Well how do you do, young Willie McBride, do you
mind if I sit here down by your graveside. And rest for a
while 'neath the warm summer sun. I've been traveling all day and
I'm nearly done.

It's ironic really. War and spilled blood makes things beautiful. I see the poppies everywhere and realize that they grew because of the blood spilled by so many people, and it all started in wars from so very long ago.

I'm sitting in a graveyard, leaning on the grave of a soldier who died in a war that occurred before I was ever born. And I can't help but wonder if he would understand my feelings right now as I look at the scarlet poppies, smell their sweet scent, and soak up the warm summer sun.

He's the only one I can talk to these days. I turn to look at the worn stone, running my fingers over the letters. I can barely make out the name of Private William McBride. He was my age, and fought in a war killing as many people as me maybe. He fought, and helped turn his soul and France itself into a temporary wasteland. And then poppies, red as blood, grew from his heart, soul, and sacrifice. I wonder how many flowers are going to grow from mine?

I see by your gravestone you were
only nineteen when you joined the dead heroes of nineteen-fifteen.
I hope you died well and I hope you died
clean. Or Willie McBride, was it slow and obscene?

He was only nineteen. I'm only nineteen. He died, and I'm dying. It's hard to face that. Hard to know that I'm never going to see another Christmas, heck, I'll be lucky to even see the end of August.

I hope he died swiftly, and didn't feel any pain. But I can't help wondering if he lingered, as I am now, feeling his body slowly shrivel in agony, a burning pain in his gut and just wanting a friend to be near by? I can't even get in touch with the rest of them.

I tried calling Quatre first, I figured he'd be the easiest. But every time I did I'd get told he was busy in a meeting or not available for whatever. I guess he's forgotten how to use the phone, I sure left enough messages for him. He's never called me back. Not once.

Trowa went back to his circus, and he visits with Quatre fairly regularly—or so I was told. Damned if I've been able to get in touch with him either. I figured Wufei, might be the next easiest. So I called the Preventers. He's on a mission and they won't blow his cover by contacting him. I left a message there, but they don't expect him back for another four months. It will be too late then, too late to say good bye.

Heero's with Relena.

He should have been easy to contact too. I haven't heard a word from him since he went to her. He never answers my letters now, and if I leave a phone message he doesn't answer them either, although he did at first. Then gradually he stopped replying to my letters or phone calls, and once in a while I'd get a letter from him asking why I hadn't come to some party or written in such a long time, when the last letter I'd sent him had gotten mailed a week before. Then even those notes stopped, and brought us back to where we are now, with him never answering me.

I know we all drifted after the wars, especially after the Mariemaya incident but we were friends, are friends. I don't know if it's just that Heero doesn't want to talk to me anymore, doesn't care about me anymore, of if it's Relena keeping my messages from him. She never cared for me. She always seemed to think that I wanted Heero for myself, that I was trying to take him away from her. I suppose I can understand that, she and I didn't exactly get off on the right foot after I shot him. I was just trying to save her life. She never seemed to grasp that either, anymore than she understood that I didn't like Heero that way. He's my friend. That all I've ever wanted is friendship from him.

Now, it's really too late even for that. But I do hope they're happy. I really do.

I just want someone here. A friend to tell me that everything will be all right, to say good bye to. Did you want that William McBride? Did you have time to want that?

Did they beat the drum slowly, did they play the fifes lowly,
did rifles fire o'er you as they lowered you down.
And did the bugles sing the Last post and chorus.
Did the pipes play the 'Flowers of the forest'?

And I can't help but wonder what they'll do when I die. What did they do for you, William? Did they honor you as a soldier, as a boy fighting so that they wouldn't have to? That's why I fought in both the Eve wars and the Mariemaya incident. I fought to keep them safe, and with the exception of Heero, no one really seems to care about the rest of us. Admittedly he's more in the limelight than we are.

Quatre, he went straight back to the Winner Corporation and began to learn how to run it. Trowa, he went back to his circus to play with the lions and to entertain children as a clown. I always found that admirable. The one person who never seemed to laugh, to even know how to, could make so many children enjoy themselves and give forth peals of laughter. Wufei went to the Preventers, to work for peace and honor. Me, I wanted a break.

I remembered a time when I was little and Father Maxwell told me all about Scotland, his family's native country. It sounded lovely, and I've always enjoyed Celtic music. So I moved there. I bought a little house and lived quietly. I got on with my neighbors, I took care of their kids, and started writing. It kept me sane. And then this happened.

I was trying for obscurity. I wanted to escape being Death for a while. Death doesn't appear to have approved of this. But even with obscurity it would be nice to be thanked every once in a while for all we did, even if it's only at my funeral. Do you understand, William? Or am I just babbling inanely along like they always accused me of?

