Title: At the funeral
Author / Artist: Andrew Anders
Fandom: Durarara! (Mainly animeverse, there will still elements of the novels)
Character: Izaya Orihara
Rating: G
Theme: 01. Natural death
Disclaimer: The characters belong Ryohgo at Narita.
The body lay in a small wooden coffin on the altar.
Izaya face was wrinkled and eyes closed. He wore a black suit, which clouded the lines. His hair, once jet-black, resembled today for filaments of a spider web.
He died in his sleep. Namie who was discovered one morning lying in her bed, clutching his chest, his face distorted by pain. It was
died in his sleep, peacefully. It was what we had told her two sisters.
Namie Yagiri also attended the funeral. She looked around her empty benches, and pretended to sniff in her handkerchief to hide a smile. Until the end, it has been unpopular. Him who loved both men, he succeeded in making himself hated to the point where no one cries at his funeral.
Foremost, the sisters were Izaya, and Kururi Mairu. It was they who organized the funeral and they were the only regret that a little old informant.
Suddenly, the doors of the church opens wide in a roar that echoes through the vaults, jingling all ears.
Shizuo Heiwajima, unabated, and despite his age, stood there, pushing at arm's heavy double doors, metal clad. He always wore his eternal bartender costume, and her long white hair fell in strands stiff on his tinted glasses.
- Izayaaaaaaaa!, He roared.
Without concern for anyone, he ran fast toward the coffin, his shoes slapping on the icy stones.
- bastards!, He shouted, beside himself.
Namie thought he would overthrow the coffin. But he did not. He froze at the edge, contemplating the corpse of his best enemy, eyes wide open. His eyes were
ember, his expression inscrutable.
He laughed.
Behind him, Kururi, the most fragile, began to weep, and vaguely Mairu tried to console her, one hand on his shoulder, e.
- You're DEAD! "Exclaimed Shizuo.
And his voice sounded a resounding triumph, filled with rage and excitement, which reverberated endlessly against the stained glass.
- Fini. Finished! I would never have to smell your stench in this city. I would never have to watch over my shoulder. More crappy shots, more twisted entanglements FINISHED ... !
Heiwajima quickly withdrew his glasses, crazy eyes. They were half blind, and yet today, they shone with a gleam of dementia intense madness that had only increased as and when his life is slowly turning into hell thanks to the underhanded maneuvers Orihara. Shizuo had always had this emotional instability in him and Izaya had done everything to accentuate, to reduce it to a wreck with no future. Evidenced by the sorry state of his clothes and the smell awful it generates. He lived in this street and had not eaten for several days. Nevertheless, he was there. Living, then qu'Orihara was dead. In the night. A heart attack. Ottoman.
- You made me crazy all these years and now ... now ...
He passed his hand over his eyes in disbelief. A tear rolled down his cheek.
- ... Now you're gone ... I'll finally be able to live ...
There was a new sound, he turned.
Namie had left the church. In saying this it would be fine to do some shopping. Why not eat in the restaurant ...
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