Hallelujah

by Autumn Win-Dow

Kyosuke hated himself because of the irony of the action he was about to undertake.

He had a bouquet of snapdragons in one hand, and his black violin case in the other. The grass beneath his feet – tinted in a dull green, as if it had lost its vibrant colour and natural life – brushed against the smooth surface of his tightly laced leather shoes. The wind around him was starting to blow harder, causing his hair to scatter into his eyes, made him shiver through the thin white dress shirt he had donned for an upcoming performance, and occasionally a dry leaf would lightly brush his hair or his pants.

However, the little disruptions nature was sending him didn't bother him one bit. Kyosuke crouched down in order to carefully place the snapdragons on the ground in front of him. It was a regular routine for him – he would return to the very hill in which he stood, with a bouquet of flowers and his violin. Despite this, every time he left, he took with him a weight which made his heart heavy.

Every time he went, he would hate himself. Kyosuke regretted the fact that he wasn't able to thank her for her unrelenting support, and all he sincerely wished for was a second chance.

In the stateless world of the average human, however, there were no second chances when it came to life and death – and he knew that perfectly well.

So whenever he withdrew his violin and bow out of his case, why did he always choose to play Hallelujah?

Each time he had planned to visit the lifeless hill, Kyosuke had planned to play different violin pieces – ranging from sonatas, sombre solos and even his personal favourite piece Ave Maria – but when he ended up standing on the hill, ready to play, he would immediately change his mind a split second before the reeds of his bow would slide along the strings of his violin. Thus, the harmonious notes of the song of victory – Hallelujah – would clearly resonate.

He hated how he would always play such a victorious song at the location where Sayaka was buried.

However, he knew exactly why he would always play the piece.

It was her favourite piece.

And after every ending note which he played upon the hill, it seemed that the surroundings of her grave became momentarily brighter, and for a brief moment, he had a sense of her presence.

Kyosuke would always hate himself for the irony of his actions.

However, he couldn't bring himself to stop. Because every time he stood at the grave of his best friend – dead for five years – he would mutter, with genuine sincerity, two words.

I'm sorry.

A/N: ...Hello. :)

I've been in the Madoka Magica fandom for a while, but this is my first fanfiction for the anime. I hope you guys like this. :) And please review!