Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Iterations ❯ Eulogy ( Chapter 6 )

“There are no words. There have never been any words in the course of human history that can adequately capture grief over the passing of a loved one. And so we stand in silence and shock and remembrance, and most importantly, love. Love for the precious, vibrant young woman who so tragically left us. Love is the one thing that is stronger than death. And we can find comfort in knowing that it is love that keeps our bond with her alive, that in the place of rest and relief where she now resides, she can still feel our love.”

 

I cover my mouth to prevent any of the weeping mourners from seeing my yawn, passing it off as an attempt to hide a choked sob of my own. I have to be very careful to control that eye-rolling instinct, however, because that I wouldn't be able to pass off as anything but what it is.

 

Complete, utter boredom at this bullshit ceremony.

 

Precious, vibrant young woman, my ass. Translation: Five-dollar uppity whore. It's the truth. She was a whore. Serves her right for taking on a sketchy job in a sketchy part of town. Dani had told me she was a dancer. No one works as purely a dancer in that part of the city.

 

Silence and shock—well, I admit it was shocking that she died this early in her career. She only started a few weeks ago. Guess she had a little too much spunk for the client who killed her. Maybe she didn't agree to a gang bang, or maybe she demanded too much money from the wrong kind of customer. Such are the risks of the trade.

 

Dani's crying on my shoulder. This is the longest I've ever seen her speechless. Just incoherent blubbering sobs on my suit jacket.

 

I look around briefly. Selena's parents are up front, of course. They're crying harder than Dani, naturally. So is Selena's younger sister, and even her brother-in-law has some tears in his eyes. I don't know any of the other guests, but there are a lot of them. Enough to fill this mid-sized church.

 

How many of them know exactly how she died, I wonder. Or what she was doing before she died. Maybe the details will remain a secret for the cops alone. The only thing I know is that she was found several hours after she died, having bled profusely from the expected places and with heavy bruises around her throat. She'd been choked to death and stuffed into the mattress of a hotel room bed.

 

The ceremony winds on. One of her friends stands up and gives a eulogy. Dani wasn't close enough to her to have to do that. But they were close enough that I expected maybe Dani could have convinced her not to take such a dangerous job. Or at least to leave it after she realized it was unsafe. Seriously, how many people wait until they start working in a strip club in the slums BEFORE they realize it's unsafe?

 

I have an intense urge to shrug Dani's face off my shoulder. My suit jacket is thick but even it can't take all that water without eventually soaking through. But I just pat her head in comfort. She holds onto me more tightly then. I smile down at her. She looks at me for a second, seeming to notice that my eyes are completely dry, and cries harder. I'm not sure if that was a disturbed look or if it was just to confirm that I'm playing my part well. The part of the unshakable chivalrous man who holds back his grief for the sake of supporting the weak woman on his arm, and offers his shoulder charitably to her shower of tears.

 

There's one way in which this funeral isn't cliché. It's not thundering outside. There's no rain at all. No clouds either. Perfect cloudless day. Birds are chirping as we walk across the cemetery grounds. We walk past countless graves under the merry sun.

 

It's interesting to watch people's faces as they pass headstone after headstone, some overgrown with moss, some well-groomed. They read names, names that none of them recognize and will ever remember after this day, names that no one in this world probably remembers or cares about anymore. I can see what they're thinking.

 

The ones who really love Selena are thinking her name's already scratched into that big book of dead people that God keeps up there. Or at least, they hope that her name's scratched into that book, and not the other one written in a fiery place on paper that doesn't burn.

 

The ones who were kind of close to her but are just here for courtesy are thinking something else. They see all these forgotten names and think that's going to be them someday. They'll be similarly forgotten, covered over with earth, neglected and overgrown with weeds. Relatives and friends may visit them sometimes to put a pot of flowers before the stone or to brush off the moss. But after a few years, nothing. Their headstone will just be there to inspire other mourners at other funerals to ponder and fear own mortality.

 

Then there's me. I see these names and dates and the Bible verses under them in particular, and I think, where are these guys now? In the mockery of heaven, or the mockery of hell? Are they having fun? Or did they get bored as quickly as I did when I died the first time?

 

I don't pretend to know the specifics of deliberation of the final judge of mortal souls. Enma Daio has always been a mystery to me. How that giant lardass bureaucrat can keep doing his tedious desk job for eternity without going mad and just stomping on some souls is still a question I ponder at times. But I wonder what he thinks of Selena.

 

Scratch that, I think I know what he thinks. Once she finally reaches the front of the queue, he'll see another opportunity to boost the tourism industry in heaven - hot chick who can dance and pleasure the jaded bureaucrats on their paid vacations. Stamp of approval for heaven.

 

“Trunks,” Dani sobs into my shoulder, refusing to look at any more graves. “She's gone. She's really gone.”

 

I continue walking at a steady pace, not looking at her. “Yes, she is.”

 

“I miss her. I miss her so much.”

 

Pity. Selena probably doesn't miss her. Whore can have all the sex she wants in heaven without contracting an STD or feeling “unsafe” afterward. Who the hell needs living friends?

 

The pastor says a last bit before the coffin goes into the ground. People are either looking away or forcing themselves to watch, catching the last moments of the container bearing her remains before it disappears from sight. I wonder if Selena is watching her own funeral right now.

 

You know, there's a winning idea. If I'm ever asked by the forces that be to redesign heaven and hell like I've imagined sometimes, I am going to give out complimentary mini TV sets from the back shelves of the Capsule Corp warehouses to all those newly departed souls. They can then tune in to their own funeral while they wait on that long queue before judgment. I can clear my warehouses of useless 90s products while clearing millions of consciences at the same time. Genius idea, Trunks.

 

I take Dani home after the funeral. I'm a bit surprised she wanted to come with me instead of going off with her friends, the ones who were closer to Selena. I had expected they'd have some kind of therapeutic girl's night with nail painting and facials, maybe some female-only sex games.

 

But she picked me instead. As soon as we walk in the door of my house, I can tell she's going to want me bad tonight. It's almost too much for me to handle, especially because she's crying almost all the way through. It's rather uncomfortable because it feels like I'm the one making her cry, like I'm forcing her against her will. Or like I'm a sleaze for taking advantage of her when she's vulnerable and in mourning. But I think this is therapeutic for her.

 

Afterward she just kind of lies beside me, staring at nothing. I'm halfway asleep when she finally says something.

 

“I hope the man who killed her rots in hell. The way…the way he killed her…I can't imagine how horrible her last moments must have been.”

 

I nod quietly and let her keep ranting about the murder and what she'd do to him if she ever met him in person. I agree that Selena's last moments must have been horrible, and I pity the people who found her body. Her killer was obviously a sadistic, uncultured imbecile, given the barbaric way in which he ended her life.

 

Obviously, choking a person with your bare hands means your fingerprints show bright as day pretty much all over the crime scene. And his DNA is there as well, a copious amount of it, considering how he fucked her inside out beforehand. The man's practically begging for capture and life in prison. Thinking about it bothers me greatly, and I actually fall asleep after Dani does. I guess it's the perfectionism acting up again; I've never murdered anyone in such an idiotic fashion.