This is my last major post before I ship out on Sunday morning. I managed to write the following scene (which would be the opening to the next chapter) as well as some snippets leading to Akira's induction into Operation Yashima. Thanks for reading so far, and I'll see you all again in August.
Greenwood Cemetery, New York City
"Hey, papa is coming to visit again." An old man said as he slowly bent his right knee. The butler beside him gently held onto the old man's left arm and slowly eased him down until the rose bouquet in the old man's hands touched the ground in front of the headstone. The butler then helped the old man get back onto his feet and handed him his cane.
The old man graciously took the cane with his right hand and then turned his attention back to the grave in front of him. He bowed his head and closed his eyes, the youthful fires in them having been extinguished long ago. A minute or so passed in silence, with the only interruption being a chirping bird that brought a little life to the overcast day.
"Remember your newest sister? The little girl I adopted?" The old man said in a slow, trembling voice, the cane visibly shaking along with his hands. "She went off to war a couple of weeks ago. Not the kind of war your granddaughter is fighting, but something even worse. I'm so scared of losing her, just like how I lost you."
The old man's vision started to blur because of the tears that gathered in his eyes as he thought back to happier times.
"I shouldn't have let you come along no matter how hard you begged." The old man said, his voice becoming weaker. "If only you stayed back to take care of Holly, you'll still be with us today. I-I…"
The old man tried to speak, but only choked sobs came out. Every breath he took to try to calm himself down was immediately expelled as a sob while tears streamed down his cheeks. The cane clattered to the ground while the old man dropped to his knees, his hands holding onto the headstone.
Tears began to form in the butler's own eyes as he got down to one knee and rubbed his employer's back, which heaved like a stormy sea because of the old man's sobbing. There was nothing more the butler could have done except attempting to comfort his employer and gaze upon the headstone that read "NICHOLAS GEORGE JOESTAR, 1940-1989".