Ruby Red Lipstick This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

July 9, 2011
I see black mascara coating the resting eye lashes. I see pink blush coloring the cheeks contrasting against the pale color of the rest of her face. I see ruby red lipstick coated onto the lips that will never move again. Ruby red lipstick, a color she had never worn on those lips before tonight.
Sobbing friends and family can be heard behind me. Someone touches my shoulder, their fingers lying gently across my back brings me back into reality. Tears run down my face as I look upon the silent form.
Classical music plays, still mixing smoothly with the sniffling. A picture slide show is ambling along on the big screen TV above everyone’s heads showing snapshots from past places and distant memories. I look back into the black casket, her hands resting peacefully on her chest with her fingers intertwined. I am almost afraid to look at her, thinking that this must be a dream.
But it’s not. This is reality.
I remember visiting every summer. I remember driving eight hours just to get to that three story house in the middle of nowhere with acres and acres of land stretching out endlessly before me. I remember seeing family members in the big dinner room, feasting on the latest meal she had prepared for us. I remember it like it was just yesterday that I hugged her goodbye, not knowing that this would be my last time doing so.
I see her picking cherries from the endless lines of trees. I see her watching as my cousins and I play basketball on the newly built court right in her backyard. I see her smirking as she beats me yet again in another game of cards. I see her lying in the casket, her ruby red lips smiling no more.
I smell the freshly fallen pine needles crunching beneath my feet. I feel the soft grass under my hands as I lie on the freshly mowed fields. I hear the birds chirping lovely melodies from the tops of every tree. I taste the freshly cut watermelon, so sweet and juicy. I look up at her, only seeing a smile beaming back.
Another person walks up to me while I stand there. She wipes the salty drops running down my face off of my puffy cheeks. Holding me tight, she whispers promises in your ears that my grandmother is in a much better place. All I can do is smile and thank them for their kind words. All I want to do is crawl up in a corner and never stop crying those tears she wiped away.
Flowers are stacked all around. Every shape and color imaginable meets my gaze looking over her shoulder. I can smell the floral aroma invading the air around where I stand, mixed with the slight scent of potpourri. My head begins to throb from all the sobs rattling inside my chest.
Everyone around me begins mingling; trying to forget the pain and suffering they had been feeling only moments before. I try to harbor the wailing inside myself, but the feeling is much too strong. People rush around to comfort only me, because I am the last one weeping at the casket.
They lead me away from the casket, and start walking me back to my seat. I leave behind the black mascara, pink blush, and ruby red lipstick that had never been worn before tonight.

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This article has 4 comments. Post your own now!

rage_against_the_machine said...
Sept. 5, 2011 at 11:14 am

This was... emotional. The descriptions were amazing, and I loved the part about the makeup she hadn't worn before now. 

It's hard to interject feelings into a story, yet you did this so acutely that it affects the reader. Bravo.

Delictious replied...
Sept. 10, 2011 at 5:47 pm
Thank you so much, this means a lot to me<3
rage_against_the_machine replied...
Sept. 10, 2011 at 6:33 pm
No problem, I know I'd like the same on my own. Congrats on the win again :)
Delictious said...
Aug. 7, 2011 at 2:43 pm
The paragraphs didn't indent...
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