And did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind
In some loyal heart is your memory enshrined
Although you died back in nineteen sixteen
In that faithful heart are you forever nineteen
Or are you a stranger without even a name
Enclosed and forever behind the glass frame
In a old photograph, torn and tattered and stained
And fade to yellow in a brown leather frame.

I don't want to be forgotten, William. I want to be remembered by the people that matter to me. I want to be remembered by the four people I fought so hard with. It's like they've already forgotten me. I went to Scotland, not the bottom of the ocean! And then I found out I was sick. That there was nothing medical science could do for me. Although they did try. That's why I'm here in France. I got turned into a pin cushion just to find out I was going to die anyway. But I like it here, so I'll stay. That's what the medical community advised anyway. I can at least look at the poppies and know that I'll be a part of them next summer.

I don't want to be forgotten. I don't want to forget. I collected photos from every single school we attended. I managed to coerce the rest of them into pictures. They never understood why I wanted them. And I worry that once I'm gone those pictures will just sit around my house, getting old and dusty, till no one remembers who any of us are.

I don't have a girl friend to give them too. I just have the four of them, and I guess I don't really even have them anymore. Did that happen to you, William? Were you forgotten? Did your picture just get old and beaten up as the years passed? Did you even care like I do? It tears my heart to even think about it. And I've done nothing but think these last few weeks.

It didn't seem like much when it started. An upset stomach, indigestion. It happens. My back hurt, but I sat in front of a computer all day every day. I was used to that. It was the weight loss that bothered me. I wasn't dieting, I'd always been a bottomless pit. My appetite wasn't really there anymore, but I still ate. It didn't look that way though. I lost fifteen pounds in a month and a half and then the dizzy spells started. I went to the Doctor's. And began my days as a pin cushion. I'd rather be a poppy.

But I'm boring you, and the pain medication is starting to wear off. The nurses will be worried if I don't get back. I'm sure I'll be back tomorrow to talk inanely at you again, and complain about another failed attempt to get in contact with my friends.

Did they beat the drum slowly, did they play the fifes lowly,
did rifles fire o'er you as they lowered you down.
And did the bugles sing the Last post and chorus.
Did the pipes play the 'Flowers of the forest'?

I dreamed about my funeral last night. You were the only one who was there, William. The only one who knew how much I gave up for this planet, a planet that wasn't even my own. I'm a colony brat born and bred, but that doesn't mean I don't love it here. It's funny, the only one who really went back to space is Quatre, and even he spends more of his time on Earth, or he did last I heard. I don't know where he is anymore. I'm not sure I care since it isn't here.

I'm being selfish.

I know I'm being selfish and I can't say I care. Is it too much to ask for friends to be near you when you die? I have maybe a month left on this glorious planet and I want to spend it with friends. I don't want them to find out that I'm gone by a note from my lawyer. I don't want them to think that I didn't care enough to tell them myself. They were all that kept me sane during the wars, them and the beauty of this planet.

The sun now it shines on the green fields of France
There's a warm summer breeze. it makes the red poppies dance
And look how the sun shines from under the clouds
There's no gas, no barbed wire, there's no guns firing now

It's nice out here but it gets to be more and more of an effort to move, William. Pancreatic Cancer is a bitch.

I haven't been able to contact any of them. I know time is running out for me. It's progressing faster than they thought it would, but it's still a slow and painful death. The only happiness I've got right now is sitting here talking to you, watching the poppies, and remembering. How sad is that? The best bits of my life happened on a damned battlefield. Did you find that out too?

Or are you more peaceful now? Where there aren't any guns, gas, or other implements of death? The world is at peace but my heart is in just as much turmoil as it was in the war. I'm in a no man's land all of my own.

But here in this graveyard it's still no-man's-land
The countless white crosses stand mute in the sand
To man's blind indifference to his fellow man
To a whole generation that were butchered and damned.

Good bye. It's a word I've been contemplating for so long now. I can't help but wonder, looking at all of these graves, if it really has any meaning. No one remembers the dead after they've died. No one gives a damn about the soldiers that fought for them, not even their friends and family. We are a damned generation, just as your generation was. I butchered people for the sake of peace and I will never be at peace because of it. I understand where Earnest Hemingway was coming from now, William. I really do. I wonder if you would have found life as full of inner turmoil as I do now if you had survived. I'm beginning to wish I'd died in battle instead of slowly wasting away as I am now.

Good bye, it's still a word I want to use. A word I want to tell them. A word to give meaning to my life and to the lives I've taken. If I can't tell them by mouth I guess I'll have to do it in writing. I started a story today, William. Maybe it will convey all I want it to. But I don't know if it will. I just don't.

