Amisso Amico

Death is a hell of a beast.

It’s like a drug, to an extent. You go numb, your mind and body throws themselves through a whole host of reactions and side effects. I’ve recently been going through a lot myself, after losing somebody near and dear to me, and it’s got me thinking a lot about the way we process grief and how depictions of it in things we like play a factor in that.

When you’re faced with the harsh reality of the world, you start to relate it to the way your circumstance is portrayed in media you love. I found myself thinking back to my experiences playing games like Final Fantasy XV, how that game shows you the darkest of times and allows you to fight through them with your friends, bringing back the light in the world for others. The game might have flaws, god does it have flaws, but it’s a damned true portrayal of friendship and the bonds that you share with your closest, regardless of what happens between you, thanks to shared context and experience.

Except it’s different, isn’t it? Because I can’t fight this back with him. Yet, is it all that different? It’s not like I’m the only one affected by this horrific tragedy. We were a tight knit group of three friends, and two of us are now left, so what to do other than to become closer with the other than ever before? Memory drifts back, to our joint experiences, our shared bond. One that transcends the supposed archaic boundaries of friendship and becomes something closer to family.

And so my mind wanders back to the final minutes of Final Fantasy XV, in which we see the main character, Noctis Lucis Caelum, reflecting upon his time spent with his closest friends. I can only hope that my friend is doing the same, wherever he may be and wherever he may end up.

For Andrew, without whom I’d be a dramatically different person.