CHAPTER 229: DEAD.

Just as when we come into the world, when we die we are afraid of the unknown. Dying is like being born: just a change.

*

The coffin was beautifully designed, pure white in color—just as Augustine had requested.

He’d insisted on a white coffin, saying it matched the soul of the one who would rest inside it which was pure, gentle, and full of light.

Death!

Death is no respecter of anyone... no matter the size of your name, the weight of your wealth, or the depth of your faith.

It doesn’t knock before entering. It doesn’t send a warning or ask for permission.

Death isn’t a friend to the poor or the rich... it simply waits in silence, then arrives like a thief in the night.

We’re all marked for it. Some sooner. Some later. But everyone has a date with the end.

It’s the ultimate price for the privilege of breathing.

And yet, for all its power, death still can’t carry river water with a sieve.

Just like taxes and childbirth, death never comes at a convenient time. But it always comes.

A single death is a tragedy; a million deaths is a statistic

Death is not the opposite of life, but a part of it

What do we say to the Lord of Death?... well tell him not today.

Augustine shake his head sideways. Death had smiles at the person that Augustine had become close to.

And that person... he had smile back at death.

Well! The person had live each day of his life as if it was his last, and now it have finally been the last day of the person to be on earth.

Everybody is going to be dead one day, just give them time... and unfortunately it’s time for the person that’s very dear for the Augustine and Mr. and Mrs Donald to be placed five feet beyond the ground.

Tears streamed down the faces of Mr. and Mrs. Donald as they stood frozen, staring into the open grave where the white coffin lay quietly, five feet beneath the earth.

"I’m... I’m losing my mind," Augustine whispered under his breath, his voice trembling as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

The gravedigger began to cover the coffin and Augustine stepped forward, his hand clutching a single red rose.

With shaky fingers, he dropped it onto the lowering casket. It was his final goodbye. The first rose to fall, heavy with sorrow and unspoken words.

Augustine couldn’t believe how deeply attached he had become. His heart felt like it was splintering into a thousand tiny pieces, each beat aching with unbearable grief.

As the last mound of sand was patted down and the coffin disappeared completely beneath the ground, Augustine let out a long, shaky exhale.

Without a word, he turned away, his steps heavy as he made his way toward the car, shoulders hunched like the weight of the world had settled on them.

Mr. and Mrs. Donald followed behind slowly, each sniffing back fresh tears.

"May the souls of the faithful departed rest in peace," Mr. Donald murmured, voice thick with emotion.

Augustine gave a quiet nod, his eyes cast downward, as if hoping the ground would open again—just one more time.

He stopped dead in his tracks the moment Charles’ parents’ prayer reached his ears. With his voice breaking, he shouted, "AMEN!" as though the word itself was both a cry of faith and a scream of anguish.

Without another glance, Augustine dragged his heavy steps back to the car. He pulled the door open, slid into the driver’s seat, and let the weight of grief crush him.

Augustine’s forehead pressed against the steering wheel, and his body shook violently as sobs tore through him.

Sobs racked Augustine’s chest, spilling out in broken gasps that filled the silence of the car became the weight of loss pressed down on Augustine, and he wept as though his heart itself had been buried with the man who he had just lost.

"Hey... here you go." A warm male voice purred as a hand stretched out a napkin toward Augustine, offering him comfort in the middle of his tears.

"Thanks, pookie," Augustine whispered, managing a faint smile at Charles even though fresh tears continued rolling down his cheeks.

Charles returned the smile softly, his eyes shining with quiet reassurance.

~~

For many individuals wondering whose burial Augustine had just attended, and who exactly had handed him that napkin. The answer is none other than Charles Donald himself.

**Five Months Earlier**

The night Charles collapsed was the darkest of Augustine’s life. He had been rushed into the hospital, where doctors did everything in their power to bring him back.

Machines beeped frantically, nurses shouted instructions, and desperation filled the air.

Yet, despite all efforts, Charles’s body refused to respond.

At last, the lead doctor lowered his head with a heavy sigh and covered Charles’s face with a white cloth and the silence in the room became deafening.

Outside, in the hallway, Augustine who had been lying weakly on the cold tiles sprang to his feet the moment the doctor stepped out.

Augustine’s face was swollen from crying, his voice trembling as he rushed forward.

"Doc... doctor, how is my boyfriend doing?" Augustine pleaded, his sobs choking every word, his brows arched upward in raw despair.

The doctor’s shoulders slumped as he stared at the floor. "I... I’m so sorry, Augustine. We lost him."

Silence....

A heavy, suffocating silence swallowed the entire corridor as a cold chill ran through everyone’s spine, and goosebumps rippled across their skin.

"What... why are you messing with me?" Augustine asked, his lips twitching into a forced smile, his voice trembling between denial and despair.

The doctor swallowed hard and lifted his gaze to meet Augustine’s eyes. His lips quivered as he whispered, "I’m truly sorry."

"Nooooo!" Freda shrieked. The raw cry ripped through the air before her body went limp, collapsing to the floor.

Nurses and doctors rushed to her side, lifting her carefully and carrying her into one of the nearby hospital rooms. Reginald immediately followed, his face pale with panic.

The hospital that they were currently at is being financed by Augustine and it’s a place where Augustine is well known, respected, and feared but currently, at this moment, Augustine was utterly powerless.

Mrs. Donald, who had been struggling to comprehend the news, suddenly collapsed to her knees as her strength gave out. She was devastated, confused and at the same time she felt like if someone had strike her heart with a sword and it has literally broken her into fragments of pieces.

"Yo... you have... you have to bring back my son!" Mrs. Donald screamed, clawing her fingers into her hair. "Charles came to visit last week, so... so he can’t be dead. My son can’t be dead! Bring him back! Bring Charles back to me I need... I need to speak to my son!"

"Come on, doctor," Augustine forced out with a trembling smile, his voice cracking. "You’re joking, right? Just tell me this is a sick joke and I’ll forgive you."

The doctor said nothing. His shoulders sagged, his lips pressed together, and his eyes dropped to the floor, unable to meet Augustine’s desperate stare.

"This... this can’t be true," Augustine whispered, shaking his head violently as though to erase the words he had just heard. "No. All of this is some cruel prank. I know a prank when I see one, so... so this isn’t real. It can’t be real."

Augustine’s steps grew frantic as he paced back and forth, denial carving through every movement.

Mrs. Donald’s eyes rolled upward, and before anyone could react, she collapsed to the floor.

"Honey!" Mr. Donald cried, scooping her into his arms as though she weighed nothing.

His voice cracked in desperation. "Doctor! Nurse! Someone, please help me!"

Within seconds, nurses rushed to his side, guiding him toward another room.

Augustine was left standing with his parents behind him, their silence pressing heavily against his breaking heart.

His steps faltered, his knees weakening until he dropped to the cold hospital floor while his fingers dug into his hair as if tearing at the pain inside his skull.

"Why... why is this happening to me?" Augustine questioned himself as his voice shook, ragged and raw. "Why is heaven punishing me?"

Mrs. Wales rushed forward, kneeling beside her son. She reached out, wrapping trembling arms around him, but the words she wanted to say caught in her throat.

She had hated Charles with every fiber of her being, had wished her son would leave him—yet she had never wished death upon him.

Mrs. Wales had always thought, in her cruelest moments, that if anyone were to drive Charles away, it would be her, not death itself.

"Son..." Mrs. Wales whispered, her voice breaking as tears welled in her eyes. "I’m so... so sorry." She stammered because watching her son crumble, hearing the sound of his heart shatter, was enough to break hers too.