In Loving Memory of Onni Böök.

Yesterday, I had received a call from a friend of mine whom I'd often written named Onni. The few readers I have might know him under his monicker "Scarlet Rose".

He said he'd taken a cab home from school but that the driver was involved in a collision. I was worried that he might be bleeding, to which he said he was fine and simply in a lot of pain and in the care of the ambulance at the moment, but that he'd like my company. After a short time, someone asked him something in Swedish, and he replied in kind before simply saying, "I have to turn off my phone. I'll call later, please be available to receive it."

I'd told a few of his close friends he was in an accident, but that he'd said he were well and that heavy x-raying and scanning is typically done post-collision to make certain there's no spinal damage or internal bleeding. I imagined after all of those tests and having been so shaken-up, he'd probably want to get some sleep, so I didn't think anything of it when he didn't call.

He passed-away.

He was such a sweet person. In knowing me, we'd exchanged a lot of talk about chivalry, and I often told him of seasonal flowers and their meanings. He'd always gone for Cottonweed which symbolizes affection and I had always gone for Honeysuckles which symbolize devotion.

He'd come to be a fan of Garl Vinland, who I had come to be a fan of through Emily, and we often chucked ideas of playing games together back and forth, because I had played World of Warcraft in its initial release, and he had picked it up in its later years and having since quit, I would need someone to reacquaint me.

Three letters and a candle. That's all I have of him now.
I can't stop crying. Just looking at them like that, spread out on my bed.
That's all I have of him.

I don't know if he was a religious person. I gave him the cross of my rosary on a pendant after it broke for Valentine's Day. But I've prayed for him, and I know he couldn't have suffered if he didn't anticipate it himself.

I just don't know what to say.

That person you talk about old-world courtesies with. Whose streams you watch. Who you call in the morning. Who you make Valentine's Chocolates for. Whose friends you tried to reassure after an accident.

They could be gone tomorrow. They could be stolen right out from under your nose while you're telling everyone "It'll be okay."

I won't forget him. I'm better off for knowing him. If nothing else, he'll live on through me. I'll make him proud. I'll remember what we'd talked about and I won't let his letters fall into disrepair.

I've lit the candle he'd given me in remembrance. I just don't know what else to do.