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I got the idea to write this when a classmate of mine passed away due to a brain aneurysm at the age of eighteen. This piece illustrates the funeral procession the entire school held for a lost soul.

Submitted:Apr 17, 2013    Reads: 11    Comments: 1    Likes: 1   

The air is shifting, morphing into a slow storm. Blue-grey clouds of turmoil spill across the sky, hinting at the anguish of the atmosphere. Pearly drops of rain create a veil of silver sheen on a sea of colorful umbrellas. The colors shift and clash as people huddle under the multitude of umbrellas. Murmurs ripple through the crowd contained under the umbrellas. Something is coming, but hasn't arrived yet. The people are getting impatient; the skies rumble in anticipation. The heat of the crowd lifts and hangs above the mass, weighing the hearts of the restless. A wave of indescribable shock washes over the crowd; the visible change is palpable in the suddenly breathless air. Something had arrived. Flashes of blue and red toss around the dual bright lights as a grand entrance to the streets. It is a processional. The police escort drives past the inscrutable gaze of the people.

The umbrellas shiver as an ungainly breath of wind gently touches them. A sudden hush sweeps over the crowd as a sleek black car slowly drives toward the people. When the car reaches the first bright umbrella, a beautiful magnificent blanket of silence descends upon the multitude. It is eerily quiet as the rain continues to patter, and the car continues to move. The black car glides across the road in a revered display of respect. The skies darkened as if the sun was bowing for the broken light inside the car. Raindrops bounced tragically off the hood and windows of the black car. A sigh of emphatic silence clung to the whispers of the wind. The black car finally passed the silent people.

There is a tremble in the air, as though the balance of the world has been upset. The skies lighten and the unrelenting rain draws back on itself, ashamed yet unaware of the loss. Umbrellas shake and drops of water splay everywhere, as movements within the crowd become more and more fluid. Cars pass by and fling small waves of dirtied puddle water from the street. The road has become loud and obnoxious again. The umbrellas mash together, but then fall apart to go their own separate ways. Horns blare, people leave, and children play. The balance of the world has been set back on its rightful axis. A lone black umbrella quivers on the side of the street, shrouded with an air of silent remarks. Everything has been restored to its original markings, save for that one umbrella that will never stand in this world.


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