanted to reach out, to touch him and let him know that she was there for him. But what was she to this man? She wondered if he knew how much he meant to everyone around him - to the people that he held dear. To the grunts sitting in the mansion, who looked to him for guidance. She understood it was part of the problem, knew too well that the weight of peopleâs eyes added to his makeshift cross.
She wondered if he knew how much he meant to her. She wondered if he knew how much she wanted to help him. To relieve some of the pain - if only for a while.
The smell of clove drifted through the open window. It took a moment for her to recognize the scent, to understand what it meant.
âGuzma?â
Turning away from her pictures, she tried to sit up from the pillows. He stood, silhouetted against the overwhelmingly bright light. Slowly, he lifted a hand to his mouth, tugging the cigarette from his lips. The smirk on his face was as wide as she remembered, but...
âWhat is it, girly?â
It was almost peaceful.Â
Slowly, he crossed the room. The pain in her chest grew, tears brimming and stinging the back of her eyes. No, he was dead. She got the letter - read it a thousand times. She saw the news reports, saw the pictures of the aftermath. It had been so long.
But there he was, as if she had never left Alola in the first place. His eyes were just as bright, his hair just as curled, the tattoos just as faded against his skin. He eyed her for a moment, before reaching out a hand. She felt so small under his stare, so frail. But there was a warmth to him - one she had almost forgotten.
âThe pit isnât so bad.â
âCome on, girly.â He said, softly, âUp outta the bed.â
She let the picture fall against the blankets. Without hesitation, she slid her hand into his. He pulled her up out of the bed, helping her steady herself when her feet hit the floor.
âI missed you,â She said.
He snorted, âFigured you would.â
âYeah...guess itâs not.â
For a moment, the scent of clove was all she could smell. And she was fine with that.
âShe must have passed sometime during the night.â
The nurse stood up from picking up the pictures that had scattered all over the floor. Figures, her first week working at the nursing home and already someone had passed away. She turned and set the pictures on the nightstand, âWho was she?â
âI think she was a Champion at one point. Not sure though.âÂ
The girl looked over the older womanâs face. Her white hair was scattered about, her features soft. At first glance, she could pass for soundly asleep. âWhoâs the guy in the photos?â She asked, turning away from the dead woman in the bed.
âNot sure,â The other nurse shrugged, âShe didnât really talk about him. I donât think she remembered who he was.â
The girl looked back towards the pictures. Picking one up, she looked over the manâs face. His smirk was wide, his eyes bright, and the bottle he shook in front of the camera was a cheap bottle of vodka. He seemed like a real charmer.
Her eyes glanced back at the older woman in the bed. The smile on her face was calm, unafraid. âMaybe he came to pick her up?â She said.
âMaybe.â
Itâs alright, itâs okay. Itâs like a spell, the lie can finally fade. And the lying Pierrot that I was has gone away.
- Pierrot, Ashe











