The Funeral

By Tasha K., Age 18

The sky poured out its frustrations and each drop bruised the dark soil. Darkness all around me like a murder that had manifested itself in the field where swells of green grass lay planted into organized lines. Symmetrical rows and columns, one by one, each a memory of someone else. But it was _____'s day. Dampness hung over my shoulders, anchoring my heart down into a black hole further and further away from the present. The voices hovered across the land slowly swaying back and forth. Like the bees swimming over the undercurrents of re-occurring screams again and again and again. And there i stood, not a drop from my eye. Staring infinitely deep ring into my conscience. Drip by drip the raindrops fell onto my skull penetrating downwards out of my fingertips seeping away from my reach into the ground and deeper forever. Slowly the procession moved on. Each second lasting hours in my mind. The smooth mahogany casket now dripping with rain was gently dropped into the earth. Sprays of dirt covered ______ as ______ hid further and further away from me. Finally _____ was gone underneath.

An Explanation From the Author:

An Explanation From the Author: The narrator is at a funeral, but you don't hear her saying how she's feeling- all she talks about are images that are feeding into her brain, and the sounds of people around her crying. If you can picture her face, it'd be blank and hollow. I removed the names (the ____ parts) because death is universal. You could put anyone's name in there and it would fit.