Cold

He is cold. He is never cold, never, no matter what happened he was warm. His smile could warm you to the soul. He wasn't smiling now, he never would again. His face was still intact, he would have liked that. His face was what made him.

Cloud reached out a hand and moved a few strands of hair from his friends face. The eyes were still open, those brilliant purple orbs staring unblinkingly out at the sky. The shine was gone from them now, they were dull. Blood trailed from his nose, spilling across a toned cheek bone, dried now, scabbed over. His lips were parted, a blue tinge lingering upon them; he could see blood tinge the teeth below, seeping across the gums. His teeth were always white, perfect. His hair was slack now, framing his head where it lay against the ground, no longer sticking out defiantly in every direction, now flat.

Cloud felt his throat burn. He wanted to scream. This couldn't be real. He wasn't supposed to die, Zack was not supposed to die. He was the hero; he saved him from that hell. Heroes don't die; they ride off into the sun with their girl. Their girl. Zack had a girl. He remembered Zack mentioning her to him. A tear slid traitorously down his face. Zack had some one waiting for him back home. Would she even find out he was dead? Would any one bother to tell her?

A fly buzzed near his ear. He watched as it landed down atop Zack's open eye. Cloud watched silently for a moment observing the fly. His eyes glued to the insect as it rubbed its legs together. Is this what Zack was now, a house for bugs? Cloud reached and snatched the fly between his fingers. The insect buzzed frantically and fidgeted trapped in his fingers with no source of escape. He sat silently contemplating the small creature. If he let it go it most likely return to his friends body, no doubt begin to feast upon him, brining more flies to join in. If he killed it, it would be one less creature to harm him. He made his decision and snapped the bug between his thumb and for finger. He flicked the small body over the edge of the cliff.

Is that how the Turks had felt about Zack? Did they see him as no more than an insect, something that could be killed without any one caring? But people did care, people will notice.

He reached his hand out and gently closed his friend's eyes. Even with the eyes now closed, he could clearly see the pain that had been present at the end of his friend's life. He ripped a strip of cloth from the bottom of his shirt, and wiped at the trail of blood from Zack's nose. Most of it came off, but there was still a dull pink line where the blood had once been. Cloud's vision blurred as more tears filled his eyes. For the first time he glanced at his friends chest.

He felt his head fill with fog as his eyes took in the image of Zack's chest riddled with holes, the blood leaving black circles against the blue shirt. He had been shot at least five times. How many shots until he was dead? Cloud felt his chest tighten until he could no longer breathe. He clinched his eyes shut trying to drive the image of his friend from his mind.

This could not be real, it was a night mare. He was back at Shin-Ra having a nightmare. Any moment now Zack would shake him until he woke up and tell him to get ready for a mission. Cloud's body began to shook, tears cascading from his eyes, he shock so hard he gasped for breath, unable to stop the pain and anguish from finally finding release. He opened his eyes.

"I'm sorry" He croaked. "I should not have been you. It never should have been you."