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“—and then you were in a box and you were wearing a suit that I know you hate wearing and they put makeup on you and I asked why and they said it’s because the water messed up your skin.”
Wirt bites back the tears stinging his eyes, engulfed in the shadows of the forest. Greg hangs homemade ornamenents onto his grotesque antlers made from whatever he can find on the forest floor and tie grass onto.
“It was super weird but everyone was saying super nice stuff about you and you just slept through the whole thing.”
“I wasn’t sleeping, Greg. I’m dead.”
“Nu uh. You’re right here.”
“I… this isn’t…”
“If you were dead then could you do this?” He blows a raspberry then pats his stomach three times before attempting to stand on one leg before falling down.
“I’m not doing that.”
“Well, if you did then that would prove you’re alive! Because you are.”
Wirt sighs. “Okay, Greg.”
“They had cupcakes there and they were good but they had coconut on them which is weird because you’re allergic to coconut and if it’s the celebration of your life then they should celebrate it how you’d want it.”
“It was a funeral, Greg.”
“Nu uh! Mom said that it was a celebration of life. She said funerals are sad because it represents what was lost but celebrations of life is about remembering all the good stuff. I had lots and lots of good stuff to remember about you. So did everyone else. We wrote them in this big book and it was supposed to be locked in the box with you but I thought that was dumb because they didn’t give you a flashlight and it’s really dark in there so I took it and… hm.” He rummages through his many layers of robes. “Oh! Yeah! Here!”
As Wirt takes the book from Greg, his hands tremble with confusion and fear. “You… you brought this to me? From… from home?”
“Yeah! I went to bed with it so it could come into the dream with me. I tucked it in all nice. See?” He motions towards the 5 robes he’s sweating beneath.
“Does that mean that you could bring people from home too?” Wirt asks, voice small. “Wait, no, forget it. That’s stupid.”
“I can’t take anyone with me,” Greg says, pouting. “I tried. I asked mom to sleep in my bed with me and she did and she didn’t come with. And I had Roger Royce all cuddled up with me before bed and he didn’t come either?”
“Who? Oh. Right. Your frog.”
“Our frog!” Greg plops on the ground. “I was surprised Double R didn’t make it with me. He misses you.”
“Does… does anyone else miss me?”
Greg groans. “Ugh, yeah. Everyone! It’s all they talk about nowadays. Mom and Dad and your dad and—“
“My dad?”
“Yeah, he showed up to the life celebration and drank a whole bottle of the brown stuff that smells really bad that Dad keeps in the cupboard really high and then he yelled at Mom a lot and then threw the empty bottle against the wall before he left. Totally harshed the vibe.”
“God,” Wirt scoffs. “That’s just like him.” He stills. “Wait. Who taught you what ‘harsh the vibe’ means?”
“Sara the Bee!”
Wirt nearly wipes out as he shoots up with alarm. “You’ve been talking to Sara?!”
“Yeah! She’s come over to visit a lot. Said she listened to your mix tape and wishes she could tell you what she thought and how she wishes she had more time. I don’t know for what because she doesn’t have a timer or anything.”
“She listened to it? And she… she said…”
“I think she wrote something to you in the book.” Greg taps the cover of the book.
With shaking hands, Wirt skims through the pages, making sure to keep his inky tears away from the pages. Finally, he sees the page with her familiar loopy script.
Wirt,
It’s not fair. None of this is fair. One second you’re being your usual dork self with your stupid smile and your stupid dimples saying your melodramatic poetry that I love and then you’re being pulled out of the lake and you’re not breathing and they’re giving us false hope that they can save you and then they don’t.
I found the mixtape you left in my pocket. I had gotten home from the hospital and thought I had cried everything I could but I saw it and I knew it was from you and I cried so hard that I almost passed out.
I didn’t have a player and I was going to borrow one of our friend’s but then your little brother came over and gave me yours.
It took me a week before I could even put the tape in. Another before I could listen to it.
I love it. I love you. I didn’t even know it until it was too late but I do. We’ve been friends since I can’t remember when and I knew you were too chicken shit to say anything so I was just building up the courage to do it myself.
But you weren’t. You told me first. And I didn’t even get to tell you that I feel the same.
I keep listening to your poems, pretending that you’re sitting with me, telling me them. And it’s almost like you are but you’re not and then I cry again and I’m so fucking sick of crying especially because there’s nothing that can make it stop because you’re dead and you’re not coming back.
I’m sorry. These are supposed to be well wishes. Happy memories to send you off.
If your parents are reading this, I’m sorry.
I’m just so fucking sorry.
I love you, Wirt. I wish I knew that sooner.
And I hope wherever you are, it doesn’t hurt.
-Sara
Wirt pushes the book away, afraid to drench it with his black tears. He curls in on himself, holding his too long knees to his chest and burying his face behind his too long arms.
“Wirt, what’s wro—”
Wirt looks up and Greg is gone.
The sun peeks through the leaves and Wirt knows that it’s morning back at home and Greg is safe, away from him.
Wirt sobs. He sobs and screams for everything he lost. He sobs and screams because he would’ve done it over and over again if it meant saving Greg. He sobs and screams because it is not fucking fair and he hates himself and he hates Greg and he hates that he hates Greg and he—
Greg wakes up, stretching his arms high above his head before pushing his knuckles to his eyes to wipe out the sleep. He props himself up to his knees and peers over the back of his bed to see the ever glowing light behind his bed, satisfied as it feeds from Greg’s soul, brighter than any soul trapped in the Unknown, near omnipotent in comparison.
As long as Greg believed in Wirt, then Wirt’s soul would glow bright within the Lantern.
The question is if it will continue to burn if Wirt doesn’t want to will his soul’s existence any longer.
