I sit on the pew, carefully caressing the cross that, in its masters passing, was left behind. Just like me. I am here, alone, unable to care anymore. I have cried so much that tears can no longer flow, and I sigh, slumping back into the wooden pew. I have been told that I am too happy, too optimistic. Perhaps I was. I was taught to see the glass full, and life as an adventure. That is why I voluteered to usher Vash the Stampede around. Desk jobs are boring, and this would be an adventure! Little did I know. When I was told that he had died, I headed straight for the church, only to find a bloodstained cross lying on the floor. Its hard to see life the same way now. I see it as the 200 page assignment that cruel teachers give to thier students; boring, meaningless, a chore. But a chore I must accomplish, must finish. I will not commit suicide simply because I am unhappy. I will finish, as he would want, even I don’t see things exactly the same.
I stand up and hug the cross to my chest, and walk out of the church, away from the memories, and the bitter pain of loss.
