A cluster of black in the midst of greenery. The wind whispered softly into the air while the leaves of nearby trees swayed in response to it. Your ears caught murmurs of her name as you approach the congregation.
It was inevitable. You knew this day would come, but you didn’t imagine it was this soon. You eased yourself into the crowd of somber faces and tearful eyes. You know these
It took just a few more steps until you reached a pristine, tea rose-colored box. Of course, it should be tea rose. She knew she looked good on it. The casket was still open for viewing, and as soon as it was clear of people, you approached it with reverence.
She laid there beautifully as if just waiting for his prince (or princess) to kiss her awake. You chuckled at the thought. She would hate it if she knew you thought of that. She was a damsel, and maybe, she was indeed in utter distress. But she was never a damsel in distress. She never wanted to be that girl. She has handled her issues with a certain grip of reality. This time around though, her strength wasn’t enough to keep holding on. Perhaps, deep inside her, she longed some rescuing too.
She had her wavy hair down with a simple hairband to keep them off her face. The makeup artist was successful in making her appear exactly the same just as how you remembered her: simple and unencumbered with a hint of cleverness in her brows. You held out your hand and traced the outline of her face through the glass case. You also tried to make constellations out of the many moles she has on her face. She used to find them too many and bothersome. But you found them adorable and fascinating. You reached the outline of her lips and somehow it looked like a knowing smirk. Even in death, she still could see all the thoughts that ran through your head. She had always been like that.
Your eyes glanced down to her hands that were clasped just above her stomach. Those slender hands you adored so much. She knew how to play an instrument and create art and poetry, yet she always found herself never good enough. You also remembered holding them while she trembled silently beside you. Her grip was tight, never wanting to let go, as she allowed her emotions to course through her. You brushed your thumb back and forth against the back of her hand as if a lullaby to comfort her fears. But it wasn’t enough to open the curtains to another dawn.
Finally, you reached her toes. She wore these new, vintage-looking, cerulean brogues. Something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue.
Your lungs heaved a sigh, stepped back from the casket and allowed the family members to close it and to prepare for her descent. You moved further back to allow the people to bid their last words and goodbyes. The sobs have resumed again. The cries became louder as she went further down and they started covering the pit with dirt. You just stood there watching the whole scene finally draw to a close. It was painful to see everyone in anguish as they helplessly see her leave, both in sorrow and regret. You are definitely shaken, but you chose to stand your ground because you promised her that you will be there until the end. You endured until everyone left, everyone except for one.
The silhouette was familiar, all too familiar. You walked towards the figure with sureness in your steps.
She turned around with that smirk earlier on her lips. You offered your hand and she gladly took it. You felt her grip tighten.
This time around, there’s no letting go.
The 153,424th. I guess we can call it a day.
665 words
Writing Under the Influence
A monthly writing prompt project with Jeff
