Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again
~*~ In Memory of Nicholas D. Wolfwood ~*~
"You were once my one companion,
you were all that mattered."
The desert sand blew by his feet in spiraling whirlwinds; ever changing, ever the same, that was the desert. The hot sun beat down upon his long overcoat and black booted legs, but he showed no sign of sweat nor heat. A large, wrapped bundle stood stuck into the sand at his side; it leaned over him slightly, like a guardian of old. Tearstained eyes, bluer then the sky, were hidden behind a pair of yellow sunglass, but the shining trails streaking his cheeks were already beginning to dry. Water did not last long on this planet.
Wiping the last of the wet traces off his cheek, Vash the Stampede glanced over at the wrapped cross next to him and gently traced a buckle with one gloved finger. It was all he had left to remind him of Wolfwood…
Hand shaking, he dropped it back to his lap and put his head on his knees; Wolfwood.
They had found his friend dead in a church, kneeling before the alter, and clutching "The Punisher". A glowing cigarette butt lay before him on the floor and his face was stained with tears not yet dried. Millie had cried for days, and even Meryl had seemed distraught, but Vash had been careful to hide his grief from them and from the rest of the world. Putting on a strong front, he had seen his friend buried, then left once more, taking "The Punisher" with him.
"You were once a friend…
then my world was shattered."
Nicholas D. Wolfwood, the first person to have ever really meant something to him. That is, ever since Rem… And now he was gone too. Why did everyone he loved have to die?! Why did everyone he seemed to get close to end up dead?!
Angrily wiping fresh tears from his cheeks, Vash stood up and grabbed the cross, heading off in any given direction, kicking at the sand as he went.
Why…why?
"Wishing you were somehow here again,
wishing you were somehow near."
If only he had been there with Wolfwood; if only he could have protected him, given up his own life instead of his friend's! Wolfwood had been the only person to ever have seen a glimpse of what the Humanoid Typhoon was really like; he was the only one who could understand in the least what Vash's mission was.
Desperately he wished for a miracle, wished that somehow, though it defied every law of life Rem had taught him, that Wolfwood could come back. He wanted the man to be with him again, to walk beside him once more and give him the comfort of companionship on his long, wandering journey.
"Sometimes it seemed if I just dreamed,
somehow you would be here.
Wishing I could hear your voice again,
knowing that I never would."
Of late, his dreams had been plagued with hauntings of the priest; the tearstained, bloody body painted itself on the insides of his eyelids and the man's voice rang in his ears all day long. Everywhere he went, memories of Wolfwood manifested themselves there. He could not escape them.
But no matter how vivid his dreams, or how fervent his wishes, Wolfwood didn't come back.
"Dreaming of you won't help me to do,
all that you dreamed I could."
But even as he wiped away his tears, new ones stung his eyes with every picture of the wandering priest that flashed through his head.
"…Even though he's been scarred from head to toe, he'll always be there…"
Falling to his knees, Vash beat one fist upon the sand beneath his and let out an unearthly shriek, which soon dissipated into the dry desert air. "Dammit, Wolfwood! Why did you have to go and die?! You believed in me! How can I live the way you knew I could when you're not here?!"
Hot tears once more spilled forth from his eyes; they fell to the sand and were quickly absorbed by the arid soil.
"Passing bells and sculpted angels,
cold and monumental,
seem for you the wrong companions,
you were warm and gentle."
Life had been his most cherished possession, next to his bike of course, and Wolfwood had sucked up every moment of it, lived every part of it with no regrets. It was the only way he knew how.
And yet, even as he killed men against Vash's beliefs, there was still the part of him that was so warm and tender that it made one wonder if he was truly only one man with one personality. The way he always looked after the children, and valued their lives over anyone else's, including his own, proved that while he appeared to be slightly distant and cool on the outside, he really cared more deeply then he let on.
Now the warmth was gone and replaced by the cold, lifeless ground.
"Too many years fighting back tears
Why can't the past just die?"
Still kneeling on the sand, Vash now fell forward, not caring that the sand almost scorched his skin. What was a little more pain compared to everything else in his life? All the years he had spent protecting people the way Rem had taught him, all the months spent toiling to save himself and those around him. And yet…no matter how hard he tried…they still expired.
Everything that he had kept pent up inside him, all the emotions he had never shown now spilled forth in the outlet of the priest's death. Innocent lives now gone, came back to haunt him; ghosts from the past swirled in his mind. Tears pooled in the sand, now falling too fast to be absorbed into the dry sand.
Why couldn't he escape it?! Why couldn't the past just be buried and remain that way?!
"Wishing you were somehow here again
knowing we must say goodbye."
If only Wolfwood were here; if only he could once again offer his comfort and wisdom. But once again, because of Vash, he had died. An innocent victim had been taken.
With an agonized howl, Vash clawed at the sand, digging small valleys in the soft dust as his entire body shook with sobs. Wolfwood…
"Try to forgive, teach me to live,
give me the strength to try."
"Wolfwood, forgive me!" he thought. "I cannot go on like this…I can't stand the thought of more people dying…It would be better if I just died here and now…and saved the world their lives."
His hand strayed down to the gun at his side and his fingers brushed its cool metallic surface. Choking on the sobs that he was now trying to suppress, he slowly took the gun in his hand and began to raise it to his head.
But no matter how hard he tried, he could not bring himself to raise the gun all the way to his temple. It seemed as if an invisible force were holding him down. His entire arm shook as he stared at the silver surface of his .45 Long Colt Revolver.
As the realization dawned on him he hurled the gun as far away from himself as he could and sat up with a sharp cry. "I need your wisdom now more then ever, Wolfwood!" he thought in despair. "Help me to go on! Help me to try and save those I can…help me to have the strength to go on like this…"
"No more memories, no more silent tears.
No more gazing across the wasted years."
And as he offered up this silent prayer into the azure sky, a sort of sweet calm swept over his exhausted body. His tears stopped and resolution crowded his handsome features. Drying off his cheeks for the last time in his life, he stood slowly and once again slung "The Punisher" over his shoulder.
In his mind he created a mental barrier between now and the past. "No more dwelling in those memories." His thoughts were determined, and his eyes were dry. "I will live my life the way I know Wolfwood would want. I will do my best to live for what's right and defend both our values with all I've got. It's the least I can do for him…it's what I know he would do for me."
With long strides he turned north and walked off into the shimmering desert. The path laid before him was now as clear as if he were seeing it through glass. He knew what he must do. "Thank you…Nicolas…D…Wolfwood…"
"Help me say goodbye…
Help me say goodbye…"
DISCLAIMER: The song "Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again" is not mine, and was not created by me. All rights belong to Andrew Webber and The Phantom of the Opera.
