Title: Silence for the Silencer

Author: Liewe (liewe@hotmail.com)

Disclaimer: standard apply, please don’t sue me

Wufei was the first to go, a mysterious disease taking his life, who would have thought. It certainly wasn’t what I expected, no, I expected him to die a brave warrior, but he was never really the same after Ayami’s death. It hit him hard and then his son’s abandonment, Meiran is strong though, she has her grandfather’s warrior’s spirit, and she will do him proud on the battlefield. Heero next, his death mysterious as was his life, Relena is still not over his death, the other tragedy’s in her life not helping much. Angel will do Heero proud, like Meiran will do for her family’s honor, Angel is a warrior. My grandson though, I don’t know what to think of him anymore, he is different than I was.

My son was different, he never had to face the hardships of war, I envied him at times, but then it was that which led to his downfall. He could never have been prepared for the explosion; he was to happy go lucky to watch his step, to mind his way. I hear Catherine softly crooning to me, her tears of anguish, softly splashing on my hands, on my face. I wish I could comfort her, but the wounds I received in the crash have taken all my strength, now I just wait for my death. They are trying to find my grandson Damon, so he can say good-bye to me, but does he care.

Damon is like myself, as Meiran is as Wufei was, they are similar but different. This trend is continuing with the other pilots, Angel the only one to deviate from the current course, she is like her grandfather in combat, but she is kind and caring in real life she has never had to face the horrors of war, and I hope our predications will come to naught. Taryn, a sweet girl-child, with her grandfather’s angelic looks is the same of Quatre; her grandmother’s name suiting her to perfection. Matthew, so much like his grandfather and his father, a joker through and through, his devious mind always exploring new ways of trickery.

The pain is overwhelming as the wounds eat through me body to my soul, as I fight against the painless peace and quiet of unconsciousness. I fight against at as I fought against Oz, against Dekim Barton, against the horrors of my past. Midii was the only good thing, which came from my past, her love, and my memories of her innocence. Her long flowing blonde hair, the soft dove gray eyes, I miss her, but I will be with her soon. It’s ironic that she left me first, when in the past it was I who left her, her death almost destroyed me.

Catherine’s hold on my hand has tightened, she’s afraid, I can feel it, I can feel her fear. There are more footsteps approaching my room, heavy and light, they’re all sad, the way they move tells me so. I hear a little voice appear by my prone form, begging me to stay, the little voice of Damon, my dear grandson, he does care for me. I wish I could stay, to protect him, to teach him, but that is impossible, I can already feel my life slipping away. Damon will be left to take on the mantle of the soldier if the need so arises, he will become the pilot of Heavyarms, a soldier to be feared. Cathy will care for him, she hasn’t changed over the years she is still the same trusting person I met when I was 15 and alone in the world.

The doctor has entered the room now, he’s slowly telling them of my imminent death that I have only hours left to live. I can hear Cathy’s gasp of anguish, Damon’s childlike cry’s of pain, I can hear them all in their anguish, anguish caused by me. My body has barely aged, I still resemble the man I was 30 years ago, my hair hasn’t grayed, and only marks of laughter have creased my face. I’m not ready to die, but I can’t stop it now, nothing can stop the course of fate.

The accident wasn’t meant to happen, I wasn’t meant to be in that car, but I was and now what’s done is done, what will be, will be and I will be dead by the beginning of the next day. My reflexes have dulled with the years though, I wasn’t quick enough, I didn’t see the other car coming, in the end this is all my fault, if I had looked right instead of left this may have been avoided. Might have been.

It’s my time now, I can see the light everyone claims to be there, I can see it, and I can feel the warmth, the pure joy filling my heart, overriding the pain which has riddled my soul for as long as I could remember. I see myself lying there now, as I float above them slowly ascending towards the heavens, my crimes forgiven. The doctor’s swarm over my lifeless body, desperately trying to bring me back, even in the face of utter loss they try, held by their oaths to help those in need. Their cry’s tear at my heart as I disappear from the world, to reappear in the next.

“Trowa Barton, a soldier, a friend, father and grandfather, may he rest in peace. His life was taken by way of a tragic accident; he left behind many who loved him. He was a hero and he will always be remembered for his heroic deeds to give us this peace, to help us attain a sense of calm. May he rest in peace,” the priest said as he stood at the head of the freshly dug grave, standing there gazing at the many bereft faces of those who knew the man who called himself Trowa Barton. The see of black and open grief tugs at his heart, his face remains emotionless as the mahogany coffin is lowered into the ground, roses of every color heaped atop it’s polished surface.

The priest left shortly after the last words were said, his departure marking the end of an exhausting day. The man laid to rest had lived a full life, but to die in an accident, to be killed by a drunk driver, was not the way for a hero to go. He watched the little boy crouching by the grave an old woman standing slightly behind him. He knew the child would be important to the future. The time for the future would come and he would watch is father’s friends die and then he would watch his nephew and his friends fight for the peace of the world like his father and his friends had done once before.

The Priest, one Father Joshua Maxwell, turned from the scene, turning to meet his now gray father and the saviors of his world. Trowa had been his godfather, he would mourn his death but in private, unlike the others, they needed him to be strong. He remembered Trowa’s words to treasure his family as he made his way over to them, his black robes brushing in the wind.

The end was only the beginning.

-The End?