Epilogue

"Di mana orangtuamu?" kata seorang kakek tua kepada anak kecil yang menangis sesenggukkan dan memegang erat-erat balon merahnya. Anak kecil itu hanya terdiam. "Paman akan bantu kamu mencari orangtuamu, bagaimana?" katanya lagi dengan senyum yang lebar.

Perlahan, tangisan itu pudar. Matanya mulai terbuka lebar, hatinya mulai menghangat.

"Ayo," kata paman itu memegang tangan anak dengan balon merah itu. Semakin erat, semakin hangat. Tanpa anak itu sadari, balon merah itu terbang mengudara seraya kedua tangannya memegang erat tangan paman itu. Tangisannya berhenti sepenuhnya, jejak air mata itu sudah mengering.

Hujan turun di bagian North Suisse. Di sela-sela hujan itu, semua orang berteduh. Layar-layar berisikan ucapan belasungkawa beredar di mana-mana, menangisi kepergian Terrence Golden dan Christopher Blackriver. Berbuket-buket bunga diletakkan di depan Black House.

Puluhan konser didekasikan kepada Francis Dean. Beberapa penonton konser menangis sesenggukan melihat kilas balik hidupnya di memoir-memoir di layar besar di panggung megah. Lilin-lilin dinyalakan di seluruh North Suisse. Mereka semua berdoa dan bersatu padu melawan ini semua.

And someday, maybe someday, someone will notice the rubbles.

They will research all of these and come up with a conclusion about what happened.

Maybe they will be wrong.

And they will be proud of their research.

Semuanya menjadi lebih tenang di North Suisse—semua orang sibuk bergandengan tangan, semuanya tidak ingin menjadi korban kegilaan dunia selanjutnya, semua orang ingin hidup aman di dalam rumah mereka sendiri dan menyelamatkan keluarga mereka.

And they will live happily ever after without knowing what happened out there.

Perhaps a world without god can be achieved—or perhaps not.

Long may the rain will last. "You cheated on me!" said a girl to her lover, right beside the bus stop. The kid watched, the uncle tell him to look away. As the lovers pick a fight in the crowds, the kid remains silent. He silently looks the world, he silently judges everything and everyone.

"Hey, care to spare some coin?" said the beggar on the sideline. The kid hesitates to give the coin he has on his wallet, but the uncle stopped him abruptly. "Hey, what's wrong, old man? You don't have a heart?" said the beggar, clearly pissed off. "Come on, now." the uncle grasped his hand more firmly and walked away, as the beggar continues to stretch his empty bowl.

"Yeah, just walk away! Walk away!"

The scream fades away eventually, as the kid watched the beggar continuously angered. How easy it is to play the ignoring game, they said. "Breaking news," as the multiple TV on the electronic shop began switching channels.

"A young girl was found raped and murdered at the Prodeo Street."

The boy stood as he watches the news, amongst everyone who also stopped walking and pay attention to it. He can clearly tell it is a bad thing by the way people behave—some gasped, continued with their head shaking. Some others have their eyes intensely looking while clenching their fists closed.

"Why are you watching the news?" the uncle sat down and asked the boy.

"I don't know."

"Were you intrigued?"

"Yes." the boy nodded sparingly.

"Don't you feel sorry for the girl?"

"I feel sorry for the people."

The uncle shocked, his head nodded still. "Why is that?" he asked as he began moving closer to the dear boy. "I don't know."

"Must be a reason why you're thinking like that." said the uncle again, still looking for an answer. "I guess I just feel like that." answers the boy with no hesitation at all. "Tell me, then," as the uncle caress the boy's cheeks, "why you feel like that."

"They pretend to care, I guess."

"What if they actually care?"

"Then they should do something," as the boy realizes he lost his balloon,

"Rather than watching it on that TV and pretend they regret it."

The uncle cracked up and laughing. "You sure are smart for your age." said the uncle while patting the boy's back. "Now, where's your parents, again?"

"I don't know, good sir."

"Oh, okay—what are their names? Your mom name?"

"I don't know too."

The uncle shocked again, as he realizes something is not right with this kid. "Her nickname? What you used to call her?"

"I don't know."

"What's your name?"

The boy still shakes his head.

"Alright, my good boy—what they used to call you, then?" the uncle said smilingly.

The boy hesitates. He's about to answer it, at least.

"An orphan."