Fandom; Resident Evil
Word Count; 594
Notes; This totally sucks and is likely heavily disjointed. I was just pouring thoughts all over the paper until it resembled something.
It was raining again.
It was funny. She’d never noticed the rain the way she did now. It seemed like, whenever she came to this place, it rained.
A lot of people had died, fighting Umbrella. More had died after they’d resurfaced, taking the President down. Insubordination was punishable, after all.
And Umbrella thought they were the Gods. They’d killed the President and his family. Or well, most of them.
Ashley they’d had plans for. Ashley they’d screwed up practically beyond recognition. Like they had with that girl… Lisa Trevor.
Claire had seen pictures of Ashley, before she and Leon had come face to face with the girl in the darkest tunnel of utter hell.
She hadn’t looked anything like the pretty smiling daughter of the former president. Mutated, raging, mindless. They’d ended her, there. It had been hard. It had cost Leon.
Claire had managed to drag him out of there, but he’d died soon afterwards. There was that empty sense of nothing...
That same feeling she’d had when she had to put a bullet through Steve. She’d known better than to think Umbrella would’ve just taken the T-Veronica sample from his stilled body and let him to rest.
He hadn’t remembered her, after they’d revived him with the virus. He didn’t remember much, it seemed. He’d been cold. He hadn’t been Steve. Steve had been cocky, arrogant, endearing.
The thing that had looked like him… it had been a killer.
Claire shook her head, shaking drops of rain from her ponytail with the motion, and then absently smoothing her longish bangs away from her face, soaked from the downpour. She paused when she reached her destination, dropping to her knees between two gravestones, ignoring the feeling of mud seeping through her jeans.
She bit her lip, staring between the two headstones, before numbly reaching out, touching the lettering on each one in turn.
Christopher Redfield. Leon Scott Kennedy.
In all the rows of headstones, none were more depressing than the group she now sat in the center of.
These were the warriors who gave their lives to end Umbrella.
The people she had loved, above all others. She’d watched them all die, one, after, another.
She could feel the familiar sting of tears, traveling up the bridge of her nose and touching the edges of her eyes. Her face was already soaked, it didn’t matter.
She was crouched on the graves of two of the most important people in her life, and she was so utterly alone in this world.
She’d swore she wouldn’t end herself. She’d swore she would live on, for them. Despite all the hell they went through, she still believed there was a Heaven, and it was a cardinal sin to end something as precious as your own life.
If there were a God, this entire row of headstones would be direct gateways to Heaven.
Then again, if there were a God, how could he have let so many people die, while the bastards who created the monsters that drove cities into madness sit prettily in jail for life.
Claire squeezed her eyes closed, lowering her hands to rest on her soaked jeans, her fists clenched. She came here often. Did this often. To remind herself why she had to live.
She was living, for those who’d died.
But most of all, she was living to make sure when it was her time, and her headstone was placed between her brother and her lover’s, that it would sure as hell say she died living up to her name.