Boxes.

Boxes piled high with clothes, books, food, and small pieces of furniture. The entire Higurashi house was almost empty. Even some of the things in the shrine had been packed up, the rest left for the family that was inheriting it from them now that they were leaving. But one room was still not finished. It was this room where the three Higurashis could be found packing.

Souta was in charge of the desk. He had to take out all the notebooks and put them at the bottom, then put all the other things on top. Hairbrushes, loose change, makeup she had obviously never worn, which he threw in the trash along with some crumpled pieces of paper, lots of pens, and... her diary? Souta stared down at the little book, glanced around to see if anyone was watching, then tucked it into his clothes and resumed packing just in time. He hunched over the box as he focused on packing, instead of thinking.

'Two corners together, drop it, half, half again....' Mama Higurashi thought, as she finished folding the quilt on her daughter's bed, which had been made from her father's clothes after he died. Kagome had acquired it after a 'father-daughter' day at school, when she came home and started crying. Mama had run her hands over it a few nights after that, and reminisced, even sat with Kagome and helped her picture her father wearing the different outfits the quilt was made of, but she'd made most of them up because she couldn't remember...

Mama sighed as she set the folded quilt down and tried to fit it into the box. Kagome's bedspread and two sheets were already in there. But it was a big box... Still, the quilt wouldn't fit. Sighing again, Mama turned around. "Grandfather, do you have another box?" she asked with a voice that shook, raising her eyes to the old man.

Jiji turned around, his wisened eyes looking over the woman kneeling on the floor. Turning, he grabbed an empty box and handed it to her, staring at her a moment longer after she reached out for the box. Souta looked up.

"Kagome wouldn't want us to be sad," he said simply, then turned back around, the tilt of his shoulders showing that he felt like a weight had just been placed on his shoulders. "She would tell us to... get on with our lives. That is what we must do now. Don't think. Just pack." With that, he took his box, walked swiftly to the door, and left with his head held high and his expression grim.

Mama stared after him. 'How can I get on with my life when my husband and daughter are dead?' she wanted to ask. 'When all it takes to remember one of them is cooking dinner or washing clothes? Or packing up their things? She wasn't supposed to die back there, Jiji. She wasn't supposed to die!' Slamming her fist on the ground angrily, Mama broke and cried onto the quilt in her arms, as her son came up behind her to hug her shoulders.

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A/N: I wrote this drabble so long ago for an IY group on livejournal. I didn't like it at the time but I don't know why! So I thought it was time to finally post it!