God I'm tired. So tired of it all. Tired of the turmoil, of the pain, of lingering. Tired of being in a no man's land between life and death. I wonder if they'll let me be buried here. You're in a no man's land of your times making, and so am I. You're gravestones tell me that. I can hear them talking, trying to tell a story that really only I can hear. But then I'm the only one listening.

Did they beat the drum slowly, did they play the fifes lowly,
did rifles fire o'er you as they lowered you down.
And did the bugles sing the Last post and chorus.
Did the pipes play the 'Flowers of the forest'?

Wufei talked about Justice and Honor. He always did. He'd have gotten on spectacularly with my neighbor, Mr. Grant. He liked talking about ancient history, William. He loved the time around World War I, the war you died in. It was a war about Honor. Did you die with honor? Heck, am I dying with honor? I have my doubts. Mr. Grant says I am. I'm facing my death with courage, and that I need to keep trying to face it that way. I talk to him on the phone weekly. Everyone in the village misses me.

They actually came and saw me a few weeks ago. Almost the entire village turned up. They'll remember me, they'll honor my memory. Did your village honor you, Private William McBride? Were you considered a hero?

I'm glad they came, professing friendship and sadness for my fate. I feel glad that I got to say good bye to someone. But damn it, I want to say good bye to them. We got each other through the wars. We gave each other our strengths and weaknesses to guard, and frankly I feel in need of propping up right now. The people of my new home are my friends, but it's not the same as people who you gave your life to, to guard, to keep safe. We did that for each other, I and the other pilots. I'd do it again if I could. But I can't. I just want to say good bye, to give them my honor and faith to guard. I don't think that's too much to ask.

Now young Willie McBride I can't help but wonder why
Do all those who lie here know why they died
And did they believe when they answered the cause
Did they really believe that this war would end wars
Well the sorrows, the suffering, the glory. the pain
The killing and dying was all done in vain
For young Willie McBride it all happened again
And again, and again, and again, and again.

Four white walls and a white ceiling. White sheets, white blankets, white uniforms… They need colors in this place. At least they moved the bed so I can see out the window. The sun still shines, the wind carries the smell of the poppies to me, and I can see them dancing in the sun. I can see your grave too. Maybe I'll be buried in that cemetery, or maybe up on the hill under that tree. I'd be happy there too. A no man's land all of my own, like the one I've existed in my entire life.

Do you know why you died, William McBride? Did your friends? I've been watching the news. Another war is brewing. I thought my fight would stop the wars, that we could live in peace. I was wrong. Humanity gets bored with peace. They get bored with what they have and want to try something new, and to get that new they fight. They always fight. Your war was supposed to end wars, it didn't. My fight was supposed to end wars. It hasn't.

I can feel a new one building in my bones. Tensions are rising. People are bored and restless. The Preventers are rushing everywhere to put out fires. But we need fires just like a forest does. For every fire they put out a new one will come a long that will burn a little longer, a little hotter than the last one, till it breaks out into a war they can't stop. It's inevitable. I think I'm glad I'm going to miss the one coming. I'm tired of fighting. Tired of war. I want peace. The peace of death.

Of course more than death I want to say good bye to them. I finished the book I was working on, the one for them. It went faster than anything else I have ever written. Of course, I've never been under this tight a deadline before either.

My skin is yellow and dry. My pancreas has pretty much stopped working, and my liver isn't much better. My kidneys aren't even coping too well anymore. I'll be leaving soon.

I tried Heero again. I got Pargan instead. "Master Yuy isn't here right now. He's in a meeting with Miss Relena. Would you care to leave a message?" I left one, even though I know he won't get it.

I tried Quatre and Trowa again. I got Quatre's secretary. She also asked me if I wanted to leave a message. I told her to tell them I said good bye. I need a rest, then I'll call Wufei. I'm so very tired, right now, William. It all happens over and over and over again. Wars, dying, becoming food for poppies, being ignored by my friends.

I suppose I got used to being ignored. They always claimed I talked too much. Maybe if I'd talked less they'd be paying attention now. Who knows. A quick nap, then Wufei. I doubt he's back yet, but I need to leave a message telling him good bye. Not much time left. Not much time.

"Mr. Maxwell," a nurse wakes me, her voice soft. "Mr. Maxwell, I'm sorry to wake you, but you have a phone call. From a Mr. Chang."

I smile, and tell her I'll take the call. She nods and leaves the room to have the operator put it through the switch board. I look expectantly at the video phone screen on the wall. It's Wufei all right.

He's sitting at his desk working on something. He looks decidedly odd in a Preventers uniform. I still can't get used to him outside of his traditional Chinese clothing. "Hey, Wu-man," I say, trying to sound normal. He doesn't look up.

"Maxwell," he says, still staring angrily at a piece of paper. "What is this emergency you called about?"

