G.V. Loganathan was an earnest man and, like many such men, easy to take for granted. There was no need to examine him or doubt his word. He was something you knew you could depend upon, like the cross-beam of your ceiling or the fourth table leg. His body was all angles - his square glasses, the precise partition in his hair, and his clean, straight jaw. When he laughed, he would place both hands on the back of his hips so that his elbows jutted out at ninety degrees. Load-bearing, you might say. Reliable.
Then he was gone, and the world fell down around our heads. A year later we're still picking up pieces, shifting through debris... trying not to crumble beneath the weight of our loss. The community we've rebuilt is stronger in some ways, but weaker in others. We've lost part of our framework, our very foundation.
We will never be the same.