A Mother's Note [C-rank Solo]

Mission:

Indra stared about the main living space and kitchen of the home he now shared with only his father, a large black trash bag in his hands. His father stood next to him as they surveyed the house, taking one last long look at what had been as they prepared for what was to be. They had been there for longer than what was probably considered healthy, though neither seemed quick to start the process, deep down they both knew it was necessary if they ever wanted to be able to heal and move on. It wasn't easy ridding your life of a spouse and mother, especially under the given circumstances. A person's death was one thing, at least then the remaining family left behind knew they weren't coming back. When someone simply ups and leaves though with almost no notice or given reasoning, letting go becomes that much more difficult. No matter the anger, sadness, or even loneliness felt by those left behind, there still remains a faint glimmer of hope. Not necessarily for that individual to return, for a person's heart becomes callused and jaded over time, but a glimmer of hope that things could someday return to what they once were. That of course though is always as unlikely as the dead person coming back, it's simply a much harder truth to swallow. It was in that moment that Indra realized he would have preferred if his mother had died. At least then he could remember her the way the dead were always thought of once they let go of the mortal coil, with reverence and delight. Instead, he was left with hate and disgust for the woman who had brought him into this world and that aged a person well beyond their years.

Alright, let's hop to it then. His father finally piped up, taking the role of the parent in the house. Indra simply nodded and headed for the living room, I'll get started in here if you want the kitchen. Are we throwing away the picture frames too or do you want to keep those?
The picture frames didn't do anything wrong, no use in wasting those. Some of them can be a bit finicky to get apart though, so let me know if you need any help. His father said, beginning to take down decorations and open cabinet doors in search of various knickknacks. Indra involuntarily winced as his father tossed a "world's best mom" mug into the bag without a second thought. He had made that in daycare before starting the academy, but now the mug sat ownerless...and it never would have an owner again. He sighed, but turned away from the kitchen and towards his chosen task. Pictures for some reason didn't bother him much, so long as he didn't really take the time to look at them. Ironically, this was probably the most he had looked at any of these pictures in his entire life. It was so easy to walk by them, knowing you had the memories, or at least convincing yourself you did until you eventually did take the time to study one and realized you had completely forgotten about that day at the beach or the time you stuck your entire face in the pie your father had just finished backing for the baked goods sale in the neighborhood. Memories came rushing back and Indra was quick to flip the picture frames over and get to work prying out their insides.

With the living room done and his father still picking his way methodically through the kitchen, Indra made his way down the hall. His room was first, but he only gave it a quick scan considering how often he stayed in there. He assumed he had already taken down all of the decorations reminding him of her until he noticed a single picture frame sitting high above his desk on one of the top shelves. He snagged it off the top and flipped it over, popping out the back of this one as well, but paused. There was a folded piece of paper, seemingly torn from one of the notebooks his mother kept around the house and used for jotting down progress of Indra's training. Unfolding it with slightly shaking hands, Indra read a simple message.
I brought you this far, but now I go. When your heart breaks and your eyes drip, bury me where we grow.

Indra cocked his head to the side, completely baffled by this gibberish. What in the name of Datara below is this supposed to mean? He asked the note, who of course didn't answer. His father however called from the kitchen, Did you say something?
Uh, no, sorry. Just talking to myself. Indra said, quickly stuffing the note in his pocket the picture in the trash bag.


Well, that had been an event. It had taken Indra and his father a good two hours to clean out their small house of any remnants of his mother and afterwards he had felt nearly claustrophobic with the bare walls and disturbed dust in the air. He needed to get outside in the sun and unpack everything that had just happened. Mentally, it had been an ordeal, though physically he was of course fine. So, as per usual, Indra's coping mechanism was to head to the training grounds and work off some of this mental anguish with a good ole fashioned sweat. However, as he stepped into the training ground, the top of his right thigh began to burn and sizzle. The smell of smoke crept from his pants pocket and Indra stared down at it in confusion before the pain became too great. He fished around for the forgotten note from the picture frame and tossed it into the sand, Oooh hot, ow! A previously invisible seal had appeared on the piece of paper as the corners of the note began to burn and sizzle with electricity. Indra peered at it in confusion, watching the note and seal simply burn away.

Well that was- He stopped mid thought, noticing the same seal several dozen paces away, brightly illuminated in the sands of the training grounds. He approached the area cautiously and reached out, expecting more burning and heat but felt only the familiar sting of hot sand from the sun. Hesitantly, he began digging and for several minutes kept at it until touching something hard and firm. Brushing off more sand, he managed to lug a small lockbox up and out of the ground. He touched his hand to the lock, testing it out before simply yanking on it with his strength and pulling it free. Inside he found one of his mother's notebooks, simple leather with several dozen pages of notes on his training and progress.
This is what you left me? Notes on myself for things I already know how to do? Shocker, just another waste of time. Indra said, shaking his hand and turning the journal over. On the back of the leather, she had inscribed several numbers, two lines each. Indra frowned, what nonsense was this now? Then, a sudden realization overcame him and he felt a cold sweat break out. Coordinates. He nearly whispered.

Words: 1206/1000

Approved