[The hat falls, Manwol blinks -- barely registering it. It falls like Mandricardo fell, in this memory that she's now seeing.
The only reason she recognizes that it's him is that white streak in his hair -- everything else practically feels like a different person -- and his own feelings. Failure. Grief. That slow sickening realization of what your life meant, right at the end. ...Is this why Mandricardo thinks so little of himself? Hates himself? She thought it was funny before -- a little like seeing a depressed teenager, like all children are at that age. Maybe at some point Manwol forgot how old Mandricardo truly is, and how long all the lives he's lived are.
...Manwol picks up the hat, but she doesn't set it back on his head yet.]
...Did they bury you after?
[did he get a memorial? a grave? was he truly forgotten? that seems too much, but Manwol knows that life is never truly kind.]
no subject
The only reason she recognizes that it's him is that white streak in his hair -- everything else practically feels like a different person -- and his own feelings. Failure. Grief. That slow sickening realization of what your life meant, right at the end. ...Is this why Mandricardo thinks so little of himself? Hates himself? She thought it was funny before -- a little like seeing a depressed teenager, like all children are at that age. Maybe at some point Manwol forgot how old Mandricardo truly is, and how long all the lives he's lived are.
...Manwol picks up the hat, but she doesn't set it back on his head yet.]
...Did they bury you after?
[did he get a memorial? a grave? was he truly forgotten? that seems too much, but Manwol knows that life is never truly kind.]