KILL MY FILTHY MIND + funeral

[Atticus Roux]

Mama's boy always came first. Always running to her side, begging for her attention and assisting her in even the littlest of tasks throughout the day. Today was no different. This time though, Atticus would need to lay by her side and help himself. She was no more. Her light had faded and so had his own. The boy, the grieving child, had yet to process her death properly. Running away to The Pitt, fiending with Sweeney and perusing the territory endlessly, was merely a distraction. His escape was merely a way to get away from all... this. All the sadness. Hell, the dreary despair that had fallen over his father and family. Not to mention the guilt. Oh lord, the culpability he felt.

Watching his mother die in front of him took a toll, especially when Atticus was 'the cause.' Once the eccentric golden child, now known as the failure who ran. 'The one who held symbolism,' as Ivan would say. The guilt that reminisced in his mind had taken control of him, ruthlessly leading him down a dark path. Haunting thoughts plucked at his brain, pushing him to the world's end. Slashing back at Ivan, heisting from Tanglewood's library, and intermingling in the devious deeds of The Pitt... But truth be told, did her death trigger these ideas? Or did he have them all along? With no mother peeking over his shoulder or an expectation to uphold, was he now running rampant? Only Atticus would know.

For as much as the proclaimed delinquent didn't want to show his face in Tanglewood, others grieved faster than him. The funeral procession was planned. They had moved on... from her... from him. An invite was given and the child felt obliged to go, despite his new reputation. At the very least, he expected to be unacknowledged when arriving. It was only respectful, especially on her death bed.

Pushing through the field, the flat plain of land came into view and the grey tabby wearily moved forward. Amber eyes zoned in on the coffin, tears beginning to bask in his eyeline. His gaze staggered towards Leroy, bright hues begging for mercy. They were alone so far. Judgement was almost nonexistent, but Leroy's position intimidated him. His new alliance didn't assist either. Nevertheless, he felt free to release. Ivan couldn't say anything. Selby wouldn't shame him. Alice wasn't here to plead for his return (if they even wanted it by now), nor was anyone else.

He meandered ahead, tears trickling down his cheeks now. A small paw inched towards the casket, resting on it's top. Atticus let out a choking gasp, heaving for air as he sobbed. 'It's my fault,' the boy reasoned. 'It's all my fault.' His head lowered onto the casket's side and golden eyes closed, letting himself grow loose. As he leaned on the coffin, he let out a cry.

"I'm sorry."

It was unclear whether he meant his actions or was acknowledging his guilt. Perhaps both.