I sigh. "I don't know if it's so much of an emergency," I say.

"Then let me go," he snapped. "I have another mission to prepare for."

"Before you go," I say, "I just wanted to say one thing. I want to tell you good bye." He looks up and gapes as he sees me for the first time.

"What is wrong, Duo?"

"Nothing's wrong, Wufei," I tell him, "I'm dying, that's all."

"Dying of what?"

"Cancer, man, cancer. I haven't got much time left." He looks shocked.

"Is Quatre there?" he inquires.

"No," I answer, "you're the first one I've been able to get in touch with. Not like I haven't been trying to get in touch with the other three. I've left a million messages…"

He cuts me off. "Hold on, Duo. Where are you?" I tell him and he nods. "I'll be there this evening. Someone else can take this mission. I'll see you in a few hours." And then Wufei hung up on me. It doesn't surprise me really and if I can't hold on, well at least I got to say good bye to someone.

I call Mr. Grant and say good bye to him, and through him the rest of the village. I ask him to be prepared if one of the other's show up. My will gives them almost all of my stuff, except for a few things I've left to the village. And all of the money my writing makes after I'm gone will be going to charities. Best place for it really, William.

I continue to watch the poppies and fall back asleep. When I wake again Wufei is sitting beside me.

"Hello, Duo."

"Hey man," I say, my tone weak. I'm fading fast.

"I called Heero on my way here," Wufei looks uncomfortable, "he says he never got any messages."

"I'm not surprised," I answer, "I left them though. I've been calling him once or twice a day for the last two and a half months. Same with Quatre and Trowa."

He nods. "I see. I called them as well. They had gotten a message but were unable to return your calls. The Winner Corporation is having a period of crisis, for various reasons, and they have been completely unable to get to a phone. But both they, and Heero, are on their way."

I nod. "I figured it was something like that. If I'm not around when they get here, tell them I said good bye, ok. Promise me you'll do that?" I ask.

"On my honor and by Nataku I will. But Duo, you have to make it. I do not even understand how this came to pass."

I grin faintly. "That's the thing with Pancreatic cancer, Wufei. By the time you even realize there's something wrong with you it's usually too late to do anything about it. The early stages don't really have symptoms, and the ones that sent me in here were at first just so ordinary I didn't even realize they were symptoms. It was pretty much too late for me. I tried something experimental, it didn't work, and here I am."

He looks sad and tired. "Wufei, do you see that book there?" I ask, pointing towards the manuscript I wrote for them. He nods. "It's for you and the other guys." I'm fading faster and faster.

"I'm tired, Wufei. Very, very tired." I pause, fighting a yawn. "I was tired of being death, so I stopped. Now death has come for me. It reminds me of a poem I used to read. 'Because I could not stop for Death, he kindly stopped for me, the carriage held but just ourselves, and Immortality.' It's one of my favorites, and that's what's coming. I just wanted to say good bye. To have a friend here when I died. I have that, and I'm tired. If I can't hold on, I can't. But at least I'll be at peace, remember that Wufei. Especially when you guys have to start fighting again. There's peace out there, in no man's land."

"I understand, and good bye, my friend," he says. For all I know he might understand. But I am tired. My eyes drift shut and I slip under once again comforted that I have said good bye and that he has said so too.

He knew he wasn't going to make it till they got here. Quatre and Trowa were on L4. Heero had to get away from Relena and she had always hated it when he left her for Duo. He knew he wasn't going to be able to say good bye to them personally, so he made me the proxy. I can't say I mind. At least he was able to hold on till one of us got here. His doctor told me he'd expected Duo to die a week ago. He was holding on for us, for us, and none of us made an attempt to find out what was wrong sooner. That shames me. If only I had called him yesterday when I first got back from my mission and received his message. Perhaps then the others could have made it.

But I didn't. It's too late for regrets. The brightest and happiest of us all is gone, and he went through his last months alone. I sit here holding his hand, the skin jaundiced and far too thin and fragile. I remember all the times he bounded around safe houses, saved us in battle, offered unconditional friendship through everything—even apparent betrayals—and gave us joy. I remember and I weep for our loss as I watch his still chest. I will carry his good bye's until the day I die, and possibly even beyond.

His body will remain here until the others come and can say their good byes. The Doctors have given me that assurance. Nurses, doctors, and even other patients have been coming in since he left to say good bye as well. As always he made more of an impact than he ever thought he could.

Gradually I pull myself together, and open the book he left for us. So many of the patients have told me that he wanted that to be his final good bye to everyone that mattered. I will treat it with the honor it deserves. I read and wait for them to come. They will be here soon, and then we have a funeral to plan. A funeral fit to honor the hero Duo was and always will be.

Finis

Copyright 2005