Koanashi: Well, I've received a larger number of reviews for this than my other story, so I though I'd better continue this before the other. Though that's still being written too, if any of you care. But thank for you for those masses of reviews! I appreciate every single one! It pays off writing in a less popular category… anyway, on with the story.

Box.

The charcoaled black remains are carefully swept together into boxes. A box from a stack of boxes like it. There would be several other cremations today, after my own. It seemed that the recent raid had been the worst yet. So many had died; may be, just may be, there might leave them in piece now. If that is the case, I will have gladly sacrificed myself so that my children can live in peace. I wonder if Setsuko even remembers what that is now.

Seita is approached by one of the men who had organised the mass cremation. "Here." He hands him the box. "It may not be much to remember your mother by, but it's the best we can do. Sorry kid."

Seita is alone. He says Setsuko is at his aunts, in Mishinomina. He didn't want her to have to see this. Even though he is one of the youngest there, he tries his hardest to be strong. He holds the tears with aching eyes, all the way through the lonely journey on foot to the train, which is so crammed. He seems so distant, even though I swear I could reach out and touch him, He won't let himself give in; he knows that if he starts to cry, he won't be able to stop. He doesn't want Setsuko to see him cry. Seita was always such a stubborn child.

The train comes to a sudden halt. Seita is awoken from his motionless state, but his eyes still seem glazed over in disbelief. He carries the box so carefully, fearing that if he drops it will break and whatever is left of me will be lost forever. A human life is so like that box in this respect; all it takes is a fall, and frail body gives in.

The doors slide open and the many passengers start to shift towards or away from the doors. It is so late; no one is waiting for the train now. A number of them get off, including Seita; after a days travel he has finally arrived safely a Mishinomina.

I watch my son as he makes his way through the village, weaving in and out of the streets until he finally arrives at his aunt's house. I do hope she has been treating them well; she always struck me as a harsh, but fair woman, though I never had the chance to get to know her as well I would have. That is, if I had known that some day she would be the one giving shelter to my children during the war.

His gaze drops down; though his head was bowed down through the train journey, this is the first true time he has looked down directly at the box. He stands there fir a while, silent, allowing all the emotions who should have shown today a moment to breathe. Only for a moment though. He looks around anxiously, almost as if some unseen enemy is spying him on. You can never truly know these days.

He carefully places the box between the plants by the door, making sure that it is unseen for those who aren't looking for it. He doesn't want Setsuko to see. I understand. I wouldn't know how to tell them their father died. I didn't know. He stopped sending replies to out letters a fortnight before my death.

Seita takes in a deep breath as he walks in; the final attempt to make sure his face is straight. That boy was always up to mischief; he had always managed to keep a straight face when he lied about whether he had done something. He finally walks in, the door's closing and opening causing tremendous noise.

"Mama!" Setsuko, my darling Setsuko. She comes rushing to door, eyes shimmering with happiness… only to have that glimmer of hope fade away like the light of a dying firefly. I hadn't seen her since that day our home was destroyed. She seems to still be her old self, so innocent and naïve to the corrupt world that is falling to pieces around her. "Where is she? Is she still sick, Seita?"

"Yeah. Yeah, she's still sick." His voice is dry of emotion. The answer came quickly; he must have been practicing the lie over and over again in his head. Yet he can't look at her as he undoes his shoes.

"Welcome back." Their aunt has come to great him. She still looks like I remember her; the war doesn't seem to have changed her ways all too much. "How is your mother? Is she at Kaisae?"

Seita's eyes widen. He hadn't prepared himself for that question. I watch as he tries to find a way to respond without giving himself away to Setsuko. I can't help but ask myself; maybe things would have been different if I had been sent to Kaisae before hand. Maybe I could have pulled through. Maybe we would all be together, and we would be a happy family when peace returned to these lands. But now that's all just wishful thinking.

"Yeah." Is all he can manage to say.

Koanashi: This one is a bit shorter than the last one, but I thought this would be a good place to stop. Anyway, once again, thank you to those who have reviewed; I look forward to reading more reviews for this story sometime (soon, hopefully)!