Death is a difficult subject to understand. As humans, we are incapable of understanding the concept of eternity, as it is too vast a topic for us to think about. We are used to thinking in linear ways, event A leads to event B which causes result C. So when someone is gone, we really don't understand it. We may grow used to not having their company, not being close to them, but we never understand that they are gone.

It should have rained on that day. Standing alone in the grass, facing the rows of stones, I wondered which ones were theirs. They were all out there somewhere; my entire world now lay under the soil, its presence marked only by a solemn grey rock that held all the laments of the world. The eulogy that I wrote, for I was all that was left. There was nobody else to remember with me, nobody to cry with me, nobody to mourn with me. Everyone had moved on, departing the world that bound them with possibilities and impossibilities and entering the world of their Maker, the one who surely had much more to show them than what we knew here.

It should have rained on that day. The dirt should have been filled with the tears of the Heaven, tears of joy, brought about by all the wonderful company it now would know. The water should have washed it all away, rising around me, overwhelming me, sweeping me into the houses of dirt that I spent my days envying. Oh, how I longed to join them all, to relieve this world of its duty of caring and providing for me. How I wished the ground would open up and swallow me, the darkness closing in as I joined my family in the sediment and rejoined my neighbors in death. But I could not claim my own life, as I had claimed the lives of everyone else. It was not my place.

It should have rained on that day. As I fell to my knees, meeting the ground with fierce blows that had no effect, I wished for rain. The day was dark, my mind was clouded like my heart, my soul. I fell among the stones, the memories, and the hatred I had was too much to hold in. I was such a foul beast, far worse than anything dreamed up by Lovecraft or even God himself. I hated myself for what I did, and everything was my fault. I had ruined it all, my selfishness had killed my friends, driven my family apart, destroyed it all. My blood brought death, releasing a terrible darkness into the lives of everyone around me, killing them slowly and silently. It took me an instant to end it all for them, and now I am left with eternity to remember them, for everything was etched in stone. Their lives were below my feet, unrecoverable in their death.

It should have rained on that day. I remembered the love I was to blind to see, as I did so many times and would do so often. I remembered their affection, their care, the beauty of life. I remembered the silence as I had sat in my room, the cold metal against my flesh. I remembered the call of my mother, announcing her arrival at home, and my tears that came a moment too late, my regret for an event that had not yet happened, but had now become unavoidable. My finger tightening around the pin, the terrible sound, metal eating through flesh. I remembered watching as I fell to the ground, unable to stop this terrible scene that unfolded before me. I remembered how my parents broke down my door with cries, my mother retreating from an image too horrendous for her to see. I remembered watching as my father scooped me up with caring arms, wanting something that could never be. And I remembered knowing that what I had done had destroyed everything, that by ending my life I had ended my family's and my friends'.

It should have rained on that day. My life gone, I found myself in a graveyard full of those I killed. Wandering was my punishment, memories were my torture. I was damned to a Hell that I had created, where I was forced to watch everything I had caused. I cried more than ever, weeping for what I had caused. Nobody could understand what I had done, not even myself, so their worlds had adjusted to accompany that misunderstanding. I had killed everyone, and now I had to live among their memories, their stones.

It should have rained on that day.