:}one step forward, two steps back| [.skylar]

A small alarm begins to sing it's song to awake me from my slumber. Golden sun's rays illuminate my face, the skin smooth and my expression calm. Sleep is always nicer when it's not forced upon you because of shock or pain. Sleep is nice the way it is now. "Clayton. It's time to wake up. I need you to get ready." Sleep will have to end at some point. Unless it's the eternal slumber that marks the ending point of each of our lives. Perhaps some would see it sooner than most would assume. I mean, my father just did. Only thirty-eight years of his life were on this planet. And now they will be lived somewhere else. Somewhere better, even if he doesn't deserve it. And my sleeping is over for now. I get to live another day where my father couldn't.

My feet press firmly against the soft carpeted ground. Warmth covers the base, a slight tickling sensation in the large arc of my foot. I push myself to a full standing position, stretching slightly to get rid of the stiffness from my rest. Walking slowly towards the mirror that is suspended against the wall, I flex slightly. I'm not one to be obsessed with how I look. I never have been and I've promised myself that I never would be. But I had to look the best I could today. My father would be laid amongst the dirt that had just cushioned his feet a few days ago. The funeral would only last an hour or two. I'd probably leave before. I was never big on emotions either. My fingers gently push against the closet door, revealing my clothes, all neatly hanging by hooks. My mother had OCD and probably fixed everything up. It was good to have it neat, I guess. The formal outfit was easy to find.

Once I finally got dressed and ready, I made my way down the steep staircase, my hand grasping the railing tightly. Once at the bottom, I took a seat, grabbing a banana from our little basket. "Well don't you look handsome." My mother's voice rings out from behind me. Turning slightly to see her, I smile. She was affected by my father's dead more than I was. Luckily, I was in a deep sleep because of shock and pain while she had to deal with everything for myself and for her. And when my father's dead corpse was rolled into the hospital, a blanket across his body and face, my mother cracked deep down inside. I can see it in her eyes, even if she won't admit it.

We left to the funeral a few minutes later, arriving there before any of the other family members did. But I was shocked. He was there, his eyes shut tightly. The casket was open for people to say their last words. And I had nothing good to say to my dead father. That's what makes things pretty damn sad. I take a seat in one of the metal chairs, the banana threatening to come back up. Taking a look around the area, I search for a quiet place. The houses begin just a bit away, gravestones ending in the yard of one. A large stream travels around the back of one house, through the graveyard and ends in a small pond. And a forest is just to my left, the trees high and strong. Darkness is the only thing past it that I can see.

I'm ready to walk off when the man begins to speak. "Geridan Synclair was a good man at heart. He wished the best for everybody in his earlier years." The man continues on, reading off of some paper that doesn't seem to have the truth. The truth about how I lost my leg or how anything he did was affected by the bottle. None of it was on that small piece of paper that made him seem like such an amazing person, when really, he wasn't. And when the words stop, his body is being lowered down, the dirt being thrown over it, sealing him away from this world for the last time. I can't even cry. My emotions are running wild, giving me no time to actually think. "Clayton? Are you okay?" My mother asks, her eyes watching me carefully. I'm not okay. Definitely not. But what's the point in telling her. She'd be off to work soon, not caring if I was sick or sad or mad or anything. "I'm fine mum. Just need some peace and quiet." My voice is quiet, just loud enough for her to hear. She nods without saying a word, walking off towards the gravestone.

That's when I turned around and left towards the large forest. It didn't take long to be surrounded by towering trees and roughly cut bushes. The ground was rough too, roots sticking out and crawling across the ground. It's then accompanied by my body as I sit on the dirt. My hands cover my face immediately. The sound of critters is loud behind me, the constant noise of a crow is just to the left. But I like it better here. Nobody will try and cut off my leg with a knife. My eyes lock on the limb that is covered with my suit's pant leg. Rolling it up, glaring at the machinery and then closing my eyes. It's a curse almost. But I can remember my father by it, even if it's in a sick and twisted way.

Goodbye dad. I'll see you in a while. Hopefully.