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The Funeral

I looked up at all the solemn faces. My mother was a mess and my grandmother was in hysterics. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I mean it’s a funeral, what do you expect? It took all I had not to cry, even though I never knew him. Maybe it was the light rain, that made everything worse. The dark clouds, the soft wind, the slight drizzle. One of those days, that it looks like its going to storm, but its not quite strong enough to carry through. One of those days that are miserable, no matter what. I zoned out. For a little while I tuned out everything around me. The wind, the rain, the sounds, everything. Then I came back to reality. And feeling of anger washed over me. I clenched my fists, then let out a sharp gasp. I had forgotten about the rose in my hand. The thorns had cut into my skin. I looked down at my hand and saw the blood dripping from my fingers. Then I looked at the rose laying on the ground, my blood on the white petals. I closed my eyes, gritting my teeth against the pain